


Seorsus

by cypheroftyr, The_Arkadian



Series: Reflections [8]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Invictus Hawke - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Reflections series, Suicide, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 84
Words: 610,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypheroftyr/pseuds/cypheroftyr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fenris asks a question of the Inquisitor that he's unwilling to answer himself. Meneris needs to level in Diplomacy without Josephine to help. Hilarity does not ensue</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

_**Prelude.** _

The water in the small cauldron was beginning to boil. Anders glanced at it, his amber eyes taking in the curling steam for a moment, his hands stilling, the pestle in his right hand held almost forgotten in midair. For a moment, his eyes saw something else; a fragment of memory. He blinked, dismissing imaginary voices with an irritated shake of his head before recalling where he was. He glanced down at the pulverised herbs in the mortar, then slowly tipped them into the seething water. 

Wrapping a rag around his hand, he lifted the pot off the fire, swearing under his breath as the heat seared through the fabric in moments. He set the pot down on a flat stone then pulled the rag from his hand, shaking his fingers, frowning in annoyance. He stared at his fingers, at the weals already reddening, the flesh stinging and throbbing where it had burned.

He glanced at the brewing tea; it would keep a little while. Gathering his robes about him, he made his way down the steep bank down to the cold stream, and thrust his burned hand into the ice-cold water. Lowering himself down to sit upon the rock, he stared at his hand in the water, and sighed. He winced as his stomach growled audibly.

A sudden rustling in the bushes on the other side of the stream had him scrambling backwards back up the bank, reaching for his staff, heart racing; a moment later, he exhaled with relief as two quail launched themselves into the air. He watched them as they rose into the air with a whirr of beating wings that seemed to mimic the fluttering of his own heart.

There was a dark blur, and then suddenly one of the quail was snatched out of the air by a hawk. Anders watched, transfixed, as the hawke dispatched the hapless bird then bore it down to a rock on the far side of the bank where it dispatched it effortlessly then began to tear into it, devouring warm morsels of flesh as sand-coloured feathers scattered on the breeze. Anders could not tear his eyes away from the sight as blood speckled the rock beneath the hawk and its feast.

And not for the first time, he wondered where Invictus was.

  


**Chapter One**

Not for the first time, Fenris wondered where Anders was.

He fidgeted as he and Invictus Hawke waited for Varric to meet them and take them to the Inquisitor. Varric’s letter had been very vague, and this strange Inquisitor was a total unknown. Fenris had no idea why this Inquisitor would want to see Hawke - but Varric’s letter had mentioned red lyrium, and after what they’d learned of the stuff in their own investigations, Vic had wanted to meet their old friend once more and figured it couldn’t hurt to find out what this Inquisitor knew about it as well. He wasn’t too happy about the whole Chantry involvement, even if - with the death of the Divine - the threat of an Exalted March on Kirkwall had been lifted.

That little bit of news would have cheered Anders - if they had any idea where the blond apostate was. He didn’t like the fact they’d lost touch with Anders any more than Vic did but they knew they had to keep the fact he lived a secret; it made trying to track him down very difficult however. Zevran was somewhere in the Free Marches - or had been, last they’d heard from him - doing his best to track down their missing apostate. But perhaps Varric would have some ideas on that score as well. “Where is that damned dwarf?”

The elven woman who had escorted them from the docks shrugged. “He’ll be here soon enough,” she remarked, then leaned closer. “Is that really the Champion of Kirkwall?” she murmured quieter. “I thought he’d be....taller? The stories all describe him as being like a giant.”

“You shouldn’t believe every story you hear madam,” Vic said with a glance to his lover. “Varric wasn’t forthcoming in his letter other than to say we were needed. Do you know why we were called here by Inquisitor...Lavellan?"

“That’s a Dalish name, if I recall conversations with Keeper Marethari,” Fenris added.

The elven woman nodded. “You don’t look Dalish yourself - those markings aren’t like any vallaslin I’ve ever seen,” she remarked dubiously, eyeing Fenris’ silvery-white brands; she raised her hands slightly and ducked her head, glancing away as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she added. “I’m City-born myself. Wait here, I’ll go see if I can find Varric.” 

“I’m not Dalish, nor am I Ferelden,” Fenris said as she turned away. 

Invictus shook his head slightly at his warrior, and once the woman was gone he tried to get Fenris to leave off his usual disdain for the Dalish. “She’s city-born as well. Leave it be, love. Besides we’ll have bigger problems once we meet this Inquisitor.”

They didn’t have long to wait before a familiar figure could be seen making his way towards them. “Hawke! You’re a sight for sore eyes. Broody, good to see you again.” Varric paused as he eyed the pair. “What, no Ser Crow with you? Our, ahem, _blond_ friend, I can understand leaving behind, but....” He glanced to Fenris with an eyebrow raised. “Or is he here and I’m just failing to notice him as usual?”

“No, and no. There is much to discuss once we are within the quiet of this fortress you told us about,” Fenris said with a telling glance.

“Lead on, we’ve got catching up to do,” Vic said.

Varric gave a heartfelt, weary sigh that had them both exchanging glances. “You don’t know the half of it, Hawke. Since - ah, you’ll find out soon enough for yourselves.” He shrugged and turned away. “We’ve got horses over here for you. It’s a bit of a ride up to Skyhold.”

“I hate horses, why is it always horses?” Fenris griped even as he mounted a fine black stallion. 

A tall woman with short-cropped black hair in the armour of a Seeker turned from where she was tending to her own mount and frowned at Fenris before her eyes lit upon Vic. “Ah. Champion. So at last we meet,” she said, stepping forward. “You are a hard man to find.”

“With good reason, Seeker Pentaghast. I hear you’ve got your hands full since Kirkwall,” Vic hedged as he looked her over.

“Very good reasons, Seeker,” Fenris said from behind Invictus. Varric coughed.

“Yes, well, now we’ve all met each other, how about we get a move on?” he suggested briskly. “The sooner we head off then the sooner Fenris can be off a horse and we can make proper introductions. Seeker?”

“Very well. I look forward to hearing more of the Champion - _without_ embellishments,” she added, casting a dark look at Varric before swinging herself up into the saddle of her black courser with the ease and grace of long practice.

Varric rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand and coloured slightly before shrugging apologetically towards Vic. “The Champion already had a reputation; I was merely the chronicler,” he protested as he swung himself into the saddle of his own pony. They got the impression this was an argument that had been going on a long time between the dwarf and the woman.

“I’d rather be on our way than worry about Varric’s habit of ... enhancing tales of our deeds. If you don’t mind, Seeker,” Fenris kicked his stallion into a trot and kept pace with his lover. 

“But of course,” replied the Seeker as she spurred her courser forward to lead them onwards. To their surprise, Varric let his small mount drop behind to ride behind Vic and Fenris.

Invictus and Fenris chatted quietly in Tevinter, sure they were going to need Varric’s services to find their missing lover sooner than later. 

“I mislike this, _mi amatus_ ,” murmured Fenris quietly. “Varric is... unlike himself. We will need his aid, but...” He sighed. “I am not used to the dwarf being this quiet. This is not the welcome I would have expected. What are we riding into, Vic?”

“It feels like our doom, my heart. I know what will befall our mage should the Seeker find him before we do,” Vic replied quietly.

“Damn it, we’ve been offered nothing but hints and half-truths since Kirkwall, Vic! We should be back there looking for him, not on some wild goose chase for the Chantry!” Fenris all but spat. “Everywhere I look, I see that damnable sun symbol. On _her_ , on those Templars back at the dock - Vic, the very horses we’re riding have it on their tack! We ride with people who would make our lover Tranquil at the very least! Riding to aid them feels somehow like we are betraying him. It's been weeks - Void only knows where he is or how he is faring.” The elf clenched his fist and stared at his lover.

Invictus could only reach out and lay his hand over Fenris’ own. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know, my love.”

Varric followed behind, oblivious to the meaning of the Tevene they spoke; the expression upon Fenris’ face was enough for him. He could only watch as he followed behind, and wonder why they both seemed anxious. What had they left behind, that Fenris kept looking back behind them?

  


*****

  


Anders cradled the cup of tea between his palms and watched the twilight sky. He wondered where he was; he’d lost track of the days, weeks, months since the storm they’d left behind - and with it all knowledge, it seemed, of where he was. It had all been such a maelstrom of confusion. Sometimes it felt as though he were sleepwalking through one long unending nightmare. Anders had been simply following where Fenris and Vic led. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive at that point. Whatever Solona had done to him, it had broken at the point the world exploded in fire and death. The months leading up to that moment were hazy and indistinct; it were as though he’d woken from a nightmare only to find it all true. He had opened his eyes to find the deaths of hundreds on his hands. A part of him still couldn’t take it in. People had wanted his death, and at that point none desired it more than he himself had.

But Fenris and Vic wouldn’t let him go. They’d defended him - and insisted he defend those who still lived. And he’d done it; fought on and on, beyond what endurance he possessed, and yet still there were more Templars, more mages who turned abomination, more demons, more death and blood than he could ever have dreamed even in his worst nightmares and still they came on; still the streets of Kirkwall ran red with blood and fire.

He didn’t even know where they had been heading to. Vic had barely held Kirkwall together almost by sheer force of will, fighting to stop the city tearing itself apart as mages rose in rebellion and all order in the Templar ranks disintegrated. The fighting and dying did not end with the defeat of Meredith. Cullen had taken over as Knight-Commander of the Templars, but all he could do was try and rally those few who still held true - and attempt to defend the innocent from the ravages of those Templars who threw aside everything and embraced chaos, every bit as bad as Meredith had been; increasingly they’d run up against insane Templars crazed on red lyrium.

The Grey Wardens, led by Stroud, had helped for a while but left soon after the destruction of the Chantry. Vic had sent for their aid in desperation, but the messenger had sent back disturbing news of possible corruption in the Wardens before going to ground. When rumours had reached Kirkwall that Divine Justinia could well be raising an Exalted March against the Free Marches, it had been the last straw. Kirkwall was barely beginning to pull itself together; between them, Aveline and Cullen had managed to exert some form of order and the city was slowly turning to a new form of normality. As long as Anders and the Champion remained in Kirkwall, that fragile normality would be threatened by those who would seek to capture Anders and exact retribution for the destruction of the Chantry. With Varric remaining behind to take care of business, they fled.

There was a ship. He was certain of that. A ship, then a storm, then water, cold, and he thought he might drown. He still thought maybe he should have. But somehow he didn’t.

That was weeks ago. He’d washed ashore somewhere the Maker only knew where - and he’d been walking ever since. Of Fenris and Vic there’d been no sign. He didn’t know if they lived; he didn’t know where to begin to look. It was hard enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other some days. Food was scarce, but he didn’t dare risk heading towards any of the villages he saw. He was weak; his clothes hung loose about his body. He had always been a lean man, but now he was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, eyes fever-bright in a sallow face. His hair had grown long, as had his beard; in borrowed rags, looted or stolen wherever he could find them, he little resembled the Destroyer of the Chantry. Even Fenris and Vic likely would not recognise him now.

He’d walked south at first. He didn’t know why. There were mountains to the east. He stared at them now as he sipped his tea, the evening drawing on, and he wondered if he should head towards them.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would head east.

He drank his tea and ignored the gnawing empty feeling in his belly. It was easier to bear than the empty feeling in his head and heart.

  


*****

  


Fenris paced as he listened to Varric and Invictus speak. He found himself too agitated to contribute. He was also curious about this elven warrior that led the Inquisition.

“Curious. Bored; always talking, never doing, when there’s doing that needs to be done. Worried for him, where is he? Amber eyes and healing touch but where?” The youth in the strange floppy hat had ghosted up to him without him realising; he had murmured so quietly at first that it had taken a moment for Fenris to realise what he was saying.

The elven warrior leapt back, sword drawn and teeth bared in a snarl. “What in the Void is that thing? How is it in my head?” 

The bald elf - Solas, they had called him - swiftly stepped forward to guide the youth away from the warrior even as the boy continued talking. “Fear, alarm, an abomination - but not like _him_ , don’t fear him, only worry for him but what -”

“That’s _quite_ enough, Cole; let’s not distract the visitors. They have travelled far, and we need to let them recover from their journey.”

Cole looked back at Fenris, suddenly transfixing him with pale blue eyes. “But I can help. I know him. I know.”

“Come, this way, Cole,” continued Solas, deftly steering Cole out of the room without a backwards glance at Fenris.

“Ah. Yes, that’s... that’s Cole,” shrugged Cullen with an apologetic look. “He takes some getting used to but, well. He means well.”

“Keep that thing away from me.” Fenris rasped as he stared at the elven mage and the creature that had snuck up on him. 

Varric sighed. “I’m not sure how exactly he got in here; the Kid has this habit of just appearing. Curly’s right though; he means well. He’s just... not too hot at the human interaction thing yet.” He eyed Fenris. “Or elf interaction.”

“But what _is_ it?” demanded Fenris; Varric raised an eyebrow at him, and the elf relented slightly. “Very well then. What is _he_?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” replied Cullen. “Solas thinks he was a spirit who got caught in human form.”

“Look at it this way, Broody - he hangs around, makes people feel uncomfortable sometimes by talking too much, but he’s not possessing anyone or doing any weird glowy blue shit and blowing stuff up. Cole’s pretty harmless. Mostly.”

“You refer to Anders, of course,” said Cullen, frowning slightly in disapproval. “Champion, I’m aware that you and Anders were... _close_... but-”

“Not a good time or place, Commander,” warned Varric as Fenris bristled. “And that’s not what we’re here for anyway.”

“I’ve yet to hear anyone say exactly what it is we _are_ here for,” said Vic testily.

“As to that-” began Varric, then broke off as the Inquisitor walked in.

“It’s Corypheus,” said the Inquisitor.


	2. Chapter 2

“Corypheus is dead, we killed him. Me, Invictus, Varric and Carver were there. Vic struck the final blow. Surely we did not trek all this way for you to tell us that something we destroyed is responsible for that thing in the sky?” Fenris replied, veneer of calm in place even though inside his instincts were screaming for him to turn on his heel and leave.

“Fenris is correct, so Varric, you’d better have another tall tale in the wings,” Vic said.

“Gentlemen, we saw him ourselves. I hate to break this to you but Corypheus is quite alive and doing better than many. That ‘thing in the sky’ as you put it is tied to this.” The Inquisitor lifted his marked hand with a grimace. “Not the introduction I’d wanted with the Champion but there you have it. I’m Meneris Lavellan, you know mostly everyone else I’d assume?” 

Fenris stared at the other elf skeptically. “How did he survive? We saw him destroyed.”

Cullen coughed and looked sheepish. “We’re not entirely certain ourselves. Lavellan dropped an avalanche on him; that didn’t seem to stop him either.”

“Why can’t we ever fight anything that will stay dead?” Fenris asked flatly.

“Wish I knew love, wish I knew.” Vic turned to face the assembled group warily. “So Corypheus isn’t dead, Varric called for me but I’m unclear what you think I can do. I was on my way to meet my contact in the Wardens when we...were actually going to seek out a companion and then make our way to meet Loghain.” 

“You fought him and seemed to defeat Corypheus before; we wanted to know what you did,” Meneris asked as he made his way towards the hallway that led to the war room.

Fenris frowned as he glanced to Vic. “It took all our concerted efforts to contain and defeat him. He was still at least partially contained by the Wardens’ bindings, though even thus bound he was not without power and the ability to harm. Our... companion... was....” Fenris broke off as he stared at Vic, unwilling to reveal to others the extent to which Anders had been affected by Corypheus. “Corypheus seemed to have the power to influence Wardens’ minds. If he is free and at large, I fear for the Wardens.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Cullen as he turned to the massive table with its map of Thedas. He missed the look of anguish that passed between the elf and the Champion as both began to realise the import of this unwelcome news regarding their missing lover.

Varric however was watching Vic’s face as they spoke. He brushed casually by the Champion as he moved around the table. “Not the time or place, I know, Hawke, but I’d like to catch up on.... _old friends_... maybe later? Maybe we can reassure each other a little and... I don’t know... maybe I can help?” he suggested _sotto voce_ before taking up position on the other side of Cullen and gestured at the map. He cleared his throat. “Where were you planning to meet this contact, Hawke? Maybe the Inquisitor and I could tag along?”

Invictus gave Varric a grateful smile, and nodded yes. “It would be good to have you along, make it like old times...sort of.”

“If you don’t mind Vic, before we make further plans; we both need to rest, have baths and a hot meal before I fall on my face. We also need to let Carver know we ...made it, sort of.” Fenris hedged. These people made him uncomfortable and he needed to get Vic and Varric off to speak about their missing friend.

“All good points love, thanks.” Invictus inclined his head to their hosts. “If we could put you out a bit more, Fenris is right. Now that we’re not moving, I could actually collapse on top of this lovely map that someone probably spent months if not a year on.” 

Cullen glanced down automatically at the map at mention of it, then straightened. “Of course, Champion. Quarters have been prepared for you both; if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled and have meals sent up to you. Baths are being drawn for you as we speak.” He turned to the Inquisitor and bowed slightly. “By your leave, Inquisitor.”

“You don’t need to do that Cullen, it’s odd for you to be so deferential. Go on, get our guests settled.” Meneris looked over to Fenris, admiration for his weapon as well as the elf that had become a minor legend among some of the people for slaying his former master. “Serah Fenris, if you would do me the honor, I would speak with you once you have rested.”

Cullen looked slightly uncomfortable as he inclined his head. He glanced from The Champion to the Inquisitor, then glared down at Varric as there was a dull clunk that sounded suspiciously like a booted foot connecting with an armour-plated ankle. Cullen exhaled through his nose then turned to Invictus. “If you’ll come with me?” 

“For Maker’s sake Cullen, we were friends back in Kirkwall; drop this mabari and pony show,” Vic huffed. 

“Oh he should keep it up, I need some kind of entertainment after the journey here,” Fenris griped as he and Varric fell in behind them.

“It’s...” Cullen huffed as he coloured. “It was different. This.... Hawke, when you left Kirkwall I’m fairly certain you didn’t expect me to promptly abandon my post and run off with Cassandra and the Inquisition. Our positions now are... different.”

“I’ll say,” muttered Varric darkly. “Friends don’t clap friends in irons and drag them all the way to Haven just in time for it to blow up.”

“And I have apologised for how you were treated,” said Cullen slightly stiffly.

“Ah, relax, Curly; we’re all friends now. Even the Seeker’s not so bad when she hasn’t got a stick up her ass over protocol and the Champion.” He grimaced slightly.

“Well I don’t really go by Champion or Viscount anymore, Cullen. Just... please drop the wall between us. This is hard enough on us as it is,” Vic pleaded quietly.

Fenris rolled his eyes but remained silent. Leaving Kirkwall behind, the unlikely life they’d built with Anders in the middle had hurt him deeply. He hadn’t really spoken of it except in random fits and starts while on the road, and then it took a lot of prodding and usually exhaustion and little sleep to get him to open up.

Cullen paused beside the door to a guest suite. He stared at the door for a moment, then turned to Vic. “A lot of things have changed since Kirkwall, Hawke. We are none of us the men we were. But I think you know I am no fool.” His glance flickered briefly to Fenris then back to Vic. “I still don’t fully understand what happened with Anders; I know only that a lot of people died that day. I lost good friends. I’m not sure I can ever fully forgive Anders for what he did - but I know you and Fenris had your reasons for keeping him alive. But I have to know - not where he is right now, precisely, but... is he safe? By which I mean, somewhere where he is not likely to cause harm to anyone other than himself?”

“That is not your concern, templar,” Fenris snarled.

“He...is _our_ concern, Cullen. There is a lot you don’t know, a lot we don’t understand. But we will not let you take vengeance on him. Is that clear?” Invictus asked.

“I have no interest in vengeance, Hawke,” said Cullen wearily as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just trying to keep people safe. Mages as well as everyone else.” He glanced at Fenris. “And I’m not a templar. Not any more.” He turned and pushed the door open. “Your meals will be sent up shortly. Just call if you need anything.” He turned away, then paused, glancing back at Vic. “I’m sorry. This was not....” He sighed and turned away.

“It’s not what any of us wanted Commander, least of all him,” Vic said quietly before he slipped into the room, Varric and Fenris behind him. The elven warrior set his sword aside and began to unbuckle his vambraces in silence. Of the three of them, he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

Varric cleared his throat self-consciously as he closed the door behind them. “So....” He stared at them both with one eyebrow raised. “I’ll hazard a guess and say, based on the worried looks you two have been giving each other, that Blondie’s missing somewhere. And I imagine Zevran is busy trying to find him before the Seekers do, huh?”

“Got it in one Varric, as usual. We got separated, and we’ve had no leads, nothing to give us a place to look except where we were parted.” Vic grimaced as he tugged off his boots with a trickle of dirt and sand that fell out of them. “I have dirt in places I didn’t think it could reach.” 

“I’ve got a headache, I’m filthy and I’m hungry. I’ll be back after a bath, you two can catch up,” Fenris griped as he grabbed his pack to rummage for clothes.

Varric nodded as he made his way over to a chair. “So. Hawke. Been a while.”

*****

The wind had picked up, cold and chill; it seemed to knife through his ragged robes. Anders clutched them closer about his body. He was starving; the soil here was poor and thin, fit for rough grass and the occasional scraggly bush but not much else, which meant foraging was fruitless. He clutched his pathetic bundle of belongings as he stumbled along.

He had no real clue as to where he was going; only a vague idea of “east” towards the mountains, with no real thought as to what he would do when he got there. The singing in his dreams was now a constant background thrum against the cacophony of the thoughts he tried to ignore in his waking moments.

He’d always known that one day he would hear the Calling; he’d never envisioned it coming like this.

In the distance he could see rabbits grazing on the grass; he briefly thought of trying to catch one, but in his current state he would likely only end up using up precious energy reserves he could ill afford. Maybe if he could get a bit closer he might dare chance a quick lightning spell.

The landscape was deserted for as far as the eye could see; he was alone, save for the rabbits and a single, solitary hawk in the sky. He found the hawk’s presence a little comforting as he made his way cautiously over tussocks of grass and around rocks. Here and there were patches of thorn bush that would snarl an unwary foot if one stumbled into them; he was already sporting a bloodied ankle from one such blundering misstep.

Of all his various escapes, this one was perhaps simultaneously his most successful and most disasterous. He’d managed to elude all trace of templars or anyone else; he also seemed to be fairly steadily starving to death, unless his luck changed sometime soon. He supposed he ought to be worried about that, but it was hard to keep track of his thoughts, distracted by the singing in the back of his head. Sometimes he wondered if he would survive long enough to find an entrance to the Deep Roads. Mostly he just stumbled in a near-blankminded daze, putting one foot after the other out of sheer habit.

A brief shower of rain left him drenched to the skin. He stumbled on, his sodden clothes weighing him down as he limped onwards.

Occasionally unwanted, intrusive memories would rise up out of the meandering fog of his mind. Something in him still shied away from dwelling upon what Solona had wrought within him; as if some fleeting vestige of her blood magic still held him, long after the rest had unravelled in destruction and death.

It hadn’t been Justice. That was the worst of it, in some ways. He’d thought it was - been so _certain_ that Justice had returned to him. To find out it had been a lie all along had been like losing the spirit all over again. To know that everything he’d done had been orchestrated by Solona - that he’d been little more than her puppet....

His stomach lurched and he stumbled against a rock, doubling over as he retched, throat burning with bile. His stomach was empty; it twisted and clenched uselessly as he leaned there, waiting for it to be over. His head ached.

He still didn’t understand why Solona had used him like that. What purpose did it serve?

He’d paid little attention when Hawke and Stroud had discussed the matter in front of him; he was still too dazed, stunned, in shock. Fenris had had to guide him almost like one blind; leading him to a chair, pushing him down until he sat, putting food in his hand and urging him quietly to eat as Stroud and Vic wracked their brains for an answer as to why the Hero of Ferelden would have done such a thing.

That’s when the first reports of red lyrium had begun to reach them, and Stroud had had disquieting word of possible corruption amongst the Wardens. Could it all be linked? The Hero, the red lyrium? Stroud had left but not before giving his word that he would keep Hawke informed of what he found, as far as possible without compromising Warden secrets. Hawke had done likewise, swearing to share whatever he found out about the red lyrium with the Warden.

And Anders... had sat, and said nothing. He had nothing to say; he had lost all words when he woke to find his hands had wrought the deaths of hundreds of innocents. He could not mourn the templars, but the others.... And how many more had died as a direct result of what he had done?

And it _was_ his doing, no matter how much Vic and Fenris insisted it was Solona. Even Zevran, in his quiet way, had tried to make him see he had only been an unwitting tool.

“The knife is blameless, no? It is the one who wields it who is the guilty one, my friend. I have been the blade myself; I know how it feels. But you must not bury yourself in the guilt of another, friend Anders.”

“They were innocent,” he had replied dully. “Maybe not all of them, but enough. A hundred Ellas - and how many more will there be, just because I was weak? Solona may have planted the seed but it was I who killed them. I’m not sure I can live with that, Zevran.”

“What makes you think you have a choice, my friend?” Zevran had asked him gently.

He had not been able to answer.

He hadn’t had the choice; Vic and Fenris had made certain of that. Right up to the moment the ship went down and he was alone in the water. Dying would have been very easy, but somehow he survived. He had woken up on a beach, alone, without anything save the clothes he stood up in. And somehow he’d kept living; kept putting one foot in front of the other, because to do anything else required too much thought and effort. Survival had become an ingrained habit and it was not so easy to give it up.

But now his Calling had come, and all that remained was but to die that death that awaited all Wardens in time.

So he walked, and he stumbled, and he starved, and he tried not to think. Or to feel. The throbbing, aching pain of the cuts in his right ankle were easier to bear than the pain of feeling and remembering.

He walked until evening, then sat in a field as twilight fell. He watched the rabbits grow incautious around him, and eventually one came close enough that with an effort, he was able to hit it with a small lightning bolt. The rest scattered, leaving him alone with the scorched corpse of the animal.

He had sat and stared at the dead rabbit for a while, feeling guilt and remorse for having used magic to take life once more. He was starving and yet he had no real appetite; in the end however, he’d stirred himself, and picked it up. He skinned it, gutted it, then made a small fire and roasted it.

It was a small meal, but after so long with only herbal teas to sustain him it seemed a feast. His shrunken stomach was filled all too soon. He wrapped up the rest of the carcass and stowed it away, then turned his attention to the state of his ankle. 

The scratches had become infected, the flesh heated and swollen. He knew he ought to do something about it, and had he been feeling more himself then likely he would have healed it with but a thought. But he was tired, sick and exhausted; he cleaned the wound as best he could and wrapped rags around it then curled up by the ashes of his fire. He would heal it in the morning when he had more mana.

By morning he was running a fever. He had lain in the field in a half-delirium until it began to rain once more; only then did he finally sit up and, with difficulty, struggle to his feet. He slung his bundle of belongings over his shoulder and, leaning heavily on the staff, began to limp eastwards once more, following the haunting voice that sang incessantly through both waking moments and dreams, calling him onwards. Towards the Deep Roads. Towards death.

Before long he was soaked to the skin, reduced to a slow, painful hobble, panting with the effort. He was no longer even fully aware of which direction he was going in, only fixated on the need to keep moving.

Then the foot of his staff came down upon empty air and he was falling, tumbling down a steep hillside, unable to catch himself as his hands clutched weakly at clumps of grass that were torn from his fingers. He closed his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning; and then he hit something hard with a forceful blow that drove the remaining breath from his body.

“Maker’s balls, what the hell...!” exclaimed a voice. Anders lay still, his eyes closed, lacking the energy to even attempt movement. His whole body ached, his head throbbing.

He was vaguely aware of a calloused hand brushing the hair back from his forehead, and then a muttered oath. “How in the name of Andraste did you get here, warden? And in this state?”

 _Not a warden any more,_ he wanted to say, but all that escaped his lips was a faint moan.

“No matter,” the voice muttered. Anders felt strong arms lifting him up; his eyes fluttered open briefly to stare into the face of a man with dark hair and flinty grey eyes that seemed old beyond their apparent years. The face seemed almost somehow familiar.

“I know you,” Anders croaked.

“Do you indeed?” The man smiled grimly as he rose to his feet, picking Anders up effortlessly.

“Where are you taking me?”

“There’s a smuggler’s hideout I’ve been making use of. It’s not far.”

Anders stared at the other man. “Why do I know you? Your voice....”

“Can’t say as I can return the favour,” replied the Grey Warden. “Though the state of you, I dare say your own mother wouldn’t know you. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can tell me what you’re doing out here.”

The Warden carried him to a cave and bore him inside, laying Anders down upon a low pallet. “Wait here,” he said.

“Wasn’t planning on moving,” replied Anders. The Warden grunted then left the cave, returning a short while later with Anders’ bundle and staff. 

He set water to boil then crouched down beside the pallet to unwind the makeshift bandage from Anders’ ankle.

“Who are you?” asked Anders drowsily.

“Loghain,” replied the Warden. “And you, my friend, are very ill and in serious trouble.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” replied Anders. He could feel himself drifting slowly back into delirium. “It’s my Calling. It’s time. Time for me to die.”

“You hear it too?” asked Loghain.

“What?” said Anders, blinking, as Loghain's words penetrated the fog that had descended upon Anders. “What do you mean, ‘you hear it too?’”

Loghain regarded Anders gravely. “We’re all hearing it. Every Warden in Orlais and Ferelden at the same time.”

“Not possible,” breathed Anders. “How?”

Loghain was silent a moment as he set to work bathing and cleaning Anders’ ankle. “A being named Corypheus,” he said slowly. At Anders’ shocked hiss of indrawn breath, he glanced up at the blond apostate, and frowned at his expression. “You’ve heard of Corypheus?”

“More than heard. I saw him destroyed. Corypheus - he... How?”

Loghain’s frown deepened. “You saw...?” His eyes narrowed. “Warden. Your name.”

Anders swallowed hard. “Anders,” he said quietly.

Loghain merely arched an eyebrow. “The Champion’s companion? Ah. So is it fortune that brought you stumbling to my door, or design?”

Anders blinked. He felt dizzy, disoriented; the cave suddenly felt too warm, too small, too confining. “I have to get out of here,” he muttered as he tried to sit upright and claw his way off the pallet. 

“Hey, whoa there, warden, where do you think you’re going?” exclaimed Loghain as Anders wrenched his ankle out of the other man’s grasp.

“Got to get out. Need air,” gasped Anders as he took a staggering step towards the cave mouth.

He felt Loghain catch him as he fell. He was vaguely aware of the other man lifting him gently, and then he knew no more.

 

*****

“.... so there you have it, Hawke. I’ve been with the Inquisition ever since, and frankly we’re in need of all the help we can get. Whatever you can tell Lavellan about Corypheus, any ideas - we’re desperate.” Varric spread his hands and shrugged as he sat back in the chair.

“I see...that’s a hell of a tale even from you my friend.” Vic had availed himself of the basin in the room while Varric had caught him up. He’d get a full bath later, and hopefully a good nights rest. 

Fenris returned in clothes provided by the Inquisition’s quartermaster since theirs were too travel worn and filthy to be used. “You didn’t have to use the wash stand Vic, the tub could have held both of us.”

“I know you needed some space love. It’s fine, I’ll get a soak in once we eat. There’s food for you still, I’ll heat it if you like,” Vic offered.

“It’s the absolute truth, Hawke,” Varric shrugged. “I won’t deny that there are quite a lot of people putting a lot of hope in the Champion of Kirkwall right now.”

“Then they’d better find someone else, the Champion is no more. I couldn’t even manage being Viscount Hawke. I’m just Invictus, and I’ll tell you all I know but I don’t think there’s any more saving the world left in me, friend.”

Fenris let his hand trail over his lover’s shoulder as he passed by, a simple gesture but it heartened his lover before Invictus could let the dark thoughts that plagued him return. “You’ve got a hero in this Inquisitor of yours; Meneris Lavellan - Dalish, right?” 

Varric snorted. “Meneris has pretty much the same view on being a hero as you do. Well, maybe a bit less self-doubt and loathing. We’re all here to do a job, Hawke.”

“When he sees what we went through, his tune will change.” Vic muttered darkly. Instead of arguing the point he poured himself a stiff drink before he joined Fenris.

“Maybe. Or maybe yours will. You never know.” Varric shrugged. “So, Blondie vanished and you’ve heard no word from Zevran either. Maybe I can help with that, make a few inquiries, pull some strings. You know? Can’t say I like the thought of Anders out there on his own right now - though for different reasons to Cullen. Though the Commander’s only really trying to do the best by his people. There’s someone else who ought to beat themselves up a bit less. You two should talk.”

“Maybe when I have slept about ten hours in a real bed and had breakfast. I’m not in the mood to be civil to much of anyone right now, Varric.” Vic topped his drink off while Fenris ignored them both in favor of a hot meal.

“That would my cue to vanish and let you get right on with getting acquainted with that bed, huh?” grinned Varric as he got to his feet. “Seriously though, Hawke - good to see you again.”

“You don’t have to go yet. I’m going to take a walk, Vic still needs to finish his drink.” Fenris pushed off from the table with a wave at them to remain. “It’s something I’ve taken to doing...to settle my thoughts. I won’t be long.” He kissed Vic on the forehead before he took up his sword and headed off to explore Skyhold.

Much of Skyhold seemed to still be undergoing repairs; scaffolding still stood around much of the inner bailey. Their quarters appeared to be located in one of the most recently-renovated parts of the inner keep, but some older parts seemed fairly intact and unscathed by the passage of years. Fenris wondered idly just how long the Inquisition had occupied Skyhold; pretty much all the damage undergoing repairs seemed fairly old.

He descended a small flight of stairs and found himself in a courtyard; to one side, he could see two people seated at a table in a small arbor. One, he recognised as the Commander, Cullen; he appeared to be engaged in a game of chess with a dark-haired man who sat with his back to Fenris. His garb was unmistakably Tevinter; a carved, ornate staff leaned against the back of his chair. Both men were oblivious to Fenris’ arrival, being intent upon their game.

“I’d suggest moving your pawn to the diagonal, capture his knight and set yourself up for a win, Commander.” Fenris said as he watched them ponder the board.

The other man started and muttered a brief curse in Tevene. “My word, Cullen, you might at least warn a fellow when yet more arrivals show up. Don’t we have enough elves with Solas and Sera about the place?” The moustached gentleman twisted around in his seat to stare at Fenris. “Wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed. “Where have I seen you before?”

Fenris gave the mage a glare. “If I am correct and you are an Altus of the Imperium, it’s possible you’ve seen me when I was part of Danarius’ household. Otherwise, tales of the Champion’s companions have reached far and wide.” He gave a short bow with a smirk as he rose. “I don’t know who this Sera is, but seeing that you’re from Tevinter, it’s no surprise you’ve had your fill of the elven with only two, well three about if you count Inquisitor Lavellan.”

The other man also rose, one eyebrow arching slightly. “I am indeed; Dorian Pavus of Qarinus, and _you_ are _quite_ the fascinating creature! I think I only saw you once at a distance, but now I see you in person I can quite understand why you caused quite the stir.” Dorian chuckled. “My, no wonder Danarius was fit to burst over losing you.” He turned to Cullen. “My dear Commander, you do have a knack for finding the most fascinating people!”

Cullen was eyeing Fenris somewhat nervously. “None of my doing, Dorian; Fenris arrived with the Champion this afternoon. And I can assure you there were none of Varric’s customary embellishments in his descriptions of Fenris, by the way.”

Dorian turned back to Fenris. “ _Really?_ Not even the slightest?”

Fenris’ expression could have dropped someone in an instant if looks could kill. He got in close to the mage so he could be sure there was no room for Dorian to misunderstand him. “First, I am not something to be sought after. Secondly, I am not a creature, nor am I a puzzle to be figured out. If you don’t believe me, then believe this.” Before Cullen or Dorian could move, the elven fighter’s hand had slipped through the mage’s chest and his fingers brushed the other man’s heart.

“Remember why people feared me now? I suggest you remember this feeling, and hope I don’t have cause to remind you of it, Pavus.”

Dorian’s eyes widened in pain and fear; his mouth opened wide in a silent scream but the only sound that escaped his throat was a faint wheezing gasp as the Tevinter mage stiffened. His eyes rolled over towards Cullen, panicked.

“Fenris, that’s enough - I’m sure Dorian appreciates your point!” exclaimed the Commander. As Fenris continued to hold the mage there, his fingers curled about the other man’s heart, Cullen stared at the elf desperately. “Fenris, Dorian is not your enemy. Inquisitor Lavellan relies upon and trusts Dorian. Please. Release him.”

Dorian had gone a ghastly pale shade, his eyes fluttering closed.

After a few more moments of considering his fellow Tevinter, Fenris pulled his hand away with a grin. “I’m done with mages salivating over me with avarice in their gaze, Commander. Remind this man of what you’ve seen of me in Kirkwall. I shall see you in the morning. He’ll need a healing potion and something for shock, it seems to be a common reaction when I allow people to survive that particular trick.” 

Dorian dropped to his knees and doubled over, one hand clutching his chest as he gasped for breath. He panted for a few moments, his other hand braced against the ground. “Salivating indeed; how uncouth,” he muttered quietly, then cleared his throat as he lifted his head and stared at Fenris. “Your point has been quite eloquently made and is duly taken, Fenris.” He cast a glance at Cullen. “Do help me up, Cullen, there’s a fellow; the breath has been taken quite out of me. I fear I shall have to concede our game.”

Cullen got a hand beneath Dorian’s elbow and helped him back into his seat. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, darting a glance at Fenris. “I would have warned you, except -”

Dorian waved him away. “Yes, yes, I know, Dorian Pavus put his foot in it, hmm? And Dorian Pavus will watch his foot in future and his mouth too; that was quite the demonstration and a rather salutary lesson.” He glanced up at Fenris. “Fascinating,” he muttered under his breath. “And painful.” He winced, still rubbing his chest; the colour had still not returned to his face despite the seeming unconcern of his tone of voice.

“If you’d remembered me from Minrathous and possessed a whit of sense you’d have known how I could kill.” Fenris said as he watched Dorian struggle to stand even with Cullen’s assistance. “I’m so glad we made this trip Cullen, it’s such fun to see old friends again,” the elven warrior gave another warning glance at the mage as well as the commander.

“Evidently you missed the bit about how I’d observed you only at a distance and only the once, hmm?” drawled Dorian. “Oh, pfah - stop fussing, Cullen, really - you heard Fenris, I’m fine really, no lasting damage and by all accounts lucky to be breathing. I’ve had worse days.” He eyed Fenris again. “I shall endeavour to avoid the ones involving glowing fists in my chest, mind you. An intriguing experience but not one I’m keen to repeat.”

“Commander, if you would be so kind as to let Inquisitor Lavellen know I’ll take him up on his offer to speak tomorrow? I’ll find my own way back so you can help your wayward Altus back to wherever he belongs.” Fenris left them both in no hurry while he pondered how quickly they could get away from Skyhold and seek out Anders.

Cullen and Dorian both watched Fenris leave before Cullen turned back to the mage. “Tell the truth now, Dorian - how bad is it?”

Dorian slumped a little in his chair. “It feels like Iron Bull decided to take up tap-dancing on my chest but I’ll live. It’s not something I’d care to feel more than once however, and I think perhaps my time would be more gainfully spent recovering in my room for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll be no use to the Inquisitor like this.”

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs then,” said Cullen as he held out a hand. He hauled Dorian to his feet, steadying him with a hand about the smaller man’s waist.

“Why, Commander, whatever will your men think, to see you and I like this? Tongues will wag,” remarked Dorian as he reached for his staff. Cullen merely snorted.

“Nothing wrong with _your_ tongue, whatever else Fenris may have shaken up in there,” he muttered. “Come on.”

****

Back in their quarters, Fenris found Vic and Varric sharing a bottle of wine as Varric pointed out something on a map. 

“Varric, why is there an Altus of Tevinter here? He nearly lost his life due to his glib tongue. I didn’t flee that place to run right into more of the same outside of Minrathous.” 

Varric shrugged. “Much the same way most of the Inquisitor’s companions arrived; he helped close a rift back in Redcliffe, proved useful, stuck around and made himself welcome. Mostly,” he added, with a shrug. “Can’t say as everyone gets along with him, but Lavellan seems quite happy to have him around and he’s good at what he does.”

“If Lavellan wants to keep his mage in one piece and healthy, he’ll keep him away from me.” Fenris snagged Invictus’ drink as his lover was about to take a sip.

“Oh come on, don’t take my…” Invictus’ protest died in his throat and instead he poured a fresh drink instead of arguing with his lover.

“I shall be sure to mention it to him,” replied Varric. “Lavellan is... rather fond of our little Altus, I think. He’d probably take it amiss if you put him out of action permanently. I think he feels hearts should stay on the inside, if you catch my drift.”

“Then his Altus should watch his mouth lest I feel the need to show him how little patience I possess,” Fenris quipped in reply.

“Dorian’s mouthy, I’d agree, but useful,” shrugged Varric. “He’s also smart - usually, anyway. I probably ought to warn you though, he’s not the only mage around. You’ve met Solas already, but you haven’t met Vivienne yet. She’s.... well. I suspect if you don’t like Dorian, you probably won’t get along too well with her Royal Snootiness any better either. You probably ought to watch out for Sera as well - she’s not a mage, but she’s a prankster and I have this funny feeling she’d make a beeline for you. I’ll warn Cullen to watch out for any of her usual tricks, but I figure best to warn you first.”

“I’m so glad we came here Invictus, especially when we have other matters to attend to,” Fenris sniped as he refilled his glass, threw himself into the first chair he saw and snarled at them both. “I hate it here, we should be looking for Anders not playing politics here.”

“As to that, maybe we can help,” said Varric. “We don’t just have Seekers at our disposal; we’ve got a whole intelligence network we can put to use - and not just our own either; we have all kinds of contacts. And we have Cole. He might be able to help sniff out where our favourite blond apostate might have gotten himself lost.” He tapped the map. “See, you’ve been hunting around the Wounded Coast, and you’ve got Zev hunting up in the Free Marches - but what if he somehow made it over to Ferelden? We can keep an eye out on our side, and you’d be surprised just how far Cole can cover.”

“I doubt he’d go to Ferelden if he could help it. As far as he knew there’s still a price on his head there. Unless he could get to King Theirin.” Fenris tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair restlessly. “Would he try for Antiva or dare I say it, Tevinter?”

“From what I last saw of Blondie, he didn’t look to be in much of a fit state to try for _anywhere_ on his own, Broody.” Varric shook his head slowly. “If you haven’t found him thus far on the Free Marches side, I suspect that means he must somehow have ended up over on this side. Maker only knows how but this _is_ Blondie we’re talking about.”

“True; well, let’s see what your scouts can find out. Perhaps by the time we meet with the Inquisitor, they’ll have found something.” Vic sighed and nodded at his brooding lover. “I think I’m ready to call it a day.”

“I’ll leave you two to your rest,” said Varric as he rose. “Lavellan will want to talk to you in the morning, Hawke; I think he’s as keen to go talk to this warden contact of yours as you are. The sooner we get that out of the way and know better what’s going on with the Wardens, the sooner we can get on with tracking Blondie down. I’ll go talk to Cole and Solas - maybe they’ll have some ideas about how to track him down. What Solas doesn’t know about the Fade.... well, maybe he’ll have some suggestions as to ways we could track him down through magic? Got to be worth a try.”

He made his way to the door. Glancing back, he nodded to each man in turn. “Good to see you again, Hawke, Fenris. Almost like old times.” Then he was gone.

“I’d rather be in our bed in the Viscount’s Keep than this fucking place. Tevinter to one side, snarky elves on the other. Once we find Anders, we get out of this cold place and settle down in the far reaches of Nevarra,” Fenris slurred.

*****

The following morning, they were woken by a knock at the door. Two serving women had brought them breakfast; they laid it upon a table near the door then departed, leaving the two men alone.

“Did you get the brand of the Bronto that ran me down?” Fenris asked as he stumbled from bed and towards their breakfast.

“I’d say it was Starkhaven triple malt, a ten year aged blend. Have water, love, and this breakfast should be enough to help you out.” Vic didn’t dare laugh at his lover’s plight but instead poured him water and fixed him a plate.

Fenris glowered at him, but without much heat. He poked his food without much enthusiasm at first, but then set to and devoured it swiftly. He felt his mood moderately improve on a full stomach.

They’d just finished clearing their plates when there came another knock at the door.

“Ah, good, you’re both up. Ready to go see the Inquisitor? He’s been up for hours already,” remarked Varric.

“If we must...why did you let me drink that much Vic?” Fenris groused.

“The last time I tried to keep you from drinking what you wanted I nearly lost a couple of fingers. Come here.” Vic laid his palm over Fenris’ forehead and cast a minor healing cantrip to take the edge off the headache he could sense.

Fenris nodded his thanks before settling his immense sword on his back, then nodded to Varric to lead the way. They returned to the war room, where they found Lavellan waiting together with Cullen, Solas, Cole and a young woman who was seated to one side scribbling something furiously on a piece of parchment at a writing desk. She glanced up briefly as they entered then returned her attention to her piece of parchment.

Just as they entered, a red-haired woman slipped in just behind Vic and made her way around the table to whisper something in Cullen’s ear. He raised one eyebrow, murmured something in response, then nodded at her reply.

“Good morning gentlemen, I hope you are better after a full meal and sleep in a real bed?” Meneris asked as he glanced up to see Dorian slip into the room as well. The mage looked decidedly ill at ease as he cast a glance at Fenris then carefully skirted around the room as far away from the elf as possible. The mage took up a position near Cullen and studiously looked anywhere but at Fenris.

“Cat got your tongue Altus Pavus?” Fenris asked cheerfully before he took a sip of the coffee slipped in front of him by a servant.

Vic glanced at his lover, then to the Inquisitor before he arched an eyebrow at Cullen. 

“I take it you’ve met Dorian?” Meneris asked casually.

“We’ve become acquainted, yes,” said Dorian diffidently as he inspected his fingernails. Beside him, Cullen rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh.

“Funny that you suddenly have little to say to me in the light of day, Altus,” Fenris said before he scowled at the sensation of his thigh being pinched. 

“What’s the matter love? Chair nick you between the greaves?” Vic asked innocently.

“Funny how you seem to suddenly have so much to say and yet manage somehow to say nothing at all of consequence,” snapped Dorian peevishly. “Meneris, seriously, we have far more important things to discuss than the lamentable manners of the Champion’s companion. Can we be about it? Or must this verbal pissing continue?” He absently rubbed his chest with one hand over his heart.

“I thought verbal pissing matches were part and parcel of the Imperium? Or are you out of practice having wandered so far south, Dorian?” Fenris gave him a vicious smile even as he slapped Vic’s hand away from where he tried to pinch him again. 

Both the scribe and the red-headed woman were now staring at Fenris, their eyebrows creeping up. Even Cullen was scowling slightly. Dorian turned his back pointedly towards Fenris and leaned casually against the table, staring at the wall as he folded his arms, one hand still absently rubbing his chest. 

“As much fun as this is, let’s get to business shall we?” Invictus said with a glare for his lover.

“Yes, business; that thing we were supposed to be gathered for,” Meneris said with a look to Dorian. “I believe we could use your help with this?” 

Dorian stared at the wall for a moment longer, then turned his head to glance at the Inquisitor before smiling slightly. “But of course, Meneris,” he said quietly before turning back towards the table. He leaned over the table as though studying the map, but Invictus thought he saw a brief grimace of discomfort flicker across the Tevinter mage’s face. It was gone as swiftly as it came however, making Invictus wonder if he’d been mistaken.

“Your Warden is somewhere here near Crestwood I believe, Champion?” said Dorian, gesturing to an area just north of Lake Calenhad.

“Simply Hawke will do, I haven’t gone by Champion for quite some time,” Vic said as he traced the map’s lines from where they sat at Skyhold to the reaches of Crestwood. “Yes, we’re to meet in a hold away from the city proper as soon as I can.” 

“Sooner is better,” said Cole unexpectedly. “Waiting, little scratches bleeding danger, calling to the south but safer for the moment. Falling and catching and falling again.”

Dorian blinked at Cole. “Yes, well, and that,” he said in a faintly bemused tone.

Fenris’ lip curled as he stared at the spirit then back to his lover. “I’ll check with the Quartermaster to see what supplies can be spared, depending on when we can leave for Crestwood.” 

“Already taken care of,” said Cullen. “You’ll be leaving in an hour, unless there was anything else you needed to take care of first?” He glanced at Meneris. “The Inquisitor is quite keen to get started I believe. I took the liberty of arranging packs, supplies and mounts before breakfast.” He glanced back at the two men. “Yourself and Hawke, Meneris, Cole, and Dorian. I’d come myself but matters here at Skyhold require my attention. The Bull will meet you on the way.”

“I’d rather have Varric with us, but I suppose he is needed as well? The… spirit unnerves me.” Fenris admitted warily.

“I’d rather have Varric at our side too but we’re not calling the shots here. Let’s get our things and see our dwarven friend before we take of,” Vic replied.

“I’d come if I could, Broody, but....” Varric spread his hands and shrugged. “Something’s come up that I have do deal with personally. Lousy timing. If I can deal with it quickly enough then I’ll meet up with the Bull and catch up with you by Lake Calenhad, but if not - well, you can fill me in later.”

Dorian was staring at Cole, but at Varric’s last words he shrugged and straightened. “Indeed, it’s not as though this isn’t just a straightforward trip for information after all.” He glanced at the Inquisitor. “Meneris, I’ll be in the library for a bit, if I’m not needed until we depart?”

“Only if you get a healing potion on the way. You’re fooling no one, Dori,” Meneris replied softly as he glanced to Cullen.

Dorian’s mouth twitched in a half-grimace and he glanced at Cullen. “Ah. Mother Hen gave me away did he? Really, it’s nothing, Meneris. Come find me in the library? And yes, I’ll stop by the infirmary on my way,” he added with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“No, I can see that grimace every time you move. Go, get a potion and I’ll be right behind you.” Meneris didn’t give his lover a chance to argue with him; instead he folded his arms and looked towards the door.

Fenris didn’t say anything; instead he glanced over to where Varric waited for him and Invictus.

Dorian shrugged then pushed himself away from the table, making his way around to head towards the door.

Cole lifted his head slightly as Dorian passed and opened his mouth; Dorian held up a finger without breaking stride. “Not a word, Cole. Not one.” He brushed passed Fenris, his gaze on the door. 

Fenris tracked Dorian’s departure then glared at the spirit for a drawn out moment before he went to speak with Varric and Invictus. “Time is short, what is it you plan to do in terms of our friend?” 

“Do you even want to go, Fenris? I love you and I know you’re not happy here but you’re close to jumping over the line and into the ravine.”

Varric glanced over at Cole and Solas. “Solas has been working on something with Cole, and Leliana over there -” he nodded to the red-head, who inclined her head in acknowledgement, “has been combing through reports for anything that looks promising.”

“Well if given the choice between traipsing around with an arrogant sod who stares at me like I’m for sale and a demon, and remaining here? I’m tempted to remain behind.” Fenris huffed.

“Maker, don’t be a child. Not when he’s missing and possibly hurt. Please?” Vic asked as he gently cradled Fenris’ face in his hands. “I know you want to go, I do too, but we need to work with them. Please love, I need you, _he_ needs you.”

“Fenris, trust me - if we find where Blondie is whilst you’re gone, all the archdemons and all the darkspawn in existence couldn’t stop me racing to come find you to tell you. And if you guys find him first - he’s going to need the both of you there,” said Varric quietly.

“Don’t talk to me like this, Invictus. I know he needs us. I’ll see you in the room shortly, I need some time.” Fenris pulled away and headed off towards the space they’d been given. 

“We need to get away from here sooner than later, Varric. I’m afraid of what this is doing to Fenris. He’s surrounded by people he doesn’t know, Cole has him freaked out and Dorian might wind up dead if he doesn’t watch it.” Vic sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face tiredly. “I thought we gave all this shit up.”

“Believe me Hawke, so did I. You three had barely gotten out of Kirkwall when Cassandra swooped down to snatch me up, and then there was Haven, the rift opening, and I don’t think my feet have really hit the ground since,” sighed Varric. He shook his head. “Broody will be fine once we hit the road, you’ll see.” He clapped Invictus on the back. “I’ll come see you off when you’re ready. You’d best go find Broody and distract him. Let Meneris worry about Dorian.”

*****

Meneris, it had to be said, had the worrying about Dorian part down pat. The Tevinter mage leaned against the windowsill, sipping at the healing potion as though it were a fine Nevarran red.

“I told you, it’s nothing, Meneris,” he said airily before taking another sip.

“You’re fit as a horse ordinarily, Dorian; you’re not prone to randomly developing chest pains. You spent all afternoon yesterday in your room.You also kept staring at Fenris just now like he was going to rip your head off. You didn’t exactly tell me _what_ happened yesterday so come clean,” Meneris said as he sat on his desk while he beckoned Dorian closer.

“A... gentleman’s disagreement. Of sorts,” said Dorian with a shrug before downing the last of the potion. “No lasting harm done, and certainly no reason to overreact.”

“Bullshit. Remember, you promised not to lie to me, Dori, and even I could see you were in pain and looked pale as parchment when you came to me. All of it, and don’t try to deflect how serious this is. If Fenris and Hawke are too dangerous, I will not let them run free in Skyhold. Champion or no, I won’t have my people attacked.” 

Dorian sighed. “Fenris... I made the mistake of confessing I had seen him before in Minrathous. He decided to give me a little demonstration of just why his former master wanted him back - it’s not my head he’d like to rip off, but my heart. Preferably clean out of my chest and still beating. I have absolutely no doubts as to his ability to do so.” He waved the empty potion bottle airily. “It was painful, I confess, and not a demonstration I’m at all keen to experience again, but no lasting damage and I’m fine now and -” Dorian paused as he took in the expression on the Inquisitor’s face. “And _there’s_ that overreaction I was was talking about.”

“It’s well earned I think. I’ll talk to him when we stop for camp, assuming Cole doesn’t freak him out any more than he has,” Meneris sighed and tugged Dorian to him for a kiss. “I just want you to be safe, and I know you already get hassled by the others, we don’t need outsiders adding to that.” 

Dorian braced his hands against Meneris’ shoulders and stared into his eyes, his expression grave. “No. I can’t allow you to do that, Meneris. You cannot fight my battles for me. I spoke incautiously around him, he demonstrated to me why that was an unwise idea. I am not so foolish as to make the same mistake twice.” He shook his head and let his hands fall. “Do not make this harder for me. I cannot hide behind your sword every time my fool mouth gets me in trouble.”

“I’m not fighting your battles for you love. He asked to speak with me anyway so I’m not doing that to you, alright?” Meneris kissed him again. “Come on, let’s get ready for this oh so fun trip.”

“Oh stop, my heart can hardly bear or contain its excitement,” drawled Dorian, but he smiled and allowed Meneris to claim his lips again. “Very well, let us go.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. I love your ass but not for those reasons.” Meneris snagged one more kiss to go before he tugged his lover behind him.

“It truly is a fabulous ass. But perhaps not quite so much for public consumption,” replied Dorian, holding back a little. “Go on, I’ll follow in a moment.” He glanced away.

“As you wish, see you down at the gate.” Meneris sighed as as he left Dorian to his own thoughts and cursed that he didn’t feel alright showing affection even in the safety of their home.

 

*****

He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the low roof of the cave. He blinked, confused and disoriented, then glanced around slowly.

“I was wondering if you’d come around soon.” Loghain said as he minded a camp fire and pot of stew.

Anders levered himself up on one elbow and stared. “So I didn’t dream it. Any of it. How long was I out?” He frowned and put a hand to his head. “Or am I still dreaming?”

“Couple of days, you were raving a bit. If you can sit up I’ll give you some stew.” Loghain ladled out a half portion and handed it to the blond warden. “Care to tell me how you wound up in the ass end of nowhere?”

Anders shrugged. “Not much to tell really. I was shipwrecked, and then I heard my Calling. Been walking ever since. Figured either I’d drop dead from starvation or find an entrance to the Deep Roads. At this point, I don’t think it really matters how I meet my end.” He stared into the bowl and sighed. “I know I gave you my name. What else did I tell you whilst delirious?” He glanced up with a small lopsided smile. “It’s OK. I know I would have rambled. I never was very good at shutting up; I can’t imagine I suddenly discovered discretion whilst out of my head in a fever delirium.”

“You called for a Hawke and a Fenris while you were delirious. I’ve heard the name Hawke but not the other. Are they wardens as well?” Loghain asked between bites.

Anders froze and stared into his untouched bowl of stew, his mind and heart racing. Loghain knew he was the Champion’s companion; of that, he was certain. His memories of what happened just before he passed out were hazy, but he was sure Loghain had known that much. Loghain’s words may have seemed innocent but to Anders they screamed of a trap. He lifted his head and stared at the other warden.

“You know full well they’re not,” he said quietly. “You know who I am, and who Hawke is.” He swallowed hard. “And you must know what I’ve done. You haven’t killed me, and I see no Seekers or Templars, so... what are you going to do with me?”

Loghain indicated Anders’ untouched bowl with his own spoon. “I suggest you eat that. You’re sick, and you need food.”

Anders stared down at the stew. His stomach was painfully empty, and he was still dizzy and weak from the fever. He glanced up at Loghain mistrustfully.

The Warden got up and picked up the untouched bowl then thrust his own half-eaten bowl into Anders’ hands before returning to sit by the fire and eat the portion he’d served for the blond apostate. “‘S not poisoned,” he grunted. “Eat.”

Anders stared down at the bowl, and took up his spoon wordlessly. Silently, mechanically, he began to eat.

“As for who you are, I knew of a warden named Anders. Far as some knew you were dead. Solona came back and changed your status from dead to missing in action but would say no more. I’m in no position to judge anyone else.” Loghain said as he ate slowly so the other man could note he had no ill effects from their shared meal.

“She should have left me listed as dead. She as good as left me for dead anyway,” replied Anders listlessly after a few mouthfuls of food. “And perhaps it would have been better if-” He fell silent. After a moment, he glanced up at Loghain. “I’m sorry. I’m doing a piss-poor job of thanking you for saving my life. I’m not entirely sure it was worth saving.”

“They let me live, so no one is unworthy of redemption. Besides I’m sure your champion would be upset if I didn’t get you on the way in full health.” Loghain said with a grimace at his own field cooking. “Besides, your ankle needs time to heal and you’re barely coherent.”

“My champion likely believes me already dead,” replied Anders quietly. “If he has any sense. I would spare him the knowledge of the Calling. I think I would prefer to just quietly disappear.” He lifted his head again. “Was it part of my fever dreams, or did you say that others have felt their Calling too? Have... have _you_ felt it?”

“Not part of the dreams, no. We’re all hearing this.” Loghain replied.

“Does anyone know why? Is it another Blight?” asked Anders. “I was conscripted right in the middle of the last one, so I don’t know what it feels like when a new one starts.... No, wait, you wouldn’t know either, would you? You were conscripted right at the end, just before....” He put a hand to his head; his head was throbbing and he was finding it hard to keep a coherent thought in his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t think straight. What are you going to do with me? Or did I ask you that already?”

“Aren’t you a healer? That’s what Solona told me when she did speak of you.”

“I... I was. I’m not sure I am any more. I only ever seem to cause death and destruction now.” He dropped his gaze back to the bowl. “I’m sorry, I can’t eat any more. I know I ought to, but I can’t.” He lay back on the pallet and stared at the ceiling of rock overhead. “I don’t have the energy to heal. Not even to try. Can’t concentrate.” His fingers clutched at his robes then pulled them tighter around his scrawny frame. “And what would be the point anyway?”

“Then go to sleep, that will help if you can’t take care of yourself.” Loghain replied as he finished off the rest of Anders’ helping.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Anders. “I’m being frightfully ungrateful. I am just so tired....” He rolled slowly onto his side and buried his face against the pillow. “I wish....” he breathed, slowly slipping back into dreams again. “Wish I could see Fen... one last time....”

“I’m sure you’ll see him again, rest now.” Loghain sighed as he scraped the leavings into the fire and hoped Hawke arrived sooner than later. 

Anders mumbled fitfully and then fell silent save for the hoarse rasp of his breathing as he slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian studiously ignored Fenris, though he could have sworn he could feel the heat of the elf’s baleful glare between his shoulderblades as the Tevinter mage stooped to roll over the body of the dead bandit. “Well, at least they weren’t templars,” he mused as he straightened again.

There had been twenty bandits in all, and they’d made short work of them. Dorian couldn’t help it if he’d found himself staring rather a lot at Fenris as the elf had carved his way through bandits effortlessly like a hot knife through butter; the white-haired warrior _was_ rather magnificent to behold. If only he didn’t object so vociferously (and with a great many attendant threats towards Dorian’s continued health and well-being) every time he caught Dorian... well... admiring the sight.

He knew Fenris was giving him his best death glare right this moment, and was quite thankful that Meneris was standing closer to Fenris than he was.

“They’ve no clear marking of Orlais, Tevinter, or Ferelden. Who’s banner do they run under?” Fenris asked as he rifled through the corpse’s belongings.

“Perhaps this new faction Meneris told us of, Vena...Vinatory?” Vic muttered as he inspected another corpse, this one better armored than the others.

“Venatori,” said Dorian in a bored tone. “And I could almost hope these were; alas, I fear these were just the usual common rabble endemic around these parts.” He toed the corpse at his feet distastefully before twirling his staff then slinging it on his back. “Almost a pity. I would have liked an actual challenge; still, useful to know the Venatori seem less active here than we had feared.”

“Whatever they were, it means we were followed or have drawn undue attention to ourselves from the riff-raff in the area.” Fenris stood up and glared at Dorian once before he glanced to the path ahead. “We should be on our way if we want to find shelter before sunset.” 

“From the map my contact sent me, we should be on the outskirts of Crestwood by nightfall and in the city by the time the sun is at about the tenth bell if we break camp with dawn,” Vic said as he checked the map once more before folding it up.

“City, he says,” Dorian muttered with a snort. “Southerners, always thinking more than three hovels together is some marvel of engineering.” He shook his head, then turned and called louder, “I think you’ll find there’s rather less to Crestwood than you imagine, Champion.”

“I don’t answer to Champion, Dorian,” Invictus called back with a sneer. He had to fight the urge to send a bit of fire the other mage’s way for the dig at ‘southerners’. 

Fenris didn’t say a word, he’d promised Invictus to curb his rage, at least while they were with the others. Once they were alone, that would be a different story. He fell in next to Vic as they traveled, sure he wouldn’t be able to speak with the Inquisitor until they were back at the fortress.

“Cole, come away from the water,” called Dorian in a bored tone. 

“It remembers him,” said Cole as he glanced up at the group. “The song is different now. The water changes it. It didn’t change him but the ripples make bigger ripples.” He straightened and made his way back towards the others. “There’s water in my boots,” he added. “Holes make leaks.”

“Yes, well, that’s the way of things, Cole,” replied Dorian. Cole looked at him.

“But what if things get in the way?” he asked, his tone one of curiosity.

“Then you find a way around. Or through. Or under.” Dorian paused and carefully picked his way around a boulder in the path.

“There are lots of things underneath,” said Cole thoughtfully. “Old things. Sometimes it’s better to look down than up.”

“Oh?” asked Dorian, raising an eyebrow.

“Birds,” replied Cole enigmatically before skipping on ahead. Dorian blinked and watched him go, then shook his head and pressed on.

Fenris glared at the boy as they went, but kept a silent vigil until they were far enough away to speak with Vic in Antivan. It was one of the more useful things Zevran had taught him. “That spirit...it unnerves me.”

Cole skipped on ahead, unconcerned. He paused, stooping low over a rock, and picked something up off the ground, turning it over in his hand with his head tilted to one side.

Invictus sighed as they walked. He knew Fenris was off-kilter but for him to slip into Antivan meant he was on the edge of a hard fall into rage. “I know, but I think he is one that means well. After all we know too well what happens when a spirit gets corrupted or goes dark. We will find him, it will be well love.”

Cole looked up, his head still tilted on one side. “Can you hear the wind? Song is changing. Same tune but the words are wrong.” He looked out at the lake. “The water changes everything.” He looked back at Invictus. “Watch out, the path’s wet.” He turned away.

“He creeps me out,” Vic said as they went on. 

“That makes two of us,” Fenris agreed in trade.

Dorian paused to fiddle with a loose thread on the haft of his staff. “Meneris, I’ve got a slightly uneasy feeling,” he confided quietly. “Possibly paranoia, but I can’t help but feel it’s too quiet.”

“For once Pavus and I agree on something,” Fenris uttered in Tevinter. 

“Not right now… I’ve got a bad feeling as well. There’s unrest here and he would know, since he’s a necromancer. Something is off here, and it’s making me want to run the other way and never look back.” Vic said as he looked off at the dam that seemed to glow green even with how far off it was.

“Meneris,” went on Dorian in an almost conversational tone, “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.” He was also staring at the dam, with a faintly apprehensive look in his eyes.

“It is, a very large and difficult to get to Fade Rift. I think we need to stop into the town and see the mayor or seneschal. There’s more to this place than we thought.” Meneris replied as he glanced back to the others. “We can hopefully find lodging and more information before we go on to find your contact.”

“If need be, we can ...part ways so you can deal with that thing on the water.” Vic offered.

“I’d rather have a full company if you don’t mind Hawke. The more of us there are, the faster we can take out the Rift.” Meneris countered.

“Rifts tend to be... attended... by all manner of unpleasant things,” added Dorian. “Demons, undead, assorted sundry unsavoury denizens. A hand in dealing with them wouldn’t go amiss; Meneris will be preoccupied with the rift itself, and Bull hasn’t joined us yet - though Void only knows what’s keeping him. Possibly run into all the Venatori we _should_ have encountered by now,” he surmised with a shrug. He turned to Meneris. “A thought strikes me - Hawke’s Warden contact might be a useful ally to have along, if they can be persuaded?”

“I doubt he’ll be interested in this, unless it also concerns the Wardens.” Hawke looked over to Fenris in time to catch the small shake of his head. He knew his lover had issues with demons and the like. 

“Let’s find him, and we can ask if he would want to join in that fight. I would not fault him if he decides not to join in that barrel of fun.” Vic didn’t want to fight the rift either but he couldn’t fault the other mage for wanting more help.

“That’s fair Hawke; Fenris, do you have anything to say since we’re asking your help as well?” the Dalish warrior glanced at his Tevinter counterpart with curiosity over his reticence to come along or even speak with his lover.

“If it is what it takes to get your help, you have my sword. Otherwise I like to keep as much distance between myself and demons as possible.” Fenris answered.

“A sensible fellow,” Dorian nodded approval. “And it gives Iron Bull a chance to catch up - Varric too, if his business is concluded. The more the merrier, eh?” He cast another glance at the distant green glow.

Fenris and Invictus shared another telling glance before they fell in behind Meneris and Dorian; neither of them felt like talking as they traveled.

 

****

Anders had a few disorienting moments as he awoke with a start and saw rock overhead instead of the ceiling of Invictus’ room in Kirkwall. The dream had been so vivid, he could have sworn the past few months had been only some dark dream. The sight of the bare rock brought home to him the all-too-depressing reality of his situation.

He turned his head upon the pillow to stare around the cave.

“Back to the world then?” Loghain asked as he poured broth out for Anders and broke a loaf of bread in half for his fellow warden. “Will you eat without me having to prove it’s safe?”

Anders felt his cheeks grow hot as he blushed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t really thinking straight,” he answered as he pushed himself up on one elbow. “How long was I out that time?”

“A couple more days. It’s not as if I’m going anywhere for a while. I’ve got some people after me, and I’m meeting someone, soon I hope.” Loghain dunked his bread into the thin broth, a frown at how meager it was. “I’ll need to hunt soon.”

Anders began to slowly eat. “If whoever’s after you tracks you back here, get out and leave me. I’m not worth endangering yourself over,” he said quietly.

“You’re a warden, and unless you’ve attained some rank in the time you’ve been away I get to make that choice serah. Besides, I’m not worried about who’s tracking me I’m more concerned with what I’m chasing after.” Loghain grinned at him with that lopsided smirk that few saw.

Anders eyed Loghain’s Warden armour, noting the rank insignia. “Duly noted, though I’ve been a Warden longer than you. Then again, I ran away so I don’t really have much right to say anything about it really. Technically you should probably clap me in irons for desertion.” He offered up a small grin. “Then again, I’m not exactly in much fit state to go running off. I’ll try not to be in your way too much.” 

He took another mouthful of stew and thought for a moment as he swallowed. “I should make my way to the nearest entrance to the Deep Roads once my ankle is healed enough in any case.” He glanced up at Loghain. “I have no right really to ask, but... as a fellow Warden... would you go with me, at least as far as the nearest entrance? I’d rather get this over with whilst I still have enough mind and wit about me to make the conscious choice.”

“No, because I don’t think this is a true Calling. It’s too soon for me, and even though you’ve been a warden for some time it’s too early for you. If Solona has not yet felt the true Call to the Deep Roads, then you shouldn’t be feeling it yet either. I’ll help you get to the nearby town once I’ve made contact with my ...friend.” Loghain left him to eat while he went back to his parchments and books to find Hawke’s last missive.

“You’ve no idea of the things I’ve been through since I left. And it does vary from Warden to Warden,” remarked Anders. “Some feel it sooner than others. And... to be honest, maybe it’s just my time, Loghain, whether the Calling be true or not.” He stirred his spoon through what was left of his stew, staring into the brown liquid, then scraped up the last mouthfuls, eating without appetite.

“Well, I’m not eager to help you to an early demise just yet. Once my business is done, if you still truly feel it is your time, then I will help you to the Deep.” Loghain pinched the bridge of his nose so he could keep harsh words from escaping his lips.

“Do you need to bathe? Or attend other needs before I go out to hunt?” he asked instead.

Anders scratched his beard. “A wash and a shave do sound appealing,” he admitted, glancing down at the filthy rags he wore distastefully. “And then I guess I should do something about my ankle.”

“Give me your arm then, and if you must throw up, do try to aim in the other direction.” Loghain grabbed a sack with soap, liniment and other items to clean up the other warden. 

Even with Loghain’s assistance, Anders struggled up from the low pallet with difficulty, leaning heavily against the other Warden as they made their way from the cave.

“How did you survive this long? Or was it warden constitution?” Loghain wondered out loud.

“No idea,” answered Anders. He was sweating with the exertion; his gaze was abstracted as he looked within. “Huh. I seem to have blood poisoning. That would explain the fever,” he said in a distracted tone. “By rights I shouldn’t even be upright at all.” He stumbled slightly. “I don’t suppose by some minor miracle you’d have lyrium at all?”

“Only because I had traveled with a mage warden before we were separated. I carried the lyrium because he was worried about rogue templars trying to kill him for it.” Loghain’s voice went low as he helped Anders down next to the stream and handed him a hunk of soap. “Can you manage?”

“I think so.” He began to peel off the filthy rags before slowly starting to scrub the dirt from his emaciated body.

“I’ll be right back, yell if you need help.” Loghain slipped a few feet away to take care of his own call from nature as fast as he could. He knew if something attacked them, Anders would be a liability.

Anders had to pause several times as waves of dizziness rolled over him. He cleaned himself up as best he could, then turned his attention to his ankle, unwinding the makeshift bandages.

The scratches were puffy and dark with infection; raised red lines wound through his flesh, radiating away from the wounds that wept foul-smelling pus. He grimaced, then took a deep breath and began to clean the wounds as much as he could. He bit his lip, trying not to whimper as the ice-cold water of the stream clouded pink as he cleaned out the wounds; and then he closed his eyes and focused inwards, calling on his magic for healing for the first time in weeks. 

Since Kirkwall.

He was vaguely aware of Loghain’s footsteps as the other warden returned, but he kept his concentration on what he was doing; driving out the infection, cleansing toxins from his blood. He could feel his reserves draining and his overtaxed body growing weaker. 

He fell back against the grass, gasping for breath, spent and exhausted. The healing wasn’t done, but he could feel the worst of the infection was gone. He was shivering and cold.

He heard Loghain moving around, but couldn’t even summon the strength to open his eyes. Then he felt a towel being wrapped around him, slightly scratchy but warm and dry.

“Anders? Still with me?” asked Loghain gruffly.

“Just about,” the blond apostate managed.

“Don’t try to move. I’ll get you back to the cave.”

“So much for a shave,” Anders quipped weakly. Loghain’s only reply was a snort as he scooped the mage up and then carried him back to the cave. He laid him on the pallet and rummaged around in his pack.

Anders struggled to open his eyes. He wanted to ask Loghain what he was doing, but suddenly even the effort of trying to open his eyes seemed too much. He felt himself slipping back under, into the sleep of exhaustion.

*****

Dorian frowned. “Meneris, we seem to have misplaced Cole.” He glanced around, wondering where the spirit had got to.

“Oh, you know Cole,” shrugged the Dalish Inquisitor. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” replied Dorian. 

“Relax, Dorian - he probably got distracted by something shiny, or a bird, or some flower he’s not seen before. He’ll catch us up, I’m sure. It’s not as though he could go far.”

“Delightful,” muttered Fenris quietly. “A missing spirit. Perhaps it can contrive to stay lost.”

Invictus grunted noncommittally as he studied his map. “We should be pretty close now,” he remarked. “Perhaps another hour’s walk, by my reckoning.”

“We should get going,” replied Fenris.

“Lead on,” replied Dorian, ignoring the dark look the white-haired elf gave him. He was almost becoming used to Fenris’ glowering.

 

*****

When Anders opened his eyes, Loghain was gone - but he was not alone.

He stared at the strange young man who sat on the edge of the pallet, studying him intently. Anders had a vague sense of very pale eyes behind a shock of straw-coloured hair beneath the brim of a ridiculously large and floppy hat. If he’d been feeling less dazed and out of it, he might have been alarmed; as it was, he felt only a vague surprise.

“You look different, but you’re still you,” remarked the young man.

“Who else would I be?” asked Anders, bemused. The young man cocked his head on one side and seemed to ponder his question.

“Not who you were,” he replied slowly. “There’s a piece of you missing.” His voice was sympathetic and gentle. “You miss it. Tired and lonely. Afraid of the music but wanting it, wanting what it promises. It sounds wrong but maybe it’s time. Heartsick and old inside. Missing what was once certainty, missing the fire. There’s been too much fire. Blood and screaming, wanting the peace, the stillness, the silence.”

“Who are you?” whispered Anders, shaken to hear his own unbidden thoughts echoed back to him from the lips of a pale stranger.

“I’m here to help you,” said the stranger. “I can help stop it hurting. It hurts, and you’re tired, and you want to let go. Afraid of the darkness, but afraid to let go.”

“Yes,” whispered Anders, staring at him. “Afraid. And tired.”

“Let me help you,” said the youth.

“Yes,” breathed Anders.

 

*****

“This looks like the right place, but I don’t see any sign of anyone,” said Invictus slowly.

“Maybe we should spread out and check these caves,” suggested Meneris, gesturing to the rock wall. “Dorian, with me; we’ll try that one over there.”

“I’ll try this one. Fenris, you take that one - yell if you find anything,” suggested Invictus.

Fenris shrugged and nodded, reaching for his sword before heading towards the indicated cave.

As he approached it, he thought he heard voices inside. They sounded almost familiar; frowning, he hurried his footsteps. Brushing aside the overhanging bushes that shrouded the cave mouth, he ducked through the narrow opening then stopped, glancing around as his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the cave.

Then he froze in shock.

Cole was crouched over a figure lying upon a low pallet at the rear of the small cave; an emaciated man with long, dirty blond hair. There was a knife in Cole’s hand, and as Fenris watched, the man upon the pallet pulled open the thin rags he wore, baring a pale, scarred chest as Cole set the tip of the blade over the man’s heart.

“It’ll be over soon,” murmured Cole.

“Yes,” the man sighed, then rolled his head to one side and opened amber eyes.

It was Anders.

Fenris’ eyes widened in alarm, even as Anders’ gaze fell upon him and his eyes likewise widened, a flicker of surprise in their amber depths to be swiftly replaced by regret, and then fear.

Cole leaned forward and the blade pierced Anders’ skin.

Anders and Fenris screamed at the exact same moment.

" _NO!!_ "


	4. Chapter 4

As the tip of the blade pierced Anders’ flesh, Fenris reacted without thought. One moment he stood upon the threshold of the cave; the next moment he _reached_ and was suddenly standing over Cole and the prone Anders, his hand darting out to grasp Cole’s wrist and halt his thrust. He stared down at Anders in horror as the mage clutched at the blade, blood already welling up around the tip of the knife. Fenris twisted his hand, and the knife flew out of the spirit’s hand to skitter across the floor of the cave.

Anders gasped in shock, pressing a splayed hand over the bloody wound; there was a glow of blue healing magic that tugged on Fenris’ brands as the mage closed his eyes and frantically worked to heal the knife wound, gritting his teeth against the pain, eyes screwed shut.

Cole had cried out; Fenris thrust him away sprawling, intent only upon Anders. He bent over the mage and yelled for Invictus as he stared at his lover anxiously.

The blond apostate opened his eyes as the blue glow died away; he stared up at Fenris as he panted, hand still pressed over his heart. “Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels,” he managed weakly. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, love.”

Fenris lowered himself down to kneel upon the pallet, staring down at Anders; and then he abruptly flung his arms around the emaciated apostate, hugging him fiercely to his chest as he buried his face in the dirty blond hair, temporarily bereft of the power of speech.

Invictus burst into the cave, Dorian and Meneris only a heartbeat behind him. “Fenris, what -” He stumbled to a halt, and his eyes widened in shock. “Anders?? Maker - but _how?_ ”

“Sea-tossed, swimming, swimming a long time, so much water -” Cole murmured.

“Get that _demon_ out of here!” hissed Fenris fiercely as his head whipped round and he glared at the spirit with murderous rage. “Before I send it back to the Void myself!”

Cole scrambled back away from the furious elf. “Angry. Burning. Fear and hatred.”

“Not now, Cole,” warned Dorian, grabbing the spirit’s arm and dragging him back out of the way as Invictus threw himself forward onto his knees beside the pallet and flung his arms around both Fenris and Anders. 

Anders was limp in Fenris’ arms, one hand clutching weakly at the elf’s shoulder; a faint pained wheeze escaped his lips as Invictus bear-hugged his two lovers fiercely.

“This would be your missing companion then?” asked Meneris.

“Quite the touching reunion,” remarked Dorian. “Do Kirkwallers commonly crush their friends to death when greeting them after an absence? You probably ought to let the poor chap breathe. I think his lips are going blue.”

“Not helping, Dorian,” warned Meneris as Invictus loosened his grip enough to turn and glare at the Tevinter mage, his expression mirroring that of Fenris.

“Right,” nodded Dorian. “I’ll be outside with Cole.” He retreated, tugging the bewildered spirit with him, who was quietly protesting that he was trying to help.

Invictus turned back to Anders, who took in a deep gasp of breath as the former Champion relaxed his grip. “Are you alright love?” he asked. “Maker’s balls, there’s nothing of you! You’re skin and bone!”

“I’ve been better,” Anders confessed weakly. 

“We feared you were dead,” said Fenris quietly.

“Might have been better if you’d never found me,” said Anders as he pushed weakly at Fenris. The elf, blinking in confusion, let Anders go and the blond apostate lay down again, one hand rubbing at the newly-healed scar upon his chest.

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Invictus. Anders held Fenris’ gaze for a moment before turning to glance at Invictus.

“My Calling,” he said quietly. “It started a few days ago. I haven’t got long, love. I would have spared you this if I could.”

“No!” exclaimed Fenris as he flung himself forward to grasp at Anders’ shoulders. “It can’t be possible - not yet! Not when we’ve only just found you again!”

“Anders, what happened to you?” asked Invictus quietly. 

“I was washed up on a beach in just the clothes I was wearing when I fell overboard,” said Anders. “Woke up with no idea as to where I was and just started walking. Managed to steal a few small things here and there; didn’t dare linger near villages and avoided towns. Then the Calling started, and I just started following it. Couldn’t find much by way of food, managed to hurt my ankle and it got infected.” He shrugged.

“How did you find your way here?” asked Meneris.

“Who is that?” asked Anders, noticing the Inquisitor for the first time, his eyes widening as he took in the armour Meneris wore. His eyes fixed on the Seeker eye insignia on Meneris’ gauntlets and then widened further in fear as he pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to shrink back against the wall. “No, no! You’re not taking me in!” he said forcefully as he raised a hand before him; he clenched his fist and with a flare of magic it was wreathed in flames. “You’ll not have me!”

“Easy, love, you’re safe,” said Invictus. “This is Inquisitor Lavellan - and he’ll have to go through us to get to you.”

“I’m not taking anyone anywhere, least of all a sick mage who looks like he lacks the strength even to stand,” replied Meneris as he folded his arms and regarded them thoughtfully. He glanced at Invictus. “Is this your warden contact, Hawke?”

“No, that would be me,” replied Loghain as he ducked into the cave and took in the sight before him, his eyes narrowing. “Calm down, Anders, before you set the bed on fire.”

Anders stared at Loghain then let the flames die. Fenris caught him as he slumped, drained and exhausted. “So tired, Fen,” he whispered. 

“I’ve got you, it’s alright _mi amatus_ ,” Fenris replied as he let Anders rest against him. 

Invictus tugged his rucksack off and put it next to Fenris. “There’s plenty of potions in there for him. I’ll talk with Loghain while you remain with him. Besides if Anders is in your lap, you can’t give out beatings,” Vic muttered the last with a glare over Meneris’ shoulder.

Loghain was frowning at Anders; he moved further into the cave, stooping to pick up Cole’s knife. He turned it over in his hands, then stared at Anders as he held the knife up in wordless question.

“Later,” Anders told him. “I’m exhausted. But mostly OK. Leave me with Fenris.” He glanced at Invictus. “Had I known....” He sighed. “Never mind.” He let his head drop to rest upon Fenris’ shoulder. “You’re both here now. And... I’m glad. Even though I would have spared you this, if I could. I’m still glad you’re both here.”

Fenris didn’t say anything, he didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead he uncorked a healing potion, stamina potion and a vial of lyrium for his bedraggled mage. “One at a time, which first?” he asked quietly.

Anders studied the bottles listlessly, then gestured at the healing potion. “I think healing first, then stamina, then lyrium so I can finish fixing what the healing potion works on.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m a bit of a mess,” he apologised.

“But you’re alive to be a mess,” Fenris said as he tried to keep the tears that threatened to spill over under control. “I’m sorry...guess I have sand in my eyes.”

Anders stared at the healing potion bottle, his own eyes blinking rapidly, and hummed in agreement. He reached for the bottle, then grimaced at the way his hand trembled.

The elven warrior simply tipped the bottle up until Anders had finished it, then held the stamina potion at the ready in case he wanted to take it for himself. Anders took it; though his hand still trembled, with an effort he was able to bring the bottle to his lips and drain it before letting the empty bottle drop onto the pallet. His mouth quirked in a small _moue_ of distaste. 

“Definitely not one of mine,” he muttered. “Too much elfroot, not enough crystal grace. But it will do.” He straightened his leg out in front of him and sat up a little straighter, reaching down to tug at the bandages. They were stained yellow and brown with old blood and effluvia, but the wounds beneath were pink and healing well, the flesh less inflamed-looking. 

He brushed open the stained thin tunic he wore - little more than filthy rags, really - and inspected the healing scar over his heart. It neatly bisected an older, flatter scar, the skin taut and silvery from age. He prodded the new scar and grunted. “An inch deeper and he’d have done for me,” he mused. He fingered the tatty rags then tugged the tunic closed again, grimacing at the feel of the dirty fabric. “Maker, but I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a horse through several hedges backwards.” He scratched the straggly beard and frowned. “Ugh. And this itches.”

“Once Hawke is done speaking with his contact, I’ll shave you. Do not argue with me, it’s not like...it was back then,” Fenris cut him off with a half-hearted glare.

Anders snorted, then shrugged. “Do with me as you will love,” he replied as he let his head rest on Fenris’ shoulder once more. “I’m not going to fight you on this. Only, leave my hair? Just the beard can go.” He closed his eyes briefly, then sat up again with a small sigh and reached for the vial of lyrium.

Fenris handed it to him, then shifted so he could hold his mage comfortably. “I’ll see what Hawke has in his pack after you've been shaved. This thing is nothing but rags held together by a hope and a prayer.” 

Anders shrugged. “I’d probably make an excellent scarecrow right now,” he concurred.

“Don’t...please.” Fenris rasped as he gently squeezed Anders before he rested his hand over the mage’s heart so he could feel it beating. Anders silently laid his hand over that of Fenris and squeezed it slightly as he closed his eyes.

***

Dorian and Meneris had moved off to the side, with the elven warrior giving his lover a dose of what-for regarding his remarks to their new companions. “Dammit Dorian, he thought his lover was dead. I love you but can you control your mouth for once?”

Dorian’s lips had thinned and he stared out across the cold waters of Lake Calenhad. He was aware of Cole standing by the edge of the water, but most of his attention was on the Inquisitor. “I meant nothing by it, Meneris. I will concede that perhaps I was a trifle thoughtless, but really - the state of the man, it’s a wonder he was alive at all. It looked very much as though they might finish him off through sheer exuberance.” 

He frowned slightly as Cole bent over the water then took a step into it. “What _is_ he doing now?” he muttered to himself, before turning slightly towards the elf. “You’d do better to keep an eye on our spirit friend; after what Cole nearly did, I think you’ll find Fenris has another target for his rage. We’d best keep them as far apart as possible. I may irritate him, but I didn’t just nearly kill his lover right before his very eyes.”

“I know you didn’t but they just found him about to get shanked by one of our party members. Your comments mean nothing to you love, but Fenris already tried to take your heart once. Don’t give him a reason to really want to rip it out. Hawke can be a powerful ally, don’t make him angry. I think any slight towards his lovers will make him more inclined to leave us twist in the wind.” Meneris tried to take Dorian’s hand but found his palm empty in the blink of an eye.

“Dorian, do you really think any among us would judge for a bit of affection?” Meneris asked sadly as he dropped his hand to his side and stared over the lake toward the Rift.

“We’d do well to cultivate Hawke’s oh-so-nearly-deceased companion as an ally,” replied Dorian diffidently as he glanced back towards the cave. “You _do_ realise who he is? _The_ Anders, destroyer of the Kirkwall Chantry? Imagine having a mage of that power and skill upon our side! Did you ever read his manifesto? I did - he’s quite the skilled wordsmith in his own way. He’d rally nearly every apostate mage in Ferelden to our cause if we but play this right!” He tapped his lip with a gloved finger. “Hmm, though not in those rags... nothing of yours would fit him, you’re too broad in the shoulder - but perhaps....” He unslung his pack and crouched down to rummage through it.

“Meneris, do be a love and perhaps sort out some rations? I think perhaps this would be an excellent place for camp and I dare say everyone could do with food - particularly our new apostate friend?” He glanced back over at the Inquisitor with a bright smile.

“I’d be careful if I were you. He may very well be displeased with us, and you don’t know his feelings on Tevinter. He could be even more volatile than his lovers combined. Consider that Fenris is with him, still and the man he’d have to be in order to remain with him after Kirkwall? I just want you to be a bit more mindful of what is an offhand comment to you and how others could take it, alright love?” Meneris didn’t try to give the other man a kiss on the cheek as he wished, instead he wandered towards the cave.

Dorian had turned his attention back to the contents of his pack; after a moment, he pulled a couple of garments out, together with a couple of other items before following Meneris back towards the cave. He glanced over towards the Warden and Hawke; whatever the Warden had to say, it seemed Hawke was none too pleased to hear it. Doubtless they would learn whatever it was before too long.

Meneris was crouched by the banked fire in the cave, sorting through rations, when Dorian ducked into the cave. The Tevinter mage spared him a glance then turned to Anders and Fenris. The elf bristled immediately Dorian caught his eye, but Dorian merely smiled and turned to Anders. He tossed the garments over to the pallet. “You look pretty lanky and tall, but hopefully these will fit; that tunic’s always been a little too long on me to be practical. And blue simply isn’t my colour.” He winked then turned away.

Fenris grumbled under his breath but didn’t voice his objection. Instead he gathered the items up and offered his arm to help Anders to his feet. “Come I’ll take us to the stream we saw on the way here.”

“Oh, you might find this useful?” suggested Dorian, turning back to hold a small bag out to Anders. “For the beard.” He flashed the other mage a dazzling grin then made his way over to Meneris.

“Oh... thank you,” said Anders, distractedly, as he hefted the bag in his hand before turning to Fenris, leaning into the support of the elf’s strong arm.

The warrior bit his tongue and helped his lover along instead. He waited until he’d gotten Anders to the stream and undressed before he started to disrobe too. “Poncy, fuckheaded, smart ass. I should have snatched the life from him when I met him.” 

Anders stripped off the filthy rags, discarding them where they fell, then sat down on a large flat stone by the water’s edge to open the bag; he pulled out a bar of sweet-scented soap, a small pair of scissors and a straight-edged razor, laying them out on the stone beside him. “Oh, I don’t know; he seems a decent enough fellow. Helpful.” He put a foot into the stream then swore. “Ugh, no matter the time of year, all the water round Calenhad is freezing. And to think I actually swam it fully dressed! I was much younger then, mind you.” He took up the soap and began to scrub himself, shivering slightly.

“He’s an Altus and he stared at me like I was back on the sales block. If I rip his tongue out is that a compromise to killing him?” Fenris snarled as he glared at the shaving kit Dorian had handed his mage. “It’s...that’s exactly like the one I had to use when shaving Danarius. I don’t know if …” he swallowed and went back to scrubbing himself down so he could help his lover.

Anders’ hands slowed and he stared down at the ornate razor. He was silent for a moment, then glanced up at the elf. “Fen. I can shave myself. It’s OK.” His voice was gentle, his amber eyes soft and understanding.

“You could barely hold a potion vial. Maybe Hawke should do that for you. I’m sorry,” Fenris whispered. 

Anders reached out a hand towards Fenris wordlessly.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m supposed to be helping you after all.” The elf slipped under the water to rinse off before he rose up and held his hand out for the soap and washing cloth.

Anders handed them to him, then rinsed himself off hastily before donning the borrowed clothes. The pants were a little on the short side but it wasn’t obvious once he’d laced up his boots and carefully wound lengths of bandage around the gap between boot tops and pant legs. The shirt and tunic fit fairly well, though the sleeves were a little on the short side. 

Anders ran his hands through his hair then fingercombed it before pulling it back out of his face, tying it back with a scrap of rag, then he glanced over to Fenris. “Love?” he asked gently.

“Come, Hawke will be concerned if we take too long. You can ask him to help you shave, I don't’ feel confident you won’t slice your neck open by accident.” Fenris offered his arm once more.

Anders nodded. He stowed the shaving things back into the little bag then let Fenris help him to his feet.

Dorian was just returning to the cave with a pot of water as they approached; he paused and looked Anders up and down, one eyebrow creeping up slightly as he noticed the bandages below Anders’ knees but saying nothing. His eyes travelled up to the beard then stopped as his mouth pulled down into an expression of mild disapproval. “I should have realised - of course, you wouldn’t want to shave with cold water, and that stream is positively frigid. Come inside; I was about to brew tea anyway.” He tilted his head to one side. “Yes, the tunic suits you far better than it ever did me. Blue simply does nothing for me. Keep it.” He grinned, then ducked into the cave.

Fenris actually growled as he escorted Anders into the cave and towards a pallet. “Here, I’ll let Hawke know you need help,” the elf stalked off towards Invictus and Loghain, his expression taut as he spoke then headed back out of the cave to be left alone.

Loghain excused himself to go retrieve the deer he’d cached earlier whilst hunting. Invictus returned to the cave to find Dorian chatting animatedly to Anders, who looked a little overwhelmed but a little more himself; he was cradling a mug of tea in his hands which he sipped from slowly. He glanced up as Invictus entered, and gave his lover a smile.

“Making friends I see,” Vic said with a glare at the other mage. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to shave you, I’ll have hot water ready.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, love,” replied Anders, a little nonplussed over Invictus’ hostility towards the other mage.

“I’ll leave you to it - perhaps we could carry on the discussion later?” suggested Dorian as he rose to his feet, giving Anders a brief pat on the knee as he rose. “I should go find Cole anyway.” He headed towards the cave exit.

“No need to stop on my account, it’s not like we’re going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest. I’m going to find the Inquisitor and see what our next steps are.” Vic leaned in and kissed Anders’ scruffy cheek before he stepped back to look for Meneris.

Invictus almost missed the quiet Dalish man as he figured out rations. If not for the call of his name he’d have gone right out of the cave.

“Hawke, what’s the matter? You just said you wanted to speak with me but almost went right past.,” Meneris asked. 

Dorian paused in the entrance to the cave, glancing back at Invictus then over at the bewildered Anders. “ _Vishante kaffras_ , will no-one do anything about the poor man’s beard?” he muttered. He threw his hands up, then marched back over to Anders. Seating himself next to the blond apostate, he reached for the shaving bag. “Hold still, and let me sort out this atrocious beast sprouting from your face. You could almost put Blackwall to shame, I swear.” He tutted, then brandished the pair of scissors. 

Anders’ eyes widened briefly, then he closed his eyes and held still obediently as the Tevinter mage set to work.

Invictus sat with Meneris and began to help him sort out the various packets. “Apologies, seeing Anders nearly dead has gotten to both of us. I’d feared the worst.”

Dorian had soon snipped off most of the beard, leaving long rough stubble. “Best to keep still now, no talking,” he murmured as he began to lather Anders’ face then set to work with the razor with deft, sure strokes.

“I’m sorry, I’m glad you’ve been reunited. Did you have a productive chat with your warden contact at least?” Meneris asked.

“Somewhat, most of what we discussed can wait until we’re back at Skyhold. Once Anders is up to it, we’ll help with that Rift, then back to the fortress,” Vic said as he made a face at a square leather packet. “What’s this?”

“Dried boar meat, not the most succulent thing but good for field rations,” the elf replied.

“You’ll likely find this more to your taste,” remarked Loghain as he returned to the cave with the skinned and gutted carcass of a deer. He grunted in approval as Dorian sat back and wiped a last smear of shaving soap from Anders’ cleanshaven chin. “ _Now_ I’d recognise you, Anders,” he nodded. 

Anders nodded his thanks to Dorian, who waved them off as he busied himself tidying away his shaving kit.

Vic turned to see the other mages and his jaw clenched so hard he swore he heard his teeth creak in protest. “I will not flip out, I will not flip out,” he murmured to himself.

Anders trailed a finger along his smooth jaw. “I feel almost naked,” he quipped; his smile held a hint of the old Anders. He glanced over at Invictus. “Better?” he asked innocently.

“Much, you don’t look half-starved and about to cross the veil. Get some more food in you and maybe Fenris will stop seeming as if he’s going to murder the next person who looks at him sideways.” Vic said.

“That’s my cue to help with dinner, I’ll talk with you later Hawke.” Meneris skirted around the Champion and headed towards Loghain and the animal he was preparing.

“This beast’s a bit large to roast over this fire. Inquisitor, I could use a hand setting this to roast outside? Too crowded in here anyway. I suggest you set up tents outside or pick one of the other caves for yourselves; you’ll not all fit in here.” Loghain jerked his head towards the cave mouth.

“And I should go look for Cole. I didn’t hear any screaming whilst we were busy in here, so I can only assume he has been avoiding Fenris,” remarked Dorian. He lifted an eyebrow at Anders. “Hmm, what’s that term you Southerners use? You ‘scrub up well’,” he remarked. “You wouldn’t look out of place on any street in Minathrous itself. I could just picture you in the Senate in fact.”

Anders blanched. “No. No, I think not,” he replied firmly. 

“Did I say something out of turn?” asked Dorian, frowning slightly. “My apologies. I seem to have touched a nerve unawares.”

“I’d... rather not discuss it, if it’s all the same,” replied Anders tersely, one hand inching unbidden towards his throat as he darted a look at Invictus.

“A thousand pardons, dear fellow. Evidently a tale there, but never fear; I have enough demons of my own not to pry into those of a fellow mage,” Dorian replied.

Anders closed his eyes. “Please, just - I’d like to be alone with Hawke for a little while.”

“Of course,” replied Dorian quietly. He inclined his head then glanced to Invictus, the small frown still creasing his brow as he turned to follow Loghain and Meneris out of the cave.

“Are you alright? I didn’t realize you were so desperate for a shave, I’d have shooed him off rather than let him touch you love.” Hawke sat down behind Anders and pulled him against his chest. “Much better, so glad to have you in my arms again.”

“The shave wasn’t so bad, and that beard was so unbearably itchy,” shrugged Anders. “But I would sooner put all thought of Tevinter firmly behind me.” He rubbed his throat and swallowed hard. “Between everything that happened there, and Solon-” He broke off, looking queasy and pale. “Maker’s breath.” He leaned into Invictus’ embrace. “I’ve caused you no end of heartache and worry. I’m sorry, love.”

“Yeah, our newest mage friend has already angered Fenris and he’s not really made a good impression on me. However, we need them for now and Skyhold is as good as anywhere else to recover and plan on our next steps. Do you need a nap love?” Vic asked.

“Maybe,” Anders said slowly. “Maker knows I’m certainly tired enough... would you hold me as I sleep?” he asked as he toed off his boots then stretched out on the pallet.

“Of course, hopefully Fenris will return and join us. He’s so wound up, I’m worried,” Vic said as he got comfortable enough for his lover to relax.

Anders sighed softly, then closed his eyes; within minutes he was asleep, his breathing deep and even, his body limp.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris asks a question of the Inquisitor that he's unwilling to answer himself. Meneris needs to level in Diplomacy without Josephine to help. Hilarity does not ensue

Fenris had found a spot where he thought he could be alone with his thoughts. Instead of quiet, he’d apparently been found by Meneris. 

The dalish Inquisitor sat down near his fellow elf but not close enough to crowd the other warrior.“Copper for your thoughts.” 

“I’m not that cheap,” Fenris muttered.

“Turn of phrase, not literal. I just came to check on you, I can leave if you wish to remain alone.” Meneris glanced back to the cave entrance, sure he was about to be dismissed.

“Stay or not, it is your choice. I simply needed to get away from that cave, settle my nerves,” the other elf replied.

Meneris nodded and remained; his gaze occasionally passed over the silver lines on the other elf’s skin. 

“Lyrium, not Vallaslin before you ask.” Fenris said when he caught the Inquisitor looking at him curiously. “I don’t know how I survived or why I’m still sane. Now what else would you ask of me?” 

“You’re certainly blunt, I’ll give you that,” Meneris replied. “I would ask how you fare now that you know your lover is alive, if not well - and what is it you want from the Inquisition.” 

“I don’t know. Seeing him nearly die at your demon’s hand was unnerving,” admitted the silver haired elf. “Hawke has met with his contact but we said we’d help with that... Rift, you called it, across the water. After that, I do not know what our plans are.” 

There was a distant shout of “Cole, what the _deuce_ do you think you...!” and then a loud splash from the direction of the edge of the lake. Meneris glanced over and his lips quirked in a brief smirk before he glanced back to Fenris. “I will not deny that I welcome every aid you can give against the rift. Though I have the means to close it,” he glanced down at his clenched hand briefly, “It’s my experience that rifts tend to be frequented by demons and fell spirits. It’s my understanding, from what Varric has told me, that the Champion and yourself are very adept at battling such entities.”

Fenris glanced at Meneris’ closed hand. “We have more experience than I’ve wanted to earn. Granted, I had more than I’d wanted before I’d left Tevinter.” 

“Believe me, I’ve had far more than I’d ever dreamed of in the past month alone, let alone since Haven,” sympathised Meneris. “I have little choice though; the rift is there, and needs must be dealt with - I have the feeling you know how that goes.” The elven Inquisitor glanced at the white-haired warrior briefly and held his gaze a moment before Meneris glanced over at the lake shore. “My word,” he muttered to himself. “Cole didn’t.... oh dear. He did.”

Dorian stalked slowly back up the shale beach, sparing only a brief, dour glance at the Inquisitor before he continued on towards the cave, wet and dripping. Cole was following a few steps behind, staring at Dorian curiously.

Fenris cackled, the sound loud as it carried across the shore towards the cave. “He looked like a cat that got dunked for a bath.” 

Dorian paused briefly by the cave mouth, one hand bracing against the stone before the Tevinter mage ducked his head and entered the cave.

“Oh dear. I’ll have to talk to him,” sighed Meneris.

“He’s a mage, he’ll dry himself off and get over it.” Fenris snickered as he got to his feet and glanced at the cave then to the other elf. “Why him? You’re Dalish, he’s one step away from being a Magister, so why?”

Meneris arched an eyebrow then cocked his head to one side as he stared at Fenris. “I could ask you the same question,” he said quietly. “ _Two_ mages. Both apostates. One the destroyer of the Kirkwall Chantry and, if rumour has it, an abomination at that. Why _him_?” Meneris held Fenris’ gaze a moment longer then got to his feet and headed back towards the cave. He paused, glancing not quite over his shoulder. “Dorian has killed fewer, I dare say.” Then he continued on toward the cave.

Fenris glared at the back of Meneris’ head for a while then took his seat again, gaze unfocused as he pondered the other elf’s reply. Why was he with either of them?

“I’d offer you a copper for your thoughts, but you look like a man who’s had ‘em chased clean out of his head,” remarked Loghain thoughtfully from his place by the fire pit. “Give me a hand turning this deer?”

Fenris didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure about this Loghain and had only a hint of who the man was. Ferelden history wasn’t a subject Danarius really schooled him in. Instead he helped the other man turn his catch while he continued to ponder things.

He was aware of the dark-haired man regarding him thoughtfully from time to time; but whatever Loghain’s thoughts, the Warden kept them to himself. As the evening drew on, he presently nodded to Fenris. “Best fetch the others; this venison will be done soon,” he grunted.

“Sure, if you can make a plate I’ll take it to Anders he shouldn’t try to get up yet.” Fenris replied as he stretched and headed towards the cave. He entered to find Vic doing his own wool gathering as Anders used him as a pillow, and Meneris had stretched out, while Dorian still seemed put out. The Tevinter mage had changed his clothing and slicked back his wet hair, but seemed to be brooding quietly to himself. He glanced up as Fenris entered, then glanced behind the elf before getting to his feet. He glanced to Meneris and tilted his head a little to one side, then shrugged and headed out towards the shale beach.

Fenris didn’t pay him any mind as he nudged Anders awake. “Let Vic up, I’ll bring you food in a bit.” 

Anders started awake with a low cry; his eyes were wide and blank for a moment, seeming to stare straight through Fenris before he came back to himself slowly. “Fenris? Where... oh.” He stared around the cave, blinking in confusion, then shuddered. “I can still hear it. The singing.”

“Hmmm, perhaps you should speak with Loghain about that. I’ll be back shortly with a plate.” Fenris beckoned to Invictus to follow him back to the fire pit.

Anders followed them out a few minutes later, to Fenris’ surprise; the blond apostate seemed a little more himself as he sat down on a driftwood log within arm’s reach of Invictus. Loghain grunted quiet approval as he handed a plate of food to Anders.

Fenris scowled as he poked at his own dinner and remained sullen as the night carried on. He finally answered Vic when he’d been asked for the fifth time what his problem was.

“You look like you were served fish instead of venison, why are you so sour?” Vic asked quietly.

The elven fighter sat his plate aside with a huff… “I got my question turned back on me, and it’s put me in a mood.”

Anders’ attention seemed entirely upon his food; he’d finished up his serving quite swiftly and didn’t even glance up as Loghain slid a second helping in front of him. Loghain himself was already on his third plate.

“Want to talk about it? We can go back while they are eating love.” Vic was worried, it wasn’t like Fenris to be so open about his moods. He hated the “slave face” his lover had, but had expected it during their travels.

Dorian leaned over to Meneris and murmured something whilst staring at Anders, then laughed at Meneris’ rejoinder and turned back to his own food with a broad smile. He seemed to have put his inadvertent dunking behind him.

The elf grinned at his lover’s improved mood, but he was surprised at how Fenris seemed to still be bothered. “What’s the matter? Still pondering my question to you? Or do you just dislike having the tables turned that much?” Meneris asked.

“What question?” asked Anders, curious, as he glanced up from his plate. He glanced to Fenris. 

If the white haired elf’s gaze could have felled the Inquisitor then and there, they’d be short one saviour. “Go on then, might as well say it yourself since you’ve let the cat out.” 

Anders stared at the elven Inquisitor, bewildered. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“He asked how I could be with Dorian, so I turned his question back on him and it seems to have gotten to my fellow elf. Thought it was interesting considering who he’s involved with to ask me such a thing. It also seems to have caught him out.” Meneris leaned back casually, his gaze on the other elf as he waited.

Fenris to his credit didn’t explode in rage, instead he got up and walked away. He’d vowed to keep his temper in check after the altercation with Dorian but he wouldn’t sit and be baited either.

Anders’ hands had stilled on his plate as Meneris spoke, and as Fenris walked away they began to shake. He clutched the plate hard to steady them. “Who he’s involved with.” He swallowed hard. “You mean me. You mean, how could he be involved with a murderer. An abomination. A butcher. That’s what you mean. Go on, you can say it. It’s the truth, after all.”

Meneris glanced towards the cave and the muted blue he could barely make out before he glanced to Anders. “An abomination yes, and from what I heard about Kirkwall, I was surprised to see him so broken up over you and with another mage to boot. He asked me first, I simply turned his inquiry back on him and it’s seemed to struck a nerve. I have promised I will not harm you Anders, or any of you. We need your help, I know Cassandra would have preferred the Champion over an elf that happened to be caught in the middle. You should go to him, I didn’t think he would be so...distressed by our exchange.” 

Invictus glared at Meneris before he helped Anders to his feet. “I suggest you leave us be until we need to set out, Inquisitor.”

“Of _course_ you won’t hurt me - you can’t make a dead man Tranquil, can you?” spat Anders. He stiffened as Invictus took his arm; for a moment he looked as though he might wrench himself away, but then thought better of it. “Whatever I may have done, I will pay for it. Fenris knows that. But he also knows - he knows I -” He broke off, and turned towards Invictus. “Fenris needs us. Let’s go. Explanations can wait.”

Meneris glanced away, sure he’d offended deeply when he’d only tried to bait Fenris a bit. He flinched when he saw the expression on Loghain’s face. “I’ll speak with them tomorrow, don’t look at me like that.” 

“Inquisitor Lavellan, whatever else Anders may be - first and foremost, he is a Grey Warden. I suggest you keep that in mind,” said Loghain quietly, a steely threat in his voice. “I suggest you will say nothing unless and until Anders raises this particular subject himself. And if you have an issue with the company the Champion keeps, maybe you need to keep it to yourself. If you need a man, it’s best not to drive him away or make an enemy of him first, hmm? And Maker knows, you need all the friends you can get right now. As do we all.”

“As you say, Warden Mac Tir. I will apologize before we break camp.” Meneris replied before he shook his head at Dorian. He could tell his mage was a step away from exploding in exasperation. 

“Leave it, this was my foolishness. I shouldn’t have tried to have him on not about that. Come we should all rest, it’s a long trek to that Rift by the Dam.” 

“Far be it for me to tell the Inquisitor how to handle matters of diplomacy,” drawled Dorian quietly. “But Josephine would have your - what’s that charming Ferelden phrase? Ah yes, ‘guts for garters’ I believe is the term I heard Cullen using. Honestly, Meneris, I thought you wanted the Champion’s help, not his ire? And you don’t want to get on the wrong side of Fenris, believe me,” he added as he rubbed his chest ruefully. “As for Anders....” He tutted quietly and shook his head. “Come, let us set up our camp in one of the other caves. I shall endeavour to charm the handsome blond apostate and smooth matters in the morning. Fenris and Hawke I shall leave to you however.” He got to his feet then sighed. “Come, Meneris, don’t look so hang-dog. Leave the Fereldens to themselves, and we shall make amends in the morning.” He stepped closer to the elven Inquisitor. “And maybe I can take your mind off matters for the present?” He arched an eyebrow and gave a small half-smile as he inclined his head towards the nearest empty cave.

The sudden affection from his lover was enough to throw Meneris for a loop as he was helped up and nudged towards said cave. They weren’t alone and while Dorian could be ...expressive, often he was loud, to the point Bull or Josie in her quiet way had teased him. “I’d like that ...but you know I’m not, subtle.”

Dorian took his hand and drew him into the cave. “I can be... when the need arises,” he said with that same lop-sided half-smile. “I’m sure I can coach you as need be.” He dropped Meneris’ hand as the entered the cave then backed away a few paces, his hands drifting to the buckles of his overtunic. “Don’t think on it now, however,” he suggested.

“As you wish my heart, how about you simply keep me too busy to make noise?” Meneris asked as he shed his armor as he made his way to the bedroll Dorian had put down for them. Everything else could wait, for the moment his mind was on the man before him.

**

Meanwhile Fenris had curled up on the bedroll that had been vacated before dinner, his eyes closed and his back to the entrance. 

“I don’t care who he is, he had no right to say anything,” Anders was arguing quietly as he and Invictus returned to the cave. “What is it to him who any of us love? As though either you or Fenris were somehow responsible for my crimes?”

“I know love, I know. I wish I hadn’t asked in front of them, but what’s done is done. Right now I’m more concerned with our silent lover over there.” Vic said in annoyance. He knelt down in front of Fenris and called to him, since he knew just reaching out could go badly. 

“Hey, we’re here now...what do you need?” Vic asked as he glanced to Anders. The blond apostate dropped to his knees, his hands by his sides as he stared at Fenris.

“Love?” he asked quietly. “We’re alone. Just the three of us.”

Reluctantly Fenris sat up and looked to them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk off like that and worry you.”

Anders shook his head. “No, you have no reason to apologise,” he said gently. “He should never have said anything. And if anyone should be sorry, it is I for putting you in that place to begin with. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself for what I’ve done. It wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to answer for.”

“I started it, I asked him how he could be with a mage that was just a step away from being a Magister. Knowing full well I am pledged to both of you. My hypocrisy came back to me, and it’s bothered me ever since.” Fenris sounded sullen as he picked at a loose thread rather than look at his two lovers.

“Bullshit, that’s bullshit and you know it. It’s something you asked because he is an elf, and Tevinter has harmed you, so much more than he’d understand. I get why you asked; though I hate that he was so damned smug at your discomfort. Please don’t turn in on yourself,” Vic asked as he sat in front of his lover, and offered his hands rather than pulling Fenris into his arms as he wished.

Anders sat back on his heels and looked thoughtful. “Ah. A bit like how you questioned yourself when first you fell for Invictus?” he guessed shrewdly. “And, I guess, probably again when you both invited me in? I know you wrestled with that a lot, inside. It’s hard when someone takes your own thoughts and questions and throws them back at you.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’ve been there myself.”

“I...I wish we’d never fucking answered Varric’s letter.” Fenris mumbled before he crawled into Invictus’ arms and reached to Anders as well. 

“Do you want to leave? We’ve made contact with Loghain, found Anders...I won’t have you hurt Fenris. Inquisitor Lavellan can manage without us I’m sure.” Vic said.

“It’s... not that simple,” grimaced Anders as he took Fenris’ hand and slid an arm around Invictus’ waist, spooning up against the Champion’s side. “There’s my Calling. Loghain thinks it’s some trick of Corypheus, but it _feels_ real enough. If I leave now, then I just know it’ll only get worse - and believe me, you two don’t want to see me go through that. Maker, _I_ don’t want you to see me going through that. If this is some trick of Corypheus’ though, then much though I hate to say it - sticking with this Inquisitor might be the best chance I’ve got. Maybe my only chance. Loghain tells me that Lavellan is against Corypheus and -” He broke off, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “And I know you’re there, Loghain,” he called over his shoulder. “You can’t hide from me. I’ve been a Warden longer than you have.”

“So you have,” remarked Loghain as he ducked into the cave. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but Anders is right. The Inquisition has the resources we lack. There’s corruption in the Wardens, and there are few I dare trust right now. The Wardens need all the allies we can get, and if the Inquisition is standing against Corypheus than that puts us on the same side - for now. I will not try to persuade you to join us, Champion; but Anders is a Warden.”

“Duty calls,” said Anders bitterly. “Once a Warden, always a Warden.”

“Let’s discuss that later, I am rather reluctant to let him go almost as soon as we’ve been reunited,” Vic said while Fenris glared at Loghain rather balefully.

Loghain shrugged. “No-one’s going anywhere right now,” he replied as he moved about the cave, gathering up a few items. “You three can have this cave to yourselves tonight; it’ll be crowded enough with just you as it is. I’ll take first watch; the Inquisitor is taking second. Hawke, you can take third watch with Fenris.” He nodded to the Champion. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning. For now, I suggest you get some rest.” He gave Anders one last glance, and then left them.

“One more person looks at you like they want to snatch you away, I will beat people with my sword,” Fenris rumbled.

Anders curled up against them both. “No-one’s snatching me anywhere,” he muttered. He drew Fenris’ hand to his lips and kissed the lyrium-lined fingers gently. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you both. I thought I would go to the Deep Roads and never see your faces again.”

“I’d drag you both from the Void before I’d let anyone have you. Let us sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long, rough day.” Fenris gave Anders a long, drawn-out kiss before he gave the same to Invictus. “I love you both, and I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“I believe you would at that,” murmured Anders. “Andraste’s knickerweasels, if anyone could, I bet it would be you!” He smiled.

He drifted to sleep that night between both Fenris and Invictus. Whatever the morning would bring, for these few hours at least they were together and safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warden Business, misunderstandings and irritation abounds all before the morning fast has been broken.

They were woken the next morning by the sounds of voices outside the cave. After a moment of lying there between Fenris and Invictus, Anders pushed himself up on one elbow.

“Is that ... Varric?” he asked slowly.

“I thought we’d left him and his tall tales back at their fortress,” Fenris murmured from where he remained on the furs.

“Maybe he’s got some good news?” Vic said as he sat up.

Anders frowned and reached for his borrowed tunic. “That suggests there’s been a lot of bad news lately,” he said slowly as he tugged it on. “What’s happened since I got lost and shipwrecked?”

“Ask the elf with the glowing hand, he’s got a big part to play in all this,” Fenris replied as he forced himself awake. He had been comfortable but with everyone moving, he knew sleep time was done.

“Come on love, I know you aren’t a morning person but we’re not close to any kind of creature comfort out here. Let’s see what our hirsute roguish friend has to say.” Vic kissed Fenris on the forehead lightly before he was brushed away with a grunt.

“Stop that...not a child,” Fenris muttered as he brushed his bangs back down with a half-hearted glare at his lover. He didn’t mind affection, but not around a bunch of strangers.

Anders got to his feet and stretched, his spine popping audibly as he arched backwards, then he braced a hand against the stone wall of the cave as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He shook his head to dispel the ringing in his ears, but it persisted. He frowned.

“We’ll probably all feel more human after something to eat,” he said, dismissing the faint singing with an effort. “Maybe there’s some of that roast venison left.”

“I hope so, I’m hungry after not really having much last night,” Fenris said as he packed up his things.

Anders glanced around, but his belongings were meagre. He’d managed to lose most of what he’d scavenged along the way, and his staff was merely a length of ash stolen from some poor woman’s washing line in the first village he’d passed through. The small iron cooking pot was doubtless still sitting in the field where he’d been overcome by the fever a few days previously. He shrugged and reached for the staff then glanced to Invictus.

Fenris came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Anders gently with a sigh. “I’m very glad you’re still with us,” he whispered. Anders lifted a hand to press Fenris’ fingers gently.

“I’m still not quite sure how,” Anders confessed. “But at least we’re all together again now.” He glanced over to Invictus, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a familiar, lopsided smile.

“Yeah and whatever happens here, we’re sticking together.” Vic gave Anders a brief press of the lips before he pulled back. “When you’re done, I’ll be down by the fire pit.” 

Anders raised an eyebrow in mute query, then glanced sideways as he turned his head slightly, tilting his head almost imperceptibly towards Fenris before a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “Sure,” he answered, nodding. “We’ll be along in a bit.”

“Sorry...I just, I really needed to remind myself that you are here and alive,” Fenris said as he slowly unwrapped himself from his lover. Anders turned and took Fenris’ hands gently, guiding them to his hips as he stared down at the elf before lifting his hands to cup Fenris’ cheeks. He bent down and claimed the warrior’s lips with a gentle kiss then smiled at him reassuringly.

“I’m alive and here, and I’m not going anywhere without you, love,” he promised quietly. “You have no idea how much I have thought of you from the moment we were separated, and it was damn near killing me to think I might go to my Calling without ever seeing you again.” He smiled wistfully. “A part of me is terrified this is just a fever dream and I’ll wake up any minute. My whole life has been one long nightmare since the Chantry and nothing seems real anymore.”

“You’re not dreaming...and I’m not letting you go again.” Fenris rested his forehead against Anders’ chest. “I’m sorry...I hope I did not hurt you last night, with my anger at having my question thrown back at me.” 

Anders shook his head. “No, you have every right to be angry - and it’s not as though you were angry at _me_.” He bestowed a soft kiss on the top of Fenris’ head.

“I promised Vic I’d hold in my temper, I don’t want to mess things up for him, or you.” Fenris pulled away gently and went for his pack. He didn’t want to have a meltdown until they were behind stone walls and truly alone. “Come on, we should get going.”

Anders sighed, knowing better than to push when it was obvious Fenris didn’t want to discuss something. “I don’t think you could mess things up, love; I’ve blotted my copybook enough for all of us. You heard the Inquisitor - he knows what I did. Half of bloody Ferelden probably knows by now.” 

“If he even looks at you sideways, I’ll end him,” Fenris snapped. “I don’t care if he’s supposed to be Shartan incarnate, I won’t take him mistreating you or Vic.” 

Anders shook his head, a distant look in his eyes. “No. He can look at me however he wants; Maker knows if all I get are a few dirty looks then that’s far more than I deserve after what I’ve done. I know what I am. But I can be useful to him; after all, of us all, I’ve had Corypheus in my head. He’ll want that knowledge. I don’t think he’s the kind of man who would waste something that’s useful to him.”

Fenris turned and glared at his lover, something dark in his gaze as he rounded on Anders. “No, you will not speak of yourself that way. As a useful thing that has something a powerful man wants and can use. I’ve been there, and you are not that. You will not offer yourself up as some sacrifice either, to keep the Inquisitor and his cronies happy.”

“How many died at my hand, Fenris?” asked Anders softly, his eyes still distant with a faraway look. “How many thousands? How much blood spilt by my actions? And for what? How many more did the Templars slaughter? How many more will die as other Circles are annulled?” He lowered his head. “I am a murderer, Fenris. My hands can never be clean. If the Inquisitor has a use for me, then I’ll serve his purpose willingly and consider myself lucky he didn’t order me executed on the spot.”

“Stop saying these things, you don’t owe him your life. You don’t owe them your blood, please...they don’t know _you_ , Anders. They don’t know you weren’t yourself, but that witch enthralled you. Please stop saying these things, don’t give yourself away from us,” Fenris pleaded.

Anders lifted his head slowly, and his eyes were red-rimmed, glimmering with unshed tears. “Is this how you felt when you slew the Fog Warriors?” he whispered brokenly. “This empty feeling inside? The guilt, gnawing away at you? When they captured us on Seheron, you would have submitted willingly to death at their hands. Why should I not - I don’t understand -” He lifted a hand and scrubbed at his face. “How do you _live_ with something like this, Fenris? I killed _thousands!_ ”

Fenris reeled back and blinked, shocked that Anders had pulled out that recollection of Fenris’ past with the Fog Warriors. “I...I…”

Anders drew in a ragged lungful of air, and cast his eyes wildly around the cave. “It’s too dark in here. Too small. I can’t breathe.” He stumbled towards the exit. “I...I need air....” 

Fenris moved aside and let Anders go; he needed a moment to collect himself. Seheron was something he’d put aside in his mind, and having it dropped at his feet again, especially when he felt out of his element was almost too much. They hadn’t understood why he’d given himself up, and even with Anders’ crimes, he didn’t know if the mage truly grasped it. He trudged out finally with his pack and Anders’ staff in his hands. He dropped them off where Vic held their lover and he kept walking towards the shore. Behind him he could hear Anders demanding that Invictus let him go, even as Varric and Loghain asked what was going on.

Fenris stopped when he realized he’d walked into the water almost up to his calves. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that wasn’t running in circles, that Anders hadn’t accused him, but it was overshadowed by his lover’s seeming insistence on throwing himself at the Inquisitor’s mercy if asked for help.

“Bit cold for a swim,” remarked a deep voice from somewhere behind and to his right. “Most people usually take their clothes off for a dip.” 

Startled, Fenris glanced around and found he was not alone. A little farther down the shore, a large Qunari sat upon a rock, slowly polishing an immense two-handed sword. He seemed quite unlike most other Qunari Fenris had ever encountered; his clothing did not speak of purpose to the Qun, he wore no vitaar, and an eyepatch obscured one eye. His immense horns spread to either side of his head like some great bull; and suddenly Fenris remembered the Inquisitor and Dorian referring to someone as “the Bull”. This must be who they were referring to.

“Just kept walking, didn’t feel it at first,” Fenris said as he got out of the frigid water and headed for a rock to sit on, feeling curious in spite of himself about this strange Qunari who seemed almost... friendly as he gave Fenris a shrug and a lazy smile, then indicated he should feel welcome to sit with a nod of his head towards the stone.

Fenris dropped down gracelessly onto the stone and sighed. He sat there aimlessly for a few minutes, pulling a few stalks of water-weed out of his boots then he remained still. He figured someone would call out when they needed to go, and the Qunari seemed affable enough company as he sat there polishing his sword. Whoever he was, he seemed content to leave Fenris to his own thoughts however, though his one good eye flicked up to regard the elf with friendly interest from time to time before returning to the sword.

It was Fenris who broke the silence first. “So... you must be the one they call Bull?” he asked tentatively. The Qunari looked up, laid his polishing cloth aside and guffawed.

“ _The_ Iron Bull, if you please,” he chuckled. “I like having an article at the front. It makes it sound like I'm not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction... That really works for me.” He shrugged. “I guess you can see how I got the name, eh?” He tilted his head, with those immense bull-like horns.

“You are... not like other Qunari I’ve ever known,” Fenris said slowly.

“Yeah? You seen many of us?”

“I was... a slave. In Tevinter. I spent some time on Seheron.”

“Ah, that’ll explain the weird silver shit you got carved all over you. Damn Vints. Bet that was painful, huh? Yeah, the Vints like that kind of crap - cut a man up, do their little blood magic shit.” He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Looks cool though, and I’ll bet it does more than just look pretty. So, got a name, elf?”

“Fenris.”

“‘Little Wolf’ eh? I like it!” 

Fenris bristled reflexively at the hated nickname he had heard so often from Danarius’ lips; but the Bull’s smile was warm and friendly, and Fenris found himself starting to warm to this strange Qunari who was unlike any other he had ever known.

 

***

Meneris sighed as he got dressed; he’d missed the argument but he had heard bits of the conversation floating through to them. “Mythal save us, or maybe Bull can help Fenris warm up to us after I’ve apologized for putting my foot in it with him.” He held his hand out to Dorian for a moment, hopeful that the privacy of the cave would make his lover eager for a bit of affection before they had to face everyone.

Dorian straightened from where he had been crouching over his pack, stowing his gear away; he glanced back over his shoulder at Meneris. His eyes darted briefly towards the cave entrance as if weighing up the likelihood of an interruption before he rose to his feet and took his lover’s hand with a warm smile. “Maybe the Bull’s rough charms will suffice where my golden tongue has so dismally failed, you mean?” he said with a self-deprecating smirk.

“Two warriors have more things in common than an Altus and an ex-slave my heart. Charming as you are, I’m the one who made a mess of things so let me put it right.” Meneris gave his mage another lingering kiss before he grabbed his pack and headed off towards the fire and hopefully breakfast.

Anders was sitting on a log of driftwood near the remains of last night’s campfire; the blond apostate was bent over, his head in his hands, staring at the ground. Across the fire, Loghain was stirring up the embers and adding fresh wood; a skillet was set over the rekindled flames, something sizzling in the cast-iron pan. Hawke and Varric were conversing in low tones, Invictus darting frequent worried looks at Anders who seemed to be ignoring everyone.

Dorian followed Meneris out of the cave and took in the sight. “Well, well. Aren’t we all a cheerful bunch this morning?” he mused quietly.

Invictus glanced up and glared at Meneris. “What’s the plan Inquisitor? I’m ready to get this done.”

Loghain sat back on his heels, giving the contents of the pan a cursory glance before rising to his feet. “I believe that for the moment, our paths are the same; we need to investigate where the Grey Wardens under Warden-Commander Clarel have gone. This Calling seems likely some trick of Corypheus; what he purposes to do with the Grey Wardens we have yet to discover. I suggest that investigating this takes precedence over the rift you found earlier - at least for the moment.”

“Then can we reconvene at Skyhold? I’d like to take care of Anders and to see what else is going on before we trek hither and yon looking for the wardens,” Vic said.

“As to that, I have some idea of where they’ve gone - but it will be easier to track them with two Grey Wardens than only one,” replied Loghain, staring pointedly at Anders. “Most of the wardens that fled with Clarel were mages. Corypheus evidently has some sort of ritual planned - though what he intends to do with the non-mage wardens, I have no idea,” he shrugged. “Nothing good though, I’ll wager.”

“Anders isn’t up to tracking a wet dog through sand right now. I strongly suggest we go back to Skyhold and get him fully healed and make a plan,” Vic said as he glanced at Loghain then back to Anders.

“Anders is fully capable of making his own mind up about what he’s capable of,” Anders muttered, not looking up. “And I would prefer to just get on and deal with whatever Corypheus is up to. The sooner the better.”

“Fine then, do what you want Anders. I’m going to find Fenris so we can get on the way to wherever it is we’re going.” Vic snarled and headed off to where he hoped where the elf had gone.

Anders finally lifted his head and watched him go, his expression unreadable. Then he got to his feet, reaching for his staff before heading towards the lake shore in the opposite direction to Hawke.

“Oh now, isn’t this just marvellous?” exclaimed Dorian in a tone of faint dismay. “This is going to be such fun, I can’t _tell_ you how much I’m looking forward to this. You do take me on the most delightful excursions, Meneris; and with such wonderful companions.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he shrugged then headed over to the fireplace to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot standing near the fire.

“Don’t Dorian, this is one of those times to listen to that voice in the back of your head going maybe I should be quiet. Oh wait you don’t have that do you?” Meneris whispered as he knelt to get his own drink.

“Oh good grief,” muttered Dorian. “Not you as well!” He got back up to his feet. “Fine, you can all grump together then. I’m going to go and find Cole. And try to _avoid_ falling in the lake this time; it’s too bloody cold for that.” He stomped away, irritated.

Varric glanced around. “Maybe I should have brought Josephine,” he said slowly. “I turn my back for a few days....” He shook his head.

**

Fenris was deep in conversation when he heard someone stomping through their way towards them. He turned to find Invictus looking rather harried. “Time to go?”

“Always someone in a hurry around here,” shrugged the Bull. “This your friend Hawke then?” He picked up the immense two-handed sword and slung it on his back as he stood, rolling his immense shoulders to settle the weight of the blade upon his back.

“Ummm, yes?” Vic said as he backed away from the massive weapon and the more massive Qunari.

The Bull stared down at him then shrugged. “Huh. Always thought you’d be taller.” He glanced at Fenris. “I guess it’s time to head into camp. You get a problem like that again, you come talk to Bull, OK? Just give him space and see how it goes.” He turned back to Invictus and jerked a thumb at the white-haired warrior. “Your elf friend is OK. I look forward to fighting alongside him.” He grunted then headed off in the direction of the camp.

“Your friend Hawke?” Vic said as he stared at Bull’s back. “Maker he’s bigger than the Arishok.”

Fenris rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “He is... not like other Qunari.” He scuffed a pebble with one foot then glanced after the Bull. “We should go back.”

“I wanted to check on you, you rushed off like that. And I’ve pissed off Anders too, so it’s going to be a fun walk wherever we’re headed now,” Vic said as he approached his lover.

“I... needed a little time to process something Anders said to me,” Fenris said slowly. “Something I thought I had come to terms with myself, but I had not - I had merely buried it beneath other concerns.” He looked remorseful. “I walked away from him when he needed my support; I should not have done that. I was... a little in shock myself, I think.” He glanced up at Invictus. “But what could _you_ have done to upset him?”

“Loghain was pushing for us to go after the lead on the Wardens and this false Calling. I might have spoken out of turn and for Anders, you know how he gets when we coddle him a bit too much. This whole trip has been a disaster,” Vic said before he rested his forehead against Fenris’

“Can we just leave? I don’t like how Loghain is trying to get him back into the order.” Fenris sighed. “I know Anders has often said once a Grey Warden, always a Grey Warden - but perhaps it is finally time to put it behind him as far as he is able. If this Calling is false, then let the Inquisition deal with Corypheus. Have we not done enough already? Has not Anders?”

“Honestly yes, but if he’s decided that this is his penance, we’ll have to dissuade him from throwing his lot in with them.” Vic said tiredly.

“Or accept that we go too,” said Fenris grimly. “We will not let him go alone.”

“Let’s just make it through breakfast. Then we can see what’s next.” Vic gave him a kiss before he took Fenris’s hand and headed back towards the camp.

They returned to find the Bull patting Cole on the back and laughing (whilst nearly knocking the spirit flying) as Dorian looked on, smirking slightly as Varric chuckled. Anders had returned and was standing a little way off to one side, sipping from a mug whilst talking quietly with Loghain. The Inquisitor was frowning over a map and a mug of coffee.

Fenris went up to Anders and whispered in his ear to ask for a moment when he was free. Invictus sat by Dorian and took a cup of coffee passed to him without comment.

Anders glanced at Fenris, then looked to Loghain who inclined his head. “We’ll talk about this later,” said the Grey Warden. “You should go talk to your friends. We will have much time to discuss this later on the road.”

Anders nodded, then turned to Fenris as the Grey Warden moved away. 

“What was that about?” asked Fenris, curious.

“Warden business,” said Anders dismissively. “It’s... not important right now.” He smiled gently at Fenris to try and take the sting out of his words. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m still not entirely myself yet. But I _am_ glad you’re both here now. Come on, let’s get breakfast.” He slipped an arm around Fenris’ waist and they walked slowly back towards the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meneris has a healthy dose of crow, Anders learns that his past just won't leave him be when he's caught up on current events. Dorian lets his curiosity get the better of him. Also, Fenris really likes warden blue on a certain apostate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW like whoa towards the end. Warden stamina is put to the test.

Fenris scowled as they walked, no matter how Anders had sweetened his words with a smile, the dismissal about warden business had stung the elf. He was quiet as they walked the short distance, and settled in with his meal.

Vic wasn’t really in the mood for any of it but he’d promised to help the Inquisition. He felt regret over that promise as they had a quiet breakfast, occasionally broken by banter between Varric and Bull.

Anders’ attention was mostly on his food as he sat next to Fenris, but from time to time the slight tilt of his head indicated he was listening to the conversations going on around him. Or listening to _some_ thing, at any rate; from time to time Fenris thought he could hear Anders mutter something under his breath, though when he glanced at the apostate in mute query the blond man’s gaze was distracted.

Meneris ate quickly before he steeled himself to approach Fenris with an apology. Dorian glanced at the elf as he straightened; glancing at the lyrium-lined warrior, he frowned faintly, then patted Meneris encouragingly on the shoulder before getting up to go and brew more coffee.

Fenris was frowning slightly himself, casting a sidelong glance at Anders before turning back to his food.

Meneris came over, expression open as he could manage for someone about to eat crow. “Fenris, may I have a word?”

Fenris stiffened warily; he was aware of Anders’ quiet muttering falling silent next to him. “If you wish... Inquisitor.” 

“If you wouldn’t mind, that is. I know I have little right to ask for your time after the way I treated you yesterday.” Meneris replied.

Fenris’ lips thinned, but he slowly nodded.

“Do you wish to move over a bit so we can speak privately?” Meneris asked, sure the other elf would have it out with him then and there.

Fenris’ frown deepened; he glanced at Anders. The blond apostate glanced up at him, then at Meneris, then shrugged. Leaning over slightly, he kissed Fenris lightly on the cheek before getting to his feet. “I’ll just be over there with Vic,” he said quietly. He glanced over at the Inquisitor again, his expression unreadable, before moving a little way away to sit down next to his other lover.

Fenris exhaled silently through his nose, still frowning. After a moment he inclined his head slightly. “Well, we have privacy. Speak.”

“I wish to apologize for last night. I was trying to have you on a bit, and I realized that I hurt you instead. I’ll admit part of it was a bit…” Meneris struggled for the word he wanted and sighed before he resumed. “I guess I was being mean spirited, but I didn’t want to cause such distress, especially when I was just trying to have a bit of a go at you. If you will accept my apology, I would welcome a chance to start over with you. If not, I will understand.” the Dalish Inquisitor stopped himself before he could ramble on instead of cutting it short.

“I...see,” the white-haired elf rumbled quietly. He set his plate aside and was silent for a moment, before turning towards the other elf. “There is much about Anders that you do not understand. Much as, I dare say, there is to your Altus. But there is far more in common between Anders and myself than you might possibly guess. And when you speak of him as you did last night...” His frown deepened. “Before I can decide whether I can accept your apology or not, I must know this: what are your intentions regarding Anders?” His direct stare held Meneris.

“I’ve no intention of hurting him, or throwing him in a cell. He is here with you and the Champion, and while I have my own feelings about his actions in Kirkwall; it’s not for me decide his fate. Besides, he looks like a man haunted already, worry for what I may do isn’t needed on top of how he probably has battered himself over what was done. Your lovers are safe from me. Commander Cullen may not be willing to put the greater good ahead of punishing him.” Meneris glanced over to Anders then back to Fenris, sure the former templar would explode in rage the second he recognized Anders.

“What if I told you that Anders was... not in control of himself? That he was but a puppet, enthralled by a blood mage?” asked Fenris slowly, watching Meneris carefully, his voice kept low.

“Then that is what it is, I told you I am not going to throw him in a cell the second he sets foot in Skyhold. The threat that hole in the sky poses is greater than his crimes. I swear to you he is safe from me, and I will do my best to keep Cullen from him. You should forewarn him of the commander’s presence at the fortress,” Meneris said just as carefully.

Fenris nodded understanding. “Just so. Should it become necessary for Anders to be... confined... for any reason, it would be best to make it plain he is in the custody of the Champion. Hawke and myself would be able to keep him safe in our quarters. I cannot answer as to what he would do if confined to a cell, particularly by a templar with whom he has... let us say, a less than pleasant shared history from his time in the Circle.” He glanced over at Anders, who seemed oblivious to being discussed, before turning back to Meneris. “Very well. Then... I accept your apology, and perhaps we can... begin anew.”

“Thank you, and if I do forget myself again let me know. I can be...thoughtless.” Meneris gave a slight bow and offered his hand to the other elf. “Meneris Lavellan, pleasure to meet you.” 

Fenris lifted his own hand and stared for a moment at the lyrium brands upon his palm and fingers; steeling himself, he held it out and allowed Meneris to clasp it, the only outward sign of discomfort a slight tightening of his jaw. “Fenris. Likewise.”

The Inquisitor let go when he caught the hesitation. “Your brands cause you pain?”

Fenris grimaced slightly. “Always, though more so at some times than others. It is... tolerable. Do not trouble yourself; I am used to it.” 

“I don’t wish to distress you, especially with starting over. I will be mindful of that should I brush against you in a fight. We should probably break camp and decide where we’re going. I see you’ve met Bull?” Meneris asked, relieved at their chance to begin again.

“Yes, the most un-Qunari-like Qunari I have ever encountered,” nodded Fenris. “And quite unlike any Tal-Vashoth I’ve known either.”

“Bull is special, and we’re glad to have him along. Have you met many Qunari in your travels?” Meneris asked.

“I... have,” allowed Fenris slowly. “The Qunari arrived in Kirkwall not long after I did; there was an... uneasy peace for a while. Hawke had many dealings with their Arishok, and I often accompanied him; I had encountered them before, on Seheron.” His expression became closed and shuttered as he mentioned the disputed isle. After a moment, he shrugged. “But there were none like the Bull.”

“There’s no one like him, that’s for sure.” Meneris agreed. “Come on, I can almost feel them staring a hole in my back.”

Fenris glanced around; Anders was kneeling down by the fire, brewing something, his attention on the herbs he was crushing into the steaming water, but Invictus was staring straight at Meneris with a frown. “Ah. Yes. I believe Hawke would also like to know what your intentions are and where we go from here,” he remarked.

“I’ll tell him just as I told you, I just hope he believes me,” Meneris said quietly.

“It would be best to do so sooner rather than later then,” said Fenris as he straightened, noting that Hawke had risen to his feet now and seemed on the verge of storming over. “Invictus can be... quite forceful when he feels there is a threat to one he loves.” He grinned ferally. “As can I.”

“I’ve noticed, believe me,” Meneris replied and headed over to Invictus before the former Champion could try to start a fight with him. 

Anders had scrambled to his feet as Meneris headed over and had turned to the Champion. “Hawke, wait, don’t - oh, knickerweasels!” he exclaimed as Invictus gently yet firmly moved him aside and confronted the Inquisitor.

“Peace Hawke, I don’t want to fight with you, I simply wished to speak and hope you will hear me out,” Meneris offered as he stilled against the other man’s rage. Anders glanced over as Fenris followed the Inquisitor over. 

“It is alright, Hawke. Anders is safe. Well, as safe as any of us,” amended Fenris with a wry glance at the apostate.

“Until we get to Skyhold I’ll wager.”

“Skyhold? Where - what’s at Skyhold?” asked Anders, bewildered.

“The Inquisitor’s fortress.” answered Invictus.

“Wait -” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t follow. Why are we going to Skyhold, and what’s there that I’m not safe from? And why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like your answer?”

“Yes, Inquisitor Lavellan, please let Anders know what...rather _who_ is at your fortress that Anders should worry about,” Vic said with a malicious grin. 

“Love...we just settled things between us. He’s given his word that Anders will be safe,” Fenris said.

“Will someone please just give me a straight answer?” exclaimed Anders with a faint note of exasperation creeping into his voice. “Inquisitor? Perhaps you could tell me what’s going on?”

Meneris tried to find a way to say it diplomatically, but just let the cat out of the back. “Cullen is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. I’ve assured Fenris and now Invictus that you will be safe. The world possibly ending is a bigger concern than what you’ve done.”

At mention of Cullen’s name, Anders went still, his face completely blank. “Cullen. Now that... that wasn’t what I was expecting.” His voice was curiously calm, and yet the sound was almost strangled. He huffed a short, strange laugh. “Yes, I imagine I _would_ be... safe. Around Cullen. After all, he never allowed harm to mages on _his_ watch.” He laughed again. “Cullen. Huh. I never saw that one coming.” He blinked. “You’re right, of course, Inquisitor. There are far more important things at stake than me.”

“I am serious Anders. That hole, that green thing in the sky…” Meneris flinched as his mark flared up for a moment then he clenched his fist closed over the green glow. “Is more important than any revenge he want to enact. You’ve also got two men at your side that would end him if he did decide to harm you. I’d rather not lose my commander, or any of you. We need all the help we can get, so please accept my word.” 

Anders twitched at the brief flare of green light then stared at the Inquisitor’s clenched fist, his eyes widening slightly. “What was that?” he exclaimed, taking a step forward. “It’s like you’ve almost got a piece of the Fade right in your hand! I’ve never seen anything like it before. What is it?”

“A souvenir from surviving the explosion at the Conclave. We can fill you in on the way to...wherever it is we’re going,” Meneris trailed off as he turned to the others. “What did we decide to do?”

“As to that, I think our first move should be to head to a nearby Warden waystation that should be quite close by,” interjected Loghain as he walked over to join them. “Anders needs a decent staff, and there may be clues as to where the local wardens have gone with Clarel. It should be about a day’s walk from here; I’d planned to check it out myself when Anders showed up and I had my hands full trying to keep him alive.”

“Fine, let’s go somewhere and not just stand around here.” Vic said. He wasn’t thrilled with more warden business and how Anders still looked shocky, Fenris seemed put out and Varric was jotting notes happily in his notebook.

“The waystation will at least have beds and serve our needs better than these caves,” Loghain shrugged. “There may well be food stores there as well.”

“Let’s get on the move then, the sooner we find a real bed and something over our heads the better I’ll feel,” Fenris said as he took Anders’ hand and tugged the mage along.

“Inquisitor, I believe you have a map?” asked Loghain. “Let me show you where the waystation is.”

Anders let himself be led away by Fenris, though he glanced back at the Inquisitor, a small frown creasing his brow. 

Meneris pulled out the maps and went over the route with Loghain and Bull in case they were separated for some reason. “Let’s head out, and we should be there in a few hours.” 

They broke camp and headed off shortly afterwards once Loghain and Varric had carved up what remained of the venison, wrapping it up for later. Loghain dismembered the remains of the carcass and buried it as Bull scattered the ashes from the fire then filled in the fire pit; by the time they were all done, you could not have told that anyone had been there.

They set out on foot, Loghain leading the way, the Bull scouting alongside, Varric and Cole not far behind.

Fenris kept hold of Anders’ hand as they went, unwilling to let go of his mage. Vic was silent as well, his mind running in circles over how to keep Cullen from smiting Anders as soon as he saw him. Anders himself was quiet, content simply to walk between them, lost deep in thought. Much had happened since he’d been split up from his two loves. He didn’t know what to make of the Inquisitor, or his reference to a hole in the sky, but the green glowing mark upon his hand fascinated and alarmed Anders in equal measure.

And it had also made something very clear to him; whatever else may have happened to him, there was now no further doubt in his mind that Justice was completely gone. Had even the smallest trace of the spirit still resided within him then he knew he would have felt it stirring at the proximity to that piece of the Fade he had felt so clearly with the flash of green light. He wondered if what he had felt at that moment had been at all akin to how others had felt whenever Justice had taken him over; he remembered Karl’s words, that it was like he’d brought a piece of the Fade with him, waking him up from Tranquility. For Anders, that shock of green light had caused the magic in his blood to surge; it was like a dash of icy water in his face, sharp and distracting, relegating all thought of Cullen to the back of his mind. 

He wondered what Fenris had felt. He couldn’t quite bring himself to ask however.

They made good time, pressing on, not bothering to break for food in the middle of the day. They headed south down the western shore of Lake Calenhad, the vast grey waters rippling away as far as the eye could see. The lake looked as cold and forbidding as it ever had during those years he’d been imprisoned in Kinloch - first as an apprentice, and later as a mage desperate to escape. It seemed madness to think he’d ever dared to swim it - and yet, he knew, that if he found himself in the same circumstances again he would have no hesitation but to dive in, in hopes of freedom.

Or would he? He was a different man now. Older, more tired, weary of a long burden of the soul. he didn’t know what to make of this news of Cullen - or of the reassurances he was safe. What was safe, after all, in these days and times?

Lost in thought, he nearly stumbled when Fenris stopped. He glanced up and realised they must have found the waystation. It was a long, low building with a slightly unkempt thatched roof that looked in need of attention; the wooden shutters over the windows had been bleached a silvery grey by long years of sun, worn smooth with countless seasons of rain and wind.

The Bull and Loghain went inside first, but Anders knew even before they re-emerged that there were no Wardens there; he could only feel Loghain. 

“Empty,” the Bull announced as he stepped back outside. “Looks dusty - probably no-one been here in months. But it’s otherwise serviceable from the looks of things.”

It was indeed dusty, but there was clean bedlinen in a storage closet, the dry food stores looked unblemished, and the set of Warden mage’s armour that Loghain unearthed from the armoury was in good condition. He handed it to Anders along with the three staves he had found.

“Test them out, see which one suits you best,” he ordered. Anders fingered the quilted blue fabric of the tunic, then took the staves and nodded, heading off to one of the four sleeping rooms. They were simple dormers, each set up to accommodate up to six Wardens; the waystation would certainly be able to accommodate their own party.

Fenris helped set up the beds and poked around for usable rations and a cookpot. “At least we won’t be on the ground tonight.”

“Yes, my neck still hurts from that rock I unintentionally used as a pillow,” Vic muttered.

Anders said nothing, but merely set the staves against the wall before laying out the Warden armour on a bed. He stared at it for a moment, then bent down and unbuckled his boots.

Meneris and Dorian wandered around to see what was good, what wasn’t while Loghain rifled through the books scattered about. “How long do you plan to stay here Warden Loghain?” Meneris asked.

Loghain grunted as he closed the journal with a snap. “I’d hoped to find some signs of the group I’d been following, but I guess they must have passed a different way and not stayed here after all. There’s a tower about two days’ walk from here that I’d guess is where they’re making for. We’ll stay the night, load up and replenish food supplies, then head out tomorrow at first light I think.” He set the journal back where he’d found it. “There should be stocks of healing potions here somewhere.” He headed back into the store room.

Dorian headed into the kitchen where the Bull and Varric were already sorting through the food stores and tallying what was edible; Cole was washing and peeling potatoes. The Tevinter mage shrugged then headed back out into the common room again; bored, he found himself drawn to the two bookcases that stood in the corner where he perused the meagre collection of books. “Ah, yes, the ubiquitous Brother Gentivi,” he mused to himself, pulling what looked like a very well-thumbed small book off the shelf. “Oh, and ‘Hard in Hightown’.” He sniffed derisively.

“It’s amusing, if nothing else,” Fenris said as he finished making the last bed. He turned just in time to see Anders come out, decked in warden blue and grey. “Wow.”

Anders paused in the doorway and glanced up, a wary look crossing his face as he stared at Fenris. “What?”

“You...that’s what. You...wear that very well _amatus_.” Fenris all but purred as he came over to check out Anders up close and personal.

“I think we should be glad it’s close quarters, otherwise Fenris might take him for a spin. He does do the uniform good even when half-starved,” Vic said with a whistle.

Anders looked a little discomforted. “Yes, well, I never thought I’d find myself back in Warden uniform again,” he said awkwardly. He stared down at the staves in his arms. “Excuse me, I have to go try these out and decide which one works best for me,” he said, a faint pink blush spreading up from beneath the high collar of his quilted blue tunic as he strode hastily towards the door.

Fenris didn’t chase after Anders though he wanted to, instead he planted himself next to Invictus and pointed between his feet. “Sit, I’m going to take care of that crick in your neck.”

“Bossy elf, fine…” Vic said with a grin, even after he felt a tap on the back of his head and an exaggerated huff of ‘smartass’ from his lover.

Dorian pushed the book back onto the shelf as he rolled his eyes, then shaking his head he took up his own staff and headed towards the door after Anders.

Vic had closed his eyes and let Fenris work the kinks in his neck and shoulder out with a whimper when the elf dug into a knot. “I am in such bad shape, normally feels better.”

“Need me to stop?” Fenris asked as he stilled his hands.

“No, I’ll be better when you are done. Go on, just ignore any whimpering from me,” Vic replied.

Dorian left them to it; he couldn’t explain why, but seeing the two men so casually comfortable and physical in public left him feeling uneasy and conflicted - particularly when he was well aware of Meneris’ eyes on him as he headed out the door. 

He soon spotted the tall blond Warden; Anders had taken up a stance several feet away, and was twirling one of the staves experimentally. Dorian folded his arms and leaned against the rim of the nearby well and watched as the other mage began to go through a series of moves and gestures that were familiar to him from his own time in the College as an apprentice and later in practices. 

He raised an eyebrow; Anders seemed to be quite adept at Elemental magic from what he could tell of the patterns he was using, though he hadn’t actually channelled any magic yet. Presently however he could feel the tell-tale pull of magic being drawn, and Anders’ hands became wreathed with ice as he unleashed a cone of cold that sprayed outwards to freeze a nearby bush. He spun on one foot gracefully to follow up the ice with a fireball and then finished off with chain lightning that danced from burning stump to stump before fizzling out into the ground.

He paused for a moment, eyeing the staff, then laid it aside and reached for the next one. He looked around, startled, as Dorian began to clap.

“Excellent form, and I love your footwork. The bushes are quite neatly decimated,” smiled the Tevinter mage.

Anders straightened slowly, seemingly torn between being flattered and feeling uncomfortable at being caught out, like a schoolboy showing off. He fiddled with the binding on the haft as he glanced back at the staff he’d just laid down. “The balance is off. It’s top-heavy,” he said.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” drawled Dorian as he walked slowly towards the other mage, not glancing at the staff. “Tell me, how well do you think you’ll handle _this_ staff?” He paused in front of the taller man and stared up, his eyes twinkling.

Anders stared down at him, then drew in his breath sharply. “Not going there,” he muttered to himself, a faint pink suffusing his cheeks. He spun on his heel, his breath coming a little too fast for comfort. He was aware of Dorian’s eyes on him as he walked away a little distance, and he twirled the staff up into a ready stance with perhaps a little more of a flourish than was strictly necessary.

As he worked through the forms once more, testing different spells through the staff, he was all too keenly aware of the other mage’s watchful eye. He tried to shrug it off, telling himself it was only professional interest - one mage to another. It was only natural Dorian should show an interest; after all, he’d studied Hawke’s form himself when first they met, hadn’t he?

That didn’t explain why he felt hot under his collar, or why, when he lowered the staff and found Dorian alarmingly close, he felt flustered, his heart racing. He told himself it was the exertion so soon after being ill. It had nothing to do with the look in the storm-grey eyes or the way Dorian’s lips curved in a smile ( _and damn it no, he would **not** think about how kissable those lips looked or wonder what his mouth would taste like and oh Maker STOP THAT_ ) -

“I need a drink,” Anders said abruptly.

“I concur,” smiled Dorian.

“I-I... excuse me,” said Anders, snatching up the other two staves and brushing past Dorian to head back inside. He didn’t run - well, not precisely - but his long legs ate up the distance swiftly. He burst into the common room and thrust the other two staves into Loghain’s arms as the other Warden looked up in surprise. “This one - it’s fine, I’ll take this one,” he managed to stammer before practically fleeing towards the bathing room.

Fenris looked up, his hands held still as he tracked Anders fleeing to the back. He glared at Dorian as the mage sauntered in and tried to sit with Meneris who didn’t seem pleased at his lover. 

The Tevinter mage looked quite unconcerned, as if he’d merely been for a stroll. He gave Meneris an innocent look. “What?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

“What did you do to him? He looked like a Fereldan turnip,” hissed the elf. He knew Dorian had to have done something to put that look on the warden’s face.

“I? Nothing!” said Dorian breezily. “Merely complimented him on his form, nothing more than that. I tell you, Meneris, I can see why Loghain wants to get him back into the Wardens again.” He leaned in closer so that the Champion and his white-haired lover would be unable to overhear. “I tell you, you’d be a damned fool to let him slip out of your hands, Meneris - he’s a very talented and powerful mage, the Inquisition could do with him on our side. We’ll have to damned well sit on Cullen if need be.”

“I’m sure you just complimented him on his ...form” Meneris whispered in reply. 

Vic opened his eyes when he didn’t feel Fenris resume his massage. “What’s going on?”

“Unsure, but it has to do with that poncy Altus and Anders, I don’t like it,” the elf replied.

There was the sound of splashing and a string of muttered curses and swearing from the bathing room. Dorian glanced at the closed door, carefully keeping a neutral expression though the corner of his lips kept quirking up.

“Either our love is embarrassed or he’s going to freeze Dorian’s balls to the floor. I hope it’s the second thing,” Vic smiled.

“And you call me bloodthirsty…” Fenris let his hands rest on Vic’s shoulders as he waited for Anders to return.

There was another loud splash and then silence for several minutes.

“Should I check on him?” Fenris asked. Vic looked concerned as the silence continued, then slowly nodded.

Fenris paused by the bathing room door; there was no sound apart from a faint dripping. He pushed open the door.

Anders stood naked, his head dunked into a large bucket of what appeared to be freezing cold water. As Fenris entered, he abruptly straightened with a loud gasp of breath, throwing his wet hair back over his shoulder.

“Care to explain why you felt the need for a cold bath right after getting dressed?” Fenris said as he let his gaze linger over Anders, then finally glanced at his face. Anders blinked and ran a hand through his dripping locks before shivering.

“Guess I’m still not fully recovered,” he stammered - whether from the cold or something else, Fenris couldn’t tell. “Worked up a sweat going through the forms. Haven’t really had a work out like that since - since Kirkwall.” His chest was still heaving slightly, though whether it were the exertion or something else it would have been impossible to say. He dropped his gaze, and he picked up the bucket, staring into the cold water for a moment. Then, as Fenris’ eyes roamed down lower over his body, he abruptly tipped the whole bucket of cold water over his head with a loud gasp.

“You’ll catch your death right after you’ve been healed. Sit down and let me dry you off and while I do that you can tell me what Pavus said so I can rip his heart out,” Fenris said as he grabbed a drying cloth and steered Anders towards a stool.

Anders dropped gracelessly onto the seat, shivering violently. “N-n-nothing,” he stammered out, his teeth starting to chatter. 

Fenris started at his head, and once he was at Anders’ shoulders he asked again. “Truth, now. You know I hate it when you withhold things from us.”

Anders clutched the towel around himself and sighed. “Truly, he said nothing,” he insisted, controlling his shivering with an effort of will. “He complimented my technique. I’m fine, Fen, I just overexerted myself and got overheated. Forgot just how warm that quilted gear gets when you get going.” He shrugged. “Maybe I overdid the ice a bit though,” he conceded, then sneezed.

Fenris frowned at Anders’ words but continued to dry him off with another towel. Anders sat in silence for a while, letting Fenris dry him off, then reached out a cold hand to catch at the elf’s fingers gently, careful to avoid the lyrium brands. “I’m sorry to worry you,” he said quietly.

“I love you, it’s my job to worry,” Fenris replied as he pressed a kiss to Anders cheek. “Get dressed, otherwise I’ll want to ravish you.” 

Anders looked up at him from beneath lowered eyelashes, almost coyly. “And what if I _wanted_ you to ravish me?” he asked, a little breathless. “It _has_ been - what, several weeks? Months?”

Fenris’ eyes lit up and he kicked a stool over to block the door. “Be loud so that Altus knows that you’re mine.” He came over to Anders, rested his fingers lightly on the towel that did nothing to hide his mage’s need, and waited for permission.

Anders palmed himself and moaned, his amber eyes darkening. He nodded.

Fenris whipped the towel away and pulled Anders down so he could kiss _his_ mage, remind himself of the other man’s taste. “You’re mine...yes?”

Anders surrendered his mouth willingly with another moan, a little louder, as he tilted his head back, his eyes falling closed. “Yes, oh yes,” he gasped when their lips parted for breath. “Yours... all yours.”

“Good.” Fenris slid to his knees with a wicked grin. “Are you a good mage?” 

Anders gaped at him for a moment. “I... ye-yes?” he gasped, his breath quickening. His cock twitched between his legs, indicating a very definite interest in this turn of events.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Fenris smiled before he took Anders down in one smooth motion. He let his hands rest on his lover’s hips as he tried to get the other man to move his hips.

Anders’ head dropped back, his long wet hair cold and damp against his spine as he let out a loud, wanton moan, one hand drifting to lightly touch Fenris’ head as with the other he grasped the seat of the stool, bracing himself as he spread his legs wider, his hips jerking as his back arched to meet the elf’s engulfing warmth. “Oh Maker, fuck, _fuck_ , Fenris!” he cried.

Fenris let Anders fuck his mouth, his grip on the mage’s hips tightened with each stroke in and out. He wanted his lover to find release from him pounding him senseless though.

Anders let himself thrust mindlessly for a few minutes, lost in sensation, until he pulled himself back to some semblance of coherence. “Love... this is... _fuck_... I need....” He bit his lip and moaned loudly again, his knuckles whitening on the seat of the stool. “Please,” he panted, stroking Fenris’ hair with a trembling hand. “Need... need you....”

The warrior pulled away reluctantly and stood up with a slight wince at the noise his knees made. “You need me to do what? Say it,” Fenris said as he tugged at his own trousers in a hurry.

Anders made a faint whining noise in the back of his throat. “Need... you in me, love. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.... _please...._ ” he managed to beg, his eyes dark and pleading.

“You beg so well...I guess I’ll give you what you want, use that spell.” Fenris tugged off his pants and flung them behind him with a dark laugh. “They will know you’re mine by the time we’re done.”

Once Anders had summoned a palmful of grease he knelt over the edge of the closest tub, reached back and waited for Fenris to begin.

Fenris coated two fingers and worked them into his lover slowly so he wouldn’t hurt him, He wished he could reach Anders' neck and shoulders while he worked since he knew how much it drove his mage mad. Anders pushed back onto his fingers and moaned, low and needy.

“More... please... harder....” he panted. He cried out hoarsely as he felt a third finger slip inside, and then Fenris curled a finger inside him, stroking it across his sensitive spot and he almost screamed. His spine arched as he ground himself back onto Fenris’ hand, forcing the digits deeper until he could feel the elf’s knuckles pressing against his entrance, already stretched tight around the fingers buried inside him. An almost-incoherent stream of “Please” and “oh Maker” and Fenris’ name babbled from the mage’s lips as he rocked back mindlessly onto the elf’s hand, his neglected cock weeping between his legs, hard and heavy. 

“Good boy.” Fenris purred as he slipped his fingers free, got more grease and slicked himself more than he normally would have before sliding into his lover. “That what you wanted?”

Anders groaned loudly “Oh Maker... yes... yes....” He pushed back against Fenris, feeling himself filled deeply. “Move.. please... hard....”

“Greedy boy…” Fenris snarled as he pulled almost all the way out then slammed back into his lover. He set a rough pace, eager to make Anders scream for him. Anders threw his head back, the breath exploding from him in a loud gasp with every stroke as the elf set up a punishing pace, pounding into his willing body. He could feel it burn inside, even in spite of the slick, but he didn’t care. His eyes flew open as he felt one of Fenris’ hands snarl into his sodden hair. 

“Maker, yes, _yes!_ ” he encouraged his lover, and was rewarded with a hard yank to the hair that brought tears to his eyes even as he felt heat building in his groin. His thighs were wet with slick and the dripping fluid from his own cock; he reached down fumbling to tug roughly at himself, feeling himself come closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, let go,” Fenris moaned as he took Anders as hard as he could and hoped the others heard every single howl from his lover. Anders bit his lip and desperately tried to hold off his climax as long as he could, fisting his cock painfully hard even as the burn intensified inside until he couldn’t hold back any longer, the pain blurring over into sweetness as he let go with a long ragged howl. He felt Fenris still chasing his own orgasm and could only writhe, breathless, beneath the elf.

Fenris didn’t last much longer as he let his head drop down to Anders’ back as his strokes became erratic and he finally hit his own climax. He pulled away slowly and stumbled back to land on the dirt floor with a thump. “Now we both need...a bath,” he murmured.

Anders slumped against the bath, one hand still trailing over the edge as he half-knelt, half-sprawled in a mess of slick, come and sweat. His chest still heaved as he panted for breath; he could only stare at Fenris as he waited for his heart to stop hammering in his chest. Movement was beyond him. He felt an aching burn inside, and a slow smile spread across his face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk straight without a healing potion or more energy than he possessed right now for healing, but right then he didn’t care.

“Vic is going to yell at me for breaking you, don’t care though,” Fenris mumbled from where he’d slumped onto the floor.

“Give... gimme a moment... jus’ need... catch my breath,” panted Anders. “Then he can have a turn.” He slid over sideways and sprawled on the floor, laughing helplessly.

“Warden stamina...always thought it was a myth until we took you to our bed,” Fenris laughed weakly as he tried to get up and start the pump going. Anders merely watched him, not lifting a finger to help, still laughing weakly.

Fenris filled a bucket, dumped it over his head and then refilled a bucket for Anders. “Warm it, you already sneezed and I don’t want you sick again.”

Anders managed to pull himself upright, then stood up, his legs trembling. He gestured at the water, heating it with a brief surge of magic, then lowered his head so Fenris could dump the water over him. He didn’t think he had the strength to pick up a kitten, much less a full bucket of water just yet. He stumbled over to the stool and sat down, then winced. 

Fenris poured the water over his lover before he grabbed a flannel to get them both clean as possible before he filled another bucket and waited for Anders to heat it. Anders obliged with another wave of his hand. 

“Surprised no-one’s come to see if you’ve killed me yet, the way I screamed,” Anders smiled, his voice a little hoarse still. “They should have been able to hear me clear all the way to Denerim.”

“I’m sure Vic will have words for me when we show our faces,” Fenris said before he rinsed himself, then Anders. “Can you dry yourself off?”

Anders nodded, gesturing once more to dry himself with a blast of warm air. He pondered a touch of healing magic, then decided against it; he wanted to feel that ache inside a little while longer. “Tell him I’m a very naughty mage and he should take it out of me. Or put it in me.” He grinned at his own weak joke.

“If he puts it in you, you might just be unable to walk until tomorrow,” Fenris quipped before he dried himself off and searched for his pants.

“You both frequently tell me I talk too much; maybe he can find another use for my mouth instead?” Anders suggested, not making a move to get up. He grinned, unrepentant. “In fact, why don’t you tell him to come and shut me up right now? Then you kill two birds with one stone - you won’t have to listen to him complain you broke me already, and you don’t have to put up with me inanely chatting at you and making crap jokes.” He grinned.

“Alright, stay right there.” Fenris exited to find Invictus and Varric staring at him with big grins on their faces. 

Anders glanced around and spotted a long bench against a wall. Getting to his feet, he managed to hobble over, wincing, and he dragged it over to the middle of the floor. Laying a towel over it, he lay down on his back, his head hanging over the end, and waited.

“Vic, he needs you, said it was really important.” Fenris smiled as he passed by Vic, swatted him on the ass and headed right to the kitchen area.

“What’s gotten into them?” Vic wondered as he jumped from the smack on his ass. The Iron Bull was giving him a disconcerting grin, and as he stared, the Qunari gave him a thumbs up encouragingly.

“Maker have mercy on all of us,” Vic mumbled as he entered the bathing chamber to find Anders already sprawled out and on display. “You two put on the quite the show.”

“Did we? I was too busy screaming to notice,” drawled Anders with a grin. “Funny thing that, actually; I think Fenris was hoping to fuck me senseless - or at least into silence - and yet here I am, still talking; I do wonder what on earth anyone could do to shut me up -”

“You’re incorrigible you know that?” Vic said even as he started to unlace his trousers. “Stop talking and help me out of these.”

“Uh-uh, there’s only one way you’re going to get me to stop talking,” grinned Anders. “I can lie here and talk all day you know. Why don’t you come over here and _make_ me shut up?” He gave Invictus his cheekiest, most unrepentant grin from his position upside down.

“Next time I’ll make sure Fenris shuts you up for a while, brat,” Vic said as he shucked his clothes and leaned over his lover. “Open up.”

Anders’ lips spread in a grin before parting as he obediently opened his mouth. He tilted his head back so that Invictus’ cock would be in direct line with his throat. His tongue darted out to swirl around the tip of Invictus’ cock as it was pressed to his lips, and then he closed his eyes as the other man steadily thrust forwards until Anders could feel the head of his cock brush the inside of his throat. He deliberately swallowed.

“Fuck!” Vic exclaimed when he felt Anders' throat working his cock. “Devil...I ought to spank you.” Anders made an enthusiastic, encouraging sound then swallowed again, the movement causing his throat to constrict in a rolling wave around Invictus’ cock. A stream of swears burst from the Champion’s lips and without thinking, he bucked his hips, thrusting into Anders’ throat, each jerk of his hips driving the head of his cock into Anders’ throat with almost bruising force before he managed to get a grip on himself. He pulled out, and Anders coughed, gasping for breath.

“You deserved that, brat,” gasped Invictus. “If I keep doing that then I’m going to come too soon, and I want this to last.” He stared down at Anders. “Maybe I should give you that spanking you deserve.”

Anders stared up at him, licking his reddened lips slowly, and Invictus groaned. “Damn, you have no idea how good you look like that,” he muttered. Bending over the blond mage, he grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged Anders up into a sitting position before crushing his lips to his in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and demanding, insatiable. Anders moaned, encouraging, into his mouth even as Invictus tasted blood; the coppery tang only served to arouse him more. “Roll over on your stomach,” he ordered him in a whisper. “One choice: my belt or my hand?”

Anders’ pupils were large and dark as he stared into Invictus’ eyes. “Belt,” he breathed.

As Invictus reached for the belt, Anders turned over on his stomach. “On your knees, ass in the air,” ordered the Champion. Anders obeyed, thrusting his buttocks in the air as he buried his face in his arms. He knelt motionless, awaiting the first blow.

Invictus caressed the bare skin with his hand slowly as he leaned over Anders. “I want you to scream with every blow,” he said quietly. “I want you to beg for it. I want to only hear you wanting this, am I clear? You only get it as long as you ask for it.”

Anders was still a moment, then nodded.

“Say it.”

“Please.”

The only warning he had was the whistle of the belt through the air, and then it smacked hard across his left buttock with a sharp crack. The breath huffed out of his body in a hoarse yell. “Please!”

Invictus obliged him with a second blow, this time to his right buttock. He begged again, and again, and again; screams of _yes_ and _again_ and _please_ and _more_ until tears of pain were rolling unheeded down his cheeks and his whole ass and the backs of his thighs were somehow both numb and yet afire in pain, red weals criss-crossing the white skin, livid and dark as they overlaid old scars and finally he could only whimper.

Then the belt was gone and Invictus was cradling him to his chest, soothing away the tears, asking him if it was OK and he somehow found his voice. “Oh Maker, that was good. So so good. Vic, I want it. I want your cock.”

“Tell me how you want it, Anders. Come on, here it is; where do you want it? Shall I fuck you like Fenris did, so you can’t walk straight? Shall I fuck your throat? Your lips look so good around my cock; you want that? You want to swallow my cock, Anders?”

“Yes, oh Maker yes,” begged Anders. “Fuck my throat. Fuck me senseless.”

“On your back again,” ordered Invictus, and Anders obeyed, crying out at the feel of the rough towels against his whipped skin.

“Give it to me,” he begged.

And Invictus obliged, thrusting his hard member down that hot, wet, inviting throat, and groaned as Anders swallowed him down once more. He began to thrust slowly into the blond apostate’s mouth, Anders working his heated, engorged flesh with his tongue on each slow slide out before Invictus slid it down into his throat again. 

As Invictus fucked his throat with long, slow strokes, Anders reached down and fisted his own stiffening member, his chest labouring for breath between each of Invictus’ thrusts.

“Finger yourself,” panted Invictus. “I want to see you fuck yourself with your own hand whilst I fuck your throat. I want you to come, choking on my cock.”

Anders arched his back, slipping one hand behind himself and he began to fuck himself with his own fingers even as Invictus picked up the pace, thrusting faster and deeper into Anders’ throat. He could see and feel from the way Anders’ body was behaving that the blond mage was close to climaxing a second time, and he panted encouragement. Anders responded by thrusting harder and deeper into his own body, three fingers pounding deep inside himself as he tugged faster at his cock until he came shuddering and choking, the paroxysms of his throat around Invictus’ cock driving him over the edge into his own orgasm. Invictus managed to pull out at the last moment, spilling his seed across Anders’ chest with a loud, hoarse cry as he fell forward to brace himself over the other man. 

Anders was sprawled beneath him, gasping raggedly and occasionally coughing, his own seed glistening upon his stomach and mingling with that of Invictus. The Champion straightened up with an effort. “Love?”

Anders raised a trembling hand to indicate he was alright. Invictus nodded and managed to stagger over to the bucket. Casting ice and then heat into it, he soon had it filled with warm water. 

Somehow, despite exhaustion, Invictus managed to clean both himself and Anders up. The blond Warden was not much use, exhausted and drained. He managed to rouse himself enough to cast some rudimentary healing upon himself and then Invictus helped him to dress before donning his own clothes.

They emerged - Anders still hobbling slightly - to a round of applause from Varric and the Bull, a large grin from Fenris, and a look of disbelief and respect from Meneris. Cole was regarding them inscrutably from beneath his wide-brimmed floppy hat; of Dorian there was no sign.

"Hey, Warden - you ever feel like making it three in a row...." Iron Bull grinned. Anders managed a weak smile in answer. 

“Bed now?” he murmured.

“Bed now,” agreed Invictus as Fenris rose to join them.

“Oh good,” mumbled Anders.

Somehow, he managed to stay awake until they reached the dormer room. He later had no recollection of how he actually got into bed; he was out like a light before his head hit the pillow.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris and Invictus had pushed one of the other beds over against Anders’ bed as the blond apostate slept on, utterly dead to the world; he had not stirred at all as the two other men undressed then slid into bed next to him. They had all slumbered the night away peacefully.

Fenris woke up after getting smacked by one of his sleeping mages. He pulled free of them with a slight grumble before he ambled outside to water a nearby bush. He made his way slowly to the well to get cleaned up, which included dipping his head into a bucket of cold water to finish waking up. He slicked his hair back with a grumble over how long it had gotten.

“It was shorter once, but longer before that. Before the lyrium made it white.” The voice was singsong, coming from somewhere behind Fenris.

The elf turned with a snarl. “I said leave me be, demon.”

Cole tilted his head on one side, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his ridiculous hat. “You keep calling me that. You’ve met demons before. I might be one; I don’t know. I might be a spirit. I’d like it to be spirit.”

“You’re not human, that much is plain,” growled Fenris. “No human can simply pluck the thoughts out of my head like that - or are you a blood mage, to plague me so?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” shrugged Cole. “Blood magic only puts the thoughts in; it can’t take them out unless they want to come out. Like bad memories you want to hide away.” He stepped closer. “But sometimes you need to remember, and the not knowing hurts more than the knowing.”

“Stop that!” Fenris snarled, taking a step back in spite of himself. “You’re mad!”

“Would it be easier if I were? But how could I tell? Like him. The voices I hear aren’t mine either. I wanted to help him, but your way was better. He still hurts, but it’s a different hurt now.”

“You’re talking about Anders,” said Fenris slowly. “‘Like him’ - are you then an abomination?”

“No,” replied Cole, shrugging. “But nor is he. Not anymore. It went away, but she put something else there - something bad. He can’t hear it any more, only the singing, but he remembers what it made him do.”

“I don’t know if you make no sense, or perhaps too much sense,” said Fenris, frowning. Cole suddenly grinned.

“Now you sound like me!”

“Void take us all,” muttered Fenris as he rolled his eyes. “Just leave me alone. And Anders too. You’ve done enough.”

Cole looked sad. “I only wanted to give him what he asked for, but he didn’t know that wasn’t what he needed. Only what he wanted. I try to do the right thing but it’s hard. Not knowing.”

“Pfah. You can start by keeping out of my head,” growled Fenris. “And keep out of his!”

He turned and stalked back inside, unsettled and out of sorts once more.

Invictus had gotten up and was near the well when Fenris passed him looking angry once more. “Maker, you’d think yesterday would have put a smile on his face for a week.” Vic turned to see Cole slowly trailing up towards the well and realized what must have happened.

The boy - spirit, whatever he was - lifted his head and stared at Invictus with those strange, almost colourless eyes, barely visible behind the straw-like hair. “I want to help but they won’t let me. Either of them. You want to help them too but you don’t know how and that makes you angry.”

Invictus glared at him coldly. “What makes me angry is a damned snooping - _thing_ that won’t leave them well enough alone! I don’t know why Fenris hasn’t killed you yet -”

“He can’t,” said Cole diffidently. 

“Don’t be too sure of that!” growled Invictus. “He’d just _love_ to prove you wrong, trust me. He’s killed demons before and you’d be no different.”

“No,” said Cole, shaking his head. “He sent them back, but you can’t kill them. They’re not really there. That’s why they’re so angry and hungry; they want what you want.”

“Power? Strength?”

“Life,” said Cole. 

Invictus stared at him. He couldn’t help but remember what Anders had told him of how he originally came to be joined with Justice; that the spirit would have died, trapped on the wrong side of the Fade and unable to return, if Anders hadn’t joined with him. He’d given the spirit a chance to live.

“I’m a spirit that touched a body. He’s a body that touched a spirit. We’re the same but backwards.”

“Anders is _nothing_ like you!” exclaimed Invictus. “Stop that! Get out of my head!”

“You’re worried and afraid for him. It nags at you. I can’t help it; it calls to me, and I need to help.”

“You can start by leaving me alone and getting out of my head!” Invictus snarled, tendrils of fire forming around his fists as he clenched them, taking a step towards Cole. 

“Cole.” Dorian walked around the corner of the building, and the spirit backed away from Invictus before staring at the Tevinter mage. “What did I tell you about bothering Hawke, hmm? Varric’s in the kitchen, helping Meneris make breakfast. Why don’t you go and help?”

“Yes, it’s good to help. To be useful,” said Cole.

“Run along, there’s a good boy. Spirit. Whatever,” said Dorian, waving Cole off.

“A spirited lad, he’ll go far.’ Proud of you but it’s never enough.”

Dorian winced. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that. Go on, Varric’s waiting.” He watched as Cole made his way back inside, then turned to Invictus. “He means well, but he takes some getting used to.” He shrugged.

“That thing needs to stay the fuck out of my head, along with Fenris’. He’s had enough of people prying where they don’t belong.” Vic snuffed out the flames with a lazy wave of his hands. “What did you want anyway, or did you just happen to be coming by?”

“Fortunate happenstance of timing, nothing more,” replied Dorian with a casual wave of a hand. “I awoke early and couldn’t sleep so I took a walk. It’s as well I returned when I did. Cole’s intentions are, on the whole, for the good but the boy simply cannot take a hint and learn when to drop it. He picks up on hurt and that’s it.” He shrugged. “He was a spirit of compassion - not that you’d think that if you see him fighting with those knives of his.”

“Compassion and strength go together,” Vic said quietly as he considered the other mage. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Dorian shrugged. “Oh, who knows; something I ate, bad dream; these things happen,” he said airily. “And Meneris snores, though not as abysmally as the Bull. Surprised our Qunari friend didn’t wake you too.” He smiled briefly, but it didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes.

“I lived in Kirkwall, learned to sleep through a lot. What’s on your mind? I can tell when someone is holding back,” Vic asked.

“Does it really matter?” asked Dorian, arching an eyebrow. “I’m a stranger to you after all - and I’m surprised at your keenness to pry into another’s thoughts after having had Cole do that to you. A fellow has a right to keep things to himself, after all.”

“Fine, I just thought I’d ask since you seemed to have a question about to fall from your lips. Never mind, I don’t know why I try anymore,” Vic huffed before he turned to get more water from the well.

“Your elven friend would welcome only too much the chance to repeat his little hand-in-the-chest trick on me; I have no desire to provoke him,” replied Dorian, a touch acerbically.

“As you wish, apologies for attempting conversation. Fenris is more than my friend, you’d do well to remember that Pavus,” Vic replied between pulls to get the bucket up and over the lip of the well.

Dorian sighed. “We all appear to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he said. “We may have to work with each other for a while yet, and fight alongside each other. We will need to be able to trust each other. Meneris, Anders and Fenris seem to have come to some accord and agreed to start over. May we not do the same? After all, we doubtless have more in common than keeps us apart; we’re both mages for a start. We could learn much from each other. Doubtless you have your own secrets you would prefer others not pry into; please believe me when I say mine are only of concern to me. May we not start again?” He held out his right hand, palm uppermost, and smiled a little. “Please.”

Invictus stared at Dorian for a long, drawn out moment before he took the other mage’s hand. “Very well.”

Dorian shook his hand firmly. “Dorian Pavus, formerly Altus of Minrathous, presently of Skyhold, at your service,” smiled Dorian.

“Invictus Endrin Hawke, formerly of Kirkwall, currently wandering around with you lot,” Vic gave him a sly grin. “Help me haul up water then, so we can at least have hot water for later.” 

“Certainly,” replied Dorian. He set his staff against a nearby wall then moved towards the well, pushing up his sleeves.

Vic tugged his tunic off and set it aside without a care in the world, or realizing the way that Dorian’s gaze was drawn to him. The Tevinter mage drew in his breath sharply as he eyed Hawke’s well-muscled body, his eyes darkening for a moment before he turned to the task at hand.

“I don’t want to get drenched. You should take off all those ...belts before they get wet,” Vic said as he started to haul more water up, totally missing the way Dorian looked at him as if he was on offer for a feast. 

“What?” said Dorian, distracted. “Oh... yes, you’re right. Of course.” He began to unbuckle his various belts then stripped off his own tunic before peeling his shirt off over his head, laying it aside.

As mages went, though Dorian didn’t have quite the physique of Hawke, his body was still toned. He was well aware that he was a good-looking man; he’d always taken pride in that. He was aware of Hawke’s eyes on him now as he reached for the winch to lower the bucket into the well, and hid a small smirk.

Vic might be entangled with other men but he wasn’t blind. He gave Dorian a blatant once over before he managed to forget himself and let the rope slide through his palms. He gave a loud yelp of surprise.

Dorian braced himself and grasped the winch firmly to stop it wildly unravelling before reaching out to grasp the swinging rope. “Have a care, Hawke!” he admonished as he let the rope down swiftly then turned to the other mage, reaching for his hand. “Let me see - tsk, that’s going to blister. Wait a moment.” He held his other hand gently over Invictus’ reddened palm, and called up a little ice to cool the skin. “You’ll probably want to let Anders take a look at that when he wakens,” he remarked, glancing up.

He was acutely aware of how warm Hawke’s hand was in his, the nearness of his body - and their unclothed state, topless as they both were. This close, he could make out various small nicks and scars; Hawke may be a mage, but he had the body of a warrior and the scars to prove it. He drew his breath in slowly.

“I can heal a bit...damn, that stings,” Vic said as he glanced up at Dorian’s grey eyes, dark in the shade by the well. Dorian’s gaze was on Hawke’s lips, but his eyes lifted to stare at Hawke.

“Afraid I never was too good at healing; the ice is the best I can do,” he murmured. “My talents lie in... other areas.”

“It’s alright...we all have our skills.” Hawke said as he pulled his hands away slowly and started to work on his palms while they were chilled from Dorian’s magic.

“I could kiss it better if you like,” quipped Dorian with a small, lop-sided smile, glancing at Hawke coyly from beneath lowered eyelashes; he stilled as Invictus shot him a piercing look. The Altus seemed to freeze for a moment, and then a strange, nervous look dawned in his eyes. “I’m sorry. A joke.” His body tensed.

“Is it? Or would you rather a certain elven fighter do that for you?” Vic said as he stared at Dorian, sure the other man would probably run.

“What?” asked Dorian, looking startled. “The elf?” He barked a short, disbelieving laugh. “He’d sooner rip my heart out than - what are you suggesting?” He blinked at Invictus. “I, maybe I made a mistake, I misread - Excuse me.” He turned and snatched up his tunic, his cheeks reddening.

“He’s not so bad, once you figure out what he needs and he feels safe telling you what he wants. What’s wrong? I’m not angry, just...confused since I don’t think it’s me you’re after. Or are you not used to men being blunt with you?” Vic asked as he tugged at the other mage so Dorian would have to face him.

“Maybe you should ask _him_ what happens to men who are too blunt in Tevinter,” breathed Dorian, staring at Invictus’ chest. “Please - let me go.”

“Forgive me if I misread your intent, I thought...you might…” Vic floundered for words when he saw how badly the other man wanted to go. 

“I flirt. I’m terrible. Meneris will tell you; my mouth runs away with me and it will likely be the death of me - quite likely today, if you don’t let go.” Dorian was aware he was beginning to babble frantically, but he’d just seen a movement at the window of the waystation and realised that Fenris was watching. If he’d heard.... “Please. Release me.”

“Talk to him, he’s …” Vic let go and sighed as he tried to find a way to discuss things without further terrifying the other man. “Just don’t assume he’s going to murder you. After all, he’s been watching us the whole time and hasn’t demanded your head, or heart...in the usual way.”

Dorian’s eyes flicked from the window back to Hawke. “You knew? You knew he was there the whole time?” He backed away and grabbed for his staff. “Excuse me.” He turned and strode swiftly away around the corner of the waystation.

Fenris watched Dorian flee before he came over to Vic. “What was that about? I assume you knew what you were doing?”

“I thought I did, but apparently Ferelden morals aren’t something Tevinter has taken as well as other things.” Vic sighed as he went back to healing his hands.

Fenris snorted. “He was being remarkably brazen for an Altus,” he mused. “Such behaviour would be frowned upon in Minrathous. The Imperium is... rather different to Ferelden and the Free Marches when it comes to such matters. We could be free with our affections - to a point - in Tevinter because Anders and I were supposedly slaves and you our master; what a magister does with his property is his own concern. But an Altus with an equal?” He shook his head. “I wonder what possessed him to even flirt with you? No wonder he ran.”

Vic sighed and looked to where Dorian had fled. “Who should speak with him then? He’s probably sure I set him up for you to kill him.”

Fenris gave him a look. “Had I not waited to see just what you were up to and realised you were not rebuffing him, I would likely have been tempted to strike him down, it is true. I wondered what you were doing and assumed you were toying with him. Were you not simply trying to pay him back for what he did to Anders? Having seen how he behaved with you just now it’s obvious he must have flirted with him too.”

Vic glanced away for a moment, while he pondered what to tell his elven lover. He stared off for longer than he’d thought when he heard Fenris call him. “Invictus? Come, you are wool-gathering. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that Altus’ dubious charms? I would have thought you’d had your fill of his ilk in Tevinter.” There was a faint note of bitterness in Fenris’ voice. “I will be most displeased to think you could even contemplate touching a slavemaster such as him. And what would that do to Anders? Do you not think he still has nightmares of being collared?”

“No love...not for me. I, um..so I was testing the waters to see if he’d even respond. I was thinking of you and …” Vic’s words died on his tongue as he saw the way Fenris’ expression shifted in a heartbeat.

“Were you.” Fenris’ voice was flat, his eyes hard and unfriendly. “And what on earth would possess you to think I would deign to touch one such as him, save to rip his heart out? He is an Altus, Invictus Endrin Hawke; only one step removed from a Magister. He is barely better than Danarius. He knows me; he saw me in Minrathous in Danarius’ service. I would cut off his hand before I would permit him to lay a hand on me.”

“I...I...thought if you were in control, entirely you might want to…” Vic dropped his gaze and apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought, I just...I’m stupid aren’t I?”

“You thought _what_?” demanded Fenris in a low voice, barely more than a growl. “That I would welcome the chance to treat a magister the way _I_ was treated? What kind of a man do you take me for, Hawke?” He glared at Invictus for a heartbeat, then turned away. “Anders is still sleeping. Be glad he too did not see you.”

“No...no, not that. Love no, I’m really fucking this up. I’d never think that of you. Please Fenris, I know you wouldn't do that! Look at how angry you were when Anders figured me out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, let’s forget I ever said this. Please?” Vic begged as he fidgeted under his lover’s glare.

Fenris breathed hard through his nose and glanced away from Invictus, visibly mastering his anger before he slowly exhaled. “You are fortunate that I love you, Invictus Hawke,” he finally said quietly. He glanced back at his lover and shook his head. “After all this time... “ He sighed. “You are forgiven. But only if you promise never to speak of this again.” 

He glanced at the well. “Come, we still need water. I will help you fetch it.” He glanced down at Invictus’ hand as he made his way over to the winch. “What did you do to your hand, anyway?”

“Lost my grip, and it burned me,” Vic said quietly as he began to pull one of the buckets up. He felt terrible and didn’t want to risk speaking again for risk of putting his foot firmly in his mouth.

Fenris tutted disapprovingly. “Be sure to have Anders look at it; we can ill afford to have you hampered by injury if what Meneris has said about that rift is true.”

“Have Anders take a look at what?” asked a sleepy voice behind them as the blond apostate stumbled out, blinking in the bright morning sunshine. “What time is it?”

“My hands, but it can wait until after you’ve had something to eat.” Vic took two buckets and headed in to take them to the kitchen area, his posture defeated as he hurried away.

Anders frowned as Invictus passed him. “Huh. I knew he was a masochist in the bedroom but I didn’t realise that extended to just doing the chores too,” he muttered. He glanced at Fenris as the elf followed with another bucket of water. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing of importance,” replied Fenris. “He merely said something foolish. You know how he is when he is embarrassed.”

Anders groaned. “Oh Andraste’s flaming knickers. He’s going to sulk all morning, isn’t he?” He held the door for Fenris then followed after. 

“Probably, but let him it’s not like anyone ever died over a grand sulk once in a while,” Fenris said as he let Anders open the door for him.

“True, but apparently Dorian’s sulking too, which has the Inquisitor looking like someone pissed in his porridge as well. And that Qunari fellow keeps looking at me and grinning. And I woke up in such a good mood too,” he added wistfully. “At least you’re not sulking.”

“No point, they are doing enough sulking for the rest of the camp,” Fenris replied as he poked around the cupboard for something to eat. “I’m going to find food, you take care of his hands and I’ll see what our move is from Meneris.”

Anders nodded. “I think Varric’s got some porridge on the go, and the Qunari mentioned something about venison. Maybe Vic will get over his grump faster with food in his stomach.” He headed back into the common room and glanced around until he spotted Hawke.

He dropped into a chair next to his lover and reached for his hands. “Come on then, show me what you did to yourself,” he said gently, and then tutted when he saw the blisters. “There’s a winch on the well for a reason, you know,” he teased as he set to work, the cool touch of his magic and the gentleness of his hands helping to soothe the pain. “Where’s your tunic?” he asked after a moment. “Not that I object to the topless look,” he added hastily, glancing up with a grin.

“Took it off to pull water, I’ll go get it,” Vic mumbled as he watched Anders work.

“Don’t feel you have to on my account,” Anders teased. “I’m rather fond of the view.” He gave Invictus a wink before gently stroking light fingers over the palms of Invictus’ hands. “There, all done and as good as new.”

“Thanks...kind of cold so I’ll just go get it. Thanks love.” Vic pulled his hands away and hurried out.

Anders sighed, then made his way back to their room to fetch a towel before making his way to the bathing chamber. By the time he emerged, his hair damp and the towel draped around his neck, the others were sitting down for breakfast. Tossing the towel vaguely in the direction of his bed, he made his way over to join them at the table in just his pants and boots, hair still dripping wetly down his back. He slipped into the space next to Hawke and directly opposite Dorian, who was poking morosely at the porridge with a doleful expression.

“Aren’t you cold?” Vic asked a hair crossly as he glanced up at his lover.

Anders glanced up from his own breakfast, a little nonplussed. “Not really. The water was hot. I’ll grab a shirt after breakfast,” he replied and then paused, staring down at his scars, and blinked as he suddenly recalled that they weren’t alone. He’d grown so used to Fenris and Hawke that he thought nothing of baring them around his lovers, but in front of others was another matter. He pushed back from the table and made to rise. “On second thoughts,” he said, hurriedly.

“I’m in a mood, don’t mind me. I”ll get it for you,” Vic hurried away to get the blue and gray tunic he found on their bedding.

Dorian was staring at Anders’ scars with something akin to horrified fascination. “ _Vishante kaffras_ \- who on earth did that to you?” he exclaimed as he laid down his napkin and rose to his feet. “Your back -”

“Sit down, Vint, you’re making the guy uncomfortable,” rumbled the Bull as he clapped a large, heavy hand on Dorian’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat without looking at him.

“Darkness, waiting for-”

“Not now, Cole,” said Varric warningly as Invictus returned with the tunic. Anders snatched it hurriedly and tugged it on before dropping back into his seat, face ashen.

Fenris finished off his food and left the table quickly, his mood low. He snatched his sword up to get away and practice his form before he let himself lose his temper.

Anders finished his food without appetite then rose from the table, collecting up his own bowl together with Fenris’ wordlessly before heading to the kitchen. The others still at the table were silent, each with their eyes on their food, no conversation. Though Cole had not touched the food Varric had set before him, he was uncharacteristically silent as well, though his eyes kept darting towards the kitchen and then back around the table, lingering often on Dorian and Invictus.

“I’ll go help in the kitchen,” Vic offered as he gathered the few empty bowls and wandered after his lover. He took a damp bowl from Anders and started to dry instead of asking what was wrong.

Anders concentrated on scrubbing out the pots and bowls; only after he’d set the last pot aside for Invictus to dry did he lean his hands on the edge of the sink. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t let it get to me after all these years.”

“Don’t worry love, it’s not your fault I’m in a mood. Pavus has no discretion either. I just hope things get better before dinner or we all drive each other mad.”

Anders turned and leaned against the sink, wrapping his arms around his torso as he stared absently. “We all seem to be at each other’s throats,” he said quietly. “I’ve felt vaguely on edge ever since we got here. At first I put it down to - well, old memories of the last time I was around Lake Calenhad, still feeling rough, and this wretched Calling on top of everything else. Loghain says it’s not real, not a true Calling, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. But there’s something around here, something more to it than that. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“Then we should leave first thing tomorrow. It’s already gone past midday so no point in stumbling in the dark for shelter unless we have to.” Vic pulled Anders into his arms and hugged him. “I’m sorry, I just...I wish we’d never left Nevarra.”

“Ah, so that’s where you went after we got separated?” asked Anders. “I wondered. Did Zevran survive the storm and the shipwreck too?” he added hopefully.

“Yeah, he headed off in a different direction to search for you. Hopefully he got the message we sent off the day we found you and will be at Skyhold when we return. Or on his way.” Vic pressed a gentle kiss to Anders’ cheek. “I love you, I haven’t said it enough lately.”

“I love you too,” answered Anders, letting his cheek rest on Invictus’ shoulder as he buried his face against his lover’s neck. “You must have thought I’d drowned. Nearly did, too.”

“I tried to not think that. If it had been the case I might have just turned around and walked into the sea.” Vic admitted. He felt Anders’ breath hitch in his chest as the apostate made an odd little gasping sound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I only ever seem to cause you worry and pain. And I’ve done it again.”

“Don’t cry love, it’s ok.” Vic tilted Anders’ face towards him and gave him a slow, gentle kiss to remind his apostate that he was loved. “Don’t blame yourself my heart.”

“I’m sorry,” repeated Anders. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I guess I’m not fully recovered yet, and this damned singing in my head isn’t helping. It’s... it’s like Corypheus all over again, only this time I haven’t got Justice to help me fight him. It’s worse than darkspawn. It’s just _there_ , all the time, and it’s just so exhausting just hearing it and not following. Hearing the pity in Dorian’s voice - I just couldn’t handle that on top of everything else; it was like being back in the tower again, hearing the apprentices whisper in the dining hall the day after they let me out of solitary.” He straightened and wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. “Damn it, I’m stronger than this. I’m a Grey Warden, Maker’s sakes!”

“We know love, like you said something about this place isn’t right. We’ve got you, ok?” Vic reassured him with another kiss. Anders returned the kiss distractedly.

“Something feels very off,” he said quietly. “It’s like... there’s something else. Like... it’s hard to describe. A breath of the Fade; like I can feel something tugging me, but it comes and goes.”

“Is it the Inquisitor’s mark? They say he stepped from the Fade and that mark reacts to the Rifts. Or do you mean this warden camp?” Vic rested his head against Anders and sighed.

“Mark? Rifts? I don’t understand. He said something about a hole in the sky, and about that green light in his hand but I couldn’t understand the half of it,” confessed Anders. “Maybe it’s his hand; I don’t know. Or maybe there’s something else here.” He wrapped his arms around himself again and shivered. “There aren’t many healing spirits around here; something’s frightened them off. Normally I can feel them all round me when I’m healing, but there was barely a flicker when I healed your hand earlier. It reminds me of the Blackmarsh. Dead things that don’t know to stay dead.” He shuddered violently. “I feel like someone just walked over my grave.”

“Don’t say that. The only thing that doesn’t know it’s dead around here is that demon, Cole. Come on, let’s get some sun and not stay in this fucking cave,” Vic said.

“Not a demon,” said Anders distractedly. “I don’t know what he is, but not that.” He glanced around the kitchen. “I need air; let’s go,” he nodded.

Vic led Anders out by the hand, found a sunny spot and let his lover curl against him for a nap while he pondered all that had happened, including his ill-advised attempt at flirting with Dorian to figure him out. Despite having slept in late, Anders soon dropped into a light doze, though he was restless even in sleep, twitching occasionally.

From where they rested, Vic could see Fenris; the elf seemed to be working out his frustration in sword practice, the long blade flashing in the sun as the warrior wove a deadly dance against unseen opponents. From time to time he flickered out of view to reappear some distance away; he seemed to be mastering that teleportation trick well. 

After a while Fenris came to a halt and stood for a while, catching his breath before turning to walk over to the well. Leaning his sword against the side, he drew up a bucket of water. He drank deeply before tipping the rest of the water over his head then shaking his wet hair. Fenris set the bucket aside then glanced over, noticing Invictus and the sleeping Anders. He took up his sword slowly, setting it on his back before slowly walking over to the shade of the tree.

Fenris shook his head for Vic to be quiet before he slipped next to Anders, cuddled against his mages with a sigh. He knew he had explaining to do, but he wanted quiet time with them first.

Anders stirred slightly, his eyelids shivering as one hand clutched briefly at the fabric of his tunic over his heart as he frowned slightly; he murmured something and then his eyes slowly opened. He blinked and stared around him, disoriented. “Fen?” he murmured.

“I’m here, rest easy,” Fenris replied with a caress to Anders’ face.

Anders shifted slightly against Invictus. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

“Not long at all, you can go back to sleep,” Vic replied tiredly. Anders straightened reluctantly.

“No, I shouldn’t sleep the day away - if we’re leaving tomorrow, I should check what stores of healing herbs and potions are left here in the waystation in case I need to brew more for us,” he said, stretching slowly until his spine cracked audibly. “And you should speak to the Inquisitor and Loghain about what the plan is.”

“You two go on, I’m going to rest out here, it’s quiet,” Fenris said as he stretched out with his arms under his head and eyes closed against the sun.

Anders got to his feet then paused, glancing back down at Fenris. “Fen... that mark in the Inquisitor’s hand. Did you... feel anything? That green flash?”

The elf opened his eyes and frowned. “A... an itch, like something scraping its nails down my hide....” He looked down to find his brands also had lit up. Anders was pinching the bridge of his nose and frowning, almost wincing. 

“There it is again,” he muttered. He opened his eyes and stared down at the glowing elf and his eyes widened slightly. “That’s... odd,” he said slowly.

“Very...odd,” Fenris said as he glanced back at Anders then decided to forgo his nap and find Meneris.

“Love?” Vic asked as he watched his warrior head off towards the waystation house at a fast clip.

“Something’s wrong,” said Anders. “I don’t know what. But that bad feeling I had just got a whole lot worse.” He glanced at Invictus. “Come on.”

Fenris had found the Inquisitor, and had his marked hand held up as he stared at Meneris. “What is this?” 

The Iron Bull had risen to his feet to loom over them both even as Dorian had half-risen from his seat, one hand reaching instinctively for his staff.

“Boss?” asked the Bull, looking to Meneris as Anders and Invictus burst into the common room then halted. Anders put a hand to his forehead. “There it is again,” he muttered.

“What is this thing and why is it affecting us like this?” Fenris demanded. Anders glanced up, confused, then stared at the mark upon Meneris’ hand; it was pulsing with a steady green glow.

“Why is it doing that? What is it and why is it affecting me from yards away? It’s...making my markings ...react,” Fenris rasped.

“If that came from the Fade, and you can walk the Fade, maybe their energy is similar?” Vic pondered.

“Then why am I affected, when Dorian and you aren’t?” asked Anders. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he winced. “Head splitting,” he muttered.

“You don’t have a king's ransom of lyrium in your skin,” Fenris answered. 

“You are also... well... remember your circumstances love,” Vic replied. Anders glanced at him, still frowning.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly. “Wait - no, it can’t be! Justice is gone, remember?”

“Then why else are you affected?” Fenris asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped back from Meneris. “ _Venhedis_ , it’s worse being right next to you.”

“Come here, you’re looking a little woozy,” Vic said as he helped Fenris remain upright.

“Maybe you should just step away,” agreed the Bull as he glanced down at Meneris, who clenched his fist closed over the mark. “Boss, should we be worried that it’s glowing again?”

“We should check out that rift sooner rather than later,” said Dorian. “Perhaps tracking these Wardens should wait until we have dealt with the rift?”

“Corypheus won’t wait,” replied Loghain. “And nor will Warden-Commander Clarel. Whatever is planned, they won’t wait around nicely whilst we deal with this rift.”

“Hey Blondie, maybe you should sit down; you’re looking a little pale,” suggested Varric, nudging Anders over to the nearest chair. Dorian was by Meneris’ side, looking concerned.

Anders dropped into the chair but shook his head. “No, it’s alright... whatever it is, it’s fading now.”

“So’s the light from your mark, Meneris,” observed Dorian quietly. “What do you think? Something came through that rift maybe?”

“Isn’t it all tied together though? Who knows how long we’ll be off dealing with the wardens? Taking care of the Rift should be fairly quick, right Inquisitor?” Vic asked.

“Blood magic,” Anders said suddenly.

“What? Blood magic? What are you talking about?” Fenris asked as he tried to get Vic to stop coddling him.

“Janeka, at the tower when we dealt with Corypheus - do you remember? She used blood magic under Corypheus’ influence. Hawke, what if that’s why the wardens have all gone off? For some blood magic ritual?” Anders glanced up at the Champion, his expression serious, before turning to Loghain. “This Warden-Commander Clarel... they're after my time. They’re not a mage perchance?”

“ _She_ is a mage...and has been a Warden a long time. But not long enough to be ready for her Calling, I think.” Loghain hesitated as he tried to remember when she joined and when she had changed.

“Isn’t she Orlesian?” asked Varric thoughtfully. “Anders wouldn’t have met her - the Orlesian Wardens didn’t come to help with the Ferelden Blight, and he left at the end.”

“True,” replied Anders. “I left after Solo-” He broke off, coughing.

“ _Vishante_ Warden she-devil, she did something to make you unable to speak her name even!” Fenris snarled.

Loghain frowned. “Solo-... you mean Solona? The Hero of Ferelden?” His frown deepened.

Anders was struggling for breath; Varric handed him his water canteen, and he took it gratefully. After a few mouthfuls of water the paroxysms eased enough to let him draw breath. “She left me at the end of the Blight, and that’s when I had to leave. She’d let templars into the Wardens, and she wasn’t around to protect me any more. We... ran into her again in Tevinter, and she went with us to Seheron. She -” He broke off and grimaced, clutching his throat as he looked to Invictus. “I can’t. You tell him.” He lowered his head and stared at the floor.

“You tell them, it makes me too furious,” Fenris said as he sat with Anders to keep them both calm. He listened carefully as Vic recounted their ill-fated encounter with the Hero, unto their parting ways, and on to when they figured out what she’d done to Anders.

Varric let out a long, low whistle. “So _that’s_ what the whole story was,” he said slowly. “Then it wasn’t Justice behind the whole mess with the chantry?”

“You mean Anders was under the influence of blood magic? Enthralled?” asked Dorian with interest, eyeing Anders speculatively. “That must have been some powerful blood magic indeed. That would require a sizeable blood sacrifice to pull off - and, I dare say, would leave some permanent mark. I imagine you weren’t supposed to survive the aftermath.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan, no,” agreed Anders, not looking up. “But then there wasn’t a plan for after the chantry was gone.” He glanced up at Invictus. “I hadn’t counted on Hawke deciding to let me live.”

“Well, that’s a story for another time. For now, we have to figure out where to go and what to do on the morrow. Rift, Wardens, or do we split up?” Vic said, distracted by his lover’s distress.

“If this is an example of what just _one_ Grey Warden enthralled by blood magic can do....” said Dorian slowly as he turned to Meneris. “I don’t think we have much choice. We have no idea how many mages have gone with Clarel, but that many Grey Wardens under the control of blood magic? The rift will still be there Meneris - but perhaps we truly _don’t_ have the luxury of time to deal with it and still deal with the Wardens.”

The elven Inquisitor paced around as everyone watched him, wondering what was to come. Finally he stopped with a glance to Loghain and Anders before he spoke. “We need supplies before we just go gallivanting off after these Wardens. I’d rather not go into this with nothing but a hunch. Give us three days - one to get back to Skyhold, resupply, one and a half to get back here and follow the trail. Assuming you know which way to go from here, Warden?”

Loghain nodded slowly. “Whilst people were laying a-bed this morning, I scouted. I have every certainty I know where they have gone.”

Anders had dropped his head down into his hands once more. Varric shrugged. “So, who goes, who stays? Or do we all go? Inquisitor?”

Fenris sat up and glanced apologetically at Anders before he spoke. “Considering I’d like to keep Anders from Cullen as long as we can, I suggest we remain together but send word back as to where we’re headed so there’s no concern over your well being, Meneris.”

“There are supplies here; dry goods, but they’ll suffice,” said Loghain. “Anders can brew any healing potions we might need, I think.”

“Then it’s settled; I’ll help you brew, Anders.” Vic said quietly. 

Anders nodded slowly, not lifting his head.

“I can help, if you like,” said Dorian quietly. “The work will go faster with three.” He glanced at Meneris. “You should go with Varric and the Bull to Crestwood to send word to Cullen. I’d advise taking Cole as well,” he added, eyeing the spirit who was quietly walking towards Anders, his pale eyes fixed on the oblivious apostate.

“As long as you can be of use, feel free, Pavus.” Vic said as he nudged at Anders to get moving. The blond apostate slowly got to his feet and headed off to the store room, his footsteps slow. Dorian watched, then unfolded his arms and followed the Grey Warden, glancing back to Meneris before ducking into the store room to help look for the reagents they would need.

“Fenris, could you help Loghain and I gather what supplies are here - or maybe you both could hunt for another deer? Fresh meat would help our moods, I think,” Meneris sighed as he tried to keep it together.

Loghain nodded. He glanced at Fenris. “Coming?” he asked, then, quieter, “Or do you prefer to stay and keep an eye on Anders?”

“I trust Vic with his life; let’s go hunting.” Fenris got his weapon and followed the Ferelden Warden down the path and towards where Loghain had found game on his own.

Anders re-emerged from the store room with an armful of dried herbs and packets of powders; Dorian followed after with a wooden box full of empty glass flasks. Anders headed towards the kitchen, his eyes downcast.

“Well, guess we ought to get ready and head out then, Inquisitor? If we head out now, we can be back by dusk,” suggested Varric.

“Sure, I’ll be sure to bring back supplies for our mages.”

Anders looked up. “Crystal grace, if they have any,” he said tonelessly. “What’s here isn’t very fresh.” He turned and headed into the kitchen.

“I’ll get lyrium as well, just in case. We’ll be back by sundown, be safe.” Meneris glanced at Dorian, wishing he could give him a kiss goodbye but too aware his mage wouldn’t allow it.

Dorian glanced up from the crate of bottles and gave Meneris a smile, somewhat distracted. “Do come back safe. Bull, mind you don’t get distracted chasing after Venatori, hmm? I’d be most put out if anything happened to Meneris.” His light tone belied the look in his eyes, that promised of more than a kiss when they returned.

Meneris would have to keep hold of that until they returned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone can't hold their liquor, Fenris apparently likes to sing when buzzed but he still hates Cole. Invictus makes a tactical error that could cost him.

Fenris was quiet as they followed tracks of a deer that hopefully would be their dinner that night. He caught glances from the older man but left it be while they were on the hunt.

Loghain’s attention was on the ground; his eyes scanned the dirt ceaselessly for signs or tracks of their prey. He led them towards nearby woods, heading towards a small clearing. He paused in the shadows of the trees and motioned to Fenris to get down as he spied a small herd of deer peacefully grazing on the far side of the stretch of grass. He bent his bow and strung it, then drew bead on one of the deer.

A slight breeze sprang up as he loosed the shaft, and it took the buck in a hind flank. Loghain swore as the deer scattered, the wounded buck staggering into the trees with a bellow of alarm. The Warden cursed.

“Maker’s balls. Now we’ll have to track it down. Come on. Best to put it out of its misery fast than leave it blundering about in pain,” he muttered, gesturing to Fenris to follow as he headed out across the clearing.

“Leave it to me.” Fenris darted after the buck, able to catch it with a bit of cheating using his powers before he took it down. He phased his arm into incorporeal energy and reached down into the beast’s body until his hand curled about its heart. The rapidly-beating organ was larger than a man’s heart, but his fingers crushed it as easily; and the buck dropped dead at his feet leaving him holding the dripping heart.

Loghain pushed through the bushes just in time to witness the buck’s death; he paused, staring at Fenris as he stood there, his arm red to the elbow, his fist full of heart and blood. 

“Useful,” was all the Warden said as he drew a knife and set to work to gut the deer’s carcass.

“I suppose.” Fenris said as he grimaced at the ichor on him. “Might as well help with that, I’m already covered in blood.” The elven fighter pulled his own knife and set to skinning. Loghain merely grunted. 

“Been a time or two, would’ve been handy to have someone with your ability around to ease some poor bastard’s passing,” Loghain observed quietly. “It’s a rare gift, to let someone leave this world without pain. There’s no glory in war, but a lot of pain, shit and no dignity in death, whatever the Wardens may say.” Loghain carved out the deer’s liver and held it out to Fenris. “Here, you’re the one who killed it; this is rightfully yours,” he said. “As is the heart.”

Fenris glanced at the quivering organ and back at Loghain. “Um...sure.”

“It’s best eaten whilst it’s still warm,” said Loghain with a wink as he turned back to his work gutting the rest of the deer. “It’s good for you.”

The elf quirked an eyebrow at the other man’s words. “Wine, fucking and sleep is good for me. I have my doubts about a freshly killed animal’s liver. Split it with me?” Fenris offered to cut it in half.

Loghain glanced up and shrugged. “If you like. I did hit it first after all.” He took the proffered half and popped it, still warm, into his mouth. He chewed as he worked, humming quietly to himself.

The elf ate his half, but couldn't bring himself to take the heart; he felt as if he might bring it all back up as it was. 

“Here, first hit gets it. I don’t think I like this tradition very much,” Fenris said before he bolted off to a nearby bush. Loghain glanced up at the noises of retching but said nothing, only wrapping the heart up in a bundle of leaves before stowing it in a bag.

“When you’re done, we should get back,” he remarked quietly when the sounds fell silent.

“Water... please,” Fenris gasped, hand out for the canteen he hoped Loghain had. Loghain unstoppered his water canteen and pressed it into the elf’s hand before turning to cut a stout pole to help them carry the buck back to the way station. It was much larger than the deer he’d taken down by himself a couple of days previously; he hoped the elf would get over his queasiness enough to be of use getting it back.

He lashed the deer’s feet together then slid the pole between each pair of legs before glancing over to Fenris. “Better?” he asked.

The elf nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he still looked rather green beneath the dusky tan. Still, he stoppered the canteen and handed it back before taking up one end of the pole, shouldering it dutifully as Loghain took the other end. They started to make their way out of the woods, the buck swinging heavily between them.

Fenris didn’t speak much, worried he’d throw up again if he opened his mouth. He realized they looked a fright with all of the deer’s blood and the stench of it on them. 

It took longer to return than it had to depart, burdened as they were with the deer. Fenris had not realised just how far they had roamed in search of prey; the sun was getting low in the sky as they spied the way station, perhaps an hour away from dusk. They headed inside and made for the kitchen.

Dorian was just coming out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth, as they entered; he paused as they made their way across the common room. “My word, that’s a fine fellow,” he exclaimed, staring at the buck. “That should certainly feed us all with plenty to spare - even with the Bull’s appetite!”

Anders followed the other mage out of the kitchen, looking exhausted as he rubbed one eye with the heel of his palm. He stopped as he spotted Loghain first, his Warden’s blues stained with blood and effluvia from gutting the deer. His gaze travelled back to Fenris, and he stared at the blood-spattered elf, his eyes fixed on Fenris’ blood-stained mouth.

“Don’t gawk at me, I’ve already sicked up once from his ‘tradition’ of eating the liver.” Fenris nudged Loghain to move so they could put the beast over a fire.

“Hang on,” said Loghain, fishing in a bag on his belt before pushing a squishy package wrapped in leaves into Anders’ hands. “You should turn that into stew; you could do with it,” he remarked. “Do you the world of good.”

Anders stared at him, bewildered, as the other Warden and Fenris carried the deer into the kitchen. He slowly unwrapped the package as he followed, and then stared down as his fingers touched something wet and almost rubbery.

He stared at the heart. _His heart looked like this. Roland’s. Blood in my mouth. Flesh. Bodies scattered, dismembered, like broken dolls. Skin caught in my teeth, blood in my hair; so much blood. Everything crimson., the stink of it over everything. Wardens, templars; all reduced to so much raw flesh until the taste of it choked me; did I do this? Did we?_

Invictus came up to him when the other mage didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe. “Love?”

“Anders?” said Dorian as he moved closer. He glanced at Invictus then reached out and took the bloodied heart from Anders’ unresisting fingers. “I think I’d best take care of this. He’s obviously tired and overwrought; I don’t know how he could keep up that level of concentration brewing potions for so long. There’s brandy in my pack,” he murmured. “You take care of him, I’ll deal with this.” He headed into the kitchen, the deer’s heart still dripping blood on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Anders. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

Hush,” said Invictus gently. “Come on, let’s go wash your hands. You worked too hard on those potions, and you’ve eaten nothing since breakfast. Come on love, don’t blank out on me, please?”

“I’ll be OK,” said Anders quietly. “I think I just need a little rest. Call me when the Inquisitor gets back?”

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” said Invictus dubiously. 

Anders gave him a brief smile and headed to the bathing chamber to rinse his hands off. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood over the tub of water scrubbing his hands; they were pink and raw, the water cold, by the time he came back to himself. He frowned, shaking off the water before reaching for a towel. He made his way back to the room he’d been sharing with Invictus and Fenris to lay down upon his bed. He folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

He hadn’t thought about the day he’d joined with Justice in months. He wasn’t sure why the sight of a butchered deer’s heart should send him back to that moment now; he’d seen Fenris rip out the hearts of men before, after all, without having flashbacks or suddenly recalling the taste of flesh and blood in his mouth and wanting to throw up from the memory - and this hadn’t even been a human heart. Perhaps it had been the sight of blood on Fenris’ lips; though Maker only knew, he’d seen Fenris covered in blood before.

Perhaps it was this false Calling that had him so off-kilter. It had been embarrassing , the way he’d broken down briefly in front of Hawke like that earlier; but the singing was there constantly now. It took an effort of will to ignore it; it was present during his every waking moment and ran through all his dreams; it was draining him. Knowing it was false didn’t lessen it any. And over and beyond that, the feeling of _wrongness_ of this place; an unwholesome feeling. The more he thought on it, the more he felt the comparison with Blackmarsh was apt. There were dead things here, and blood magic. His dreams had been uneasy ever since they'd arrived at the Warden waystation. He stared at the ceiling, full of misgivings. 

He closed his eyes, but sleep was elusive.

***  
Fenris found his appetite diminished when dinner was finally ready, so he opted to get Anders, and make sure the mage had something in him before bed. Meneris, Varric, Cole and the Bull had returned just as sun set; they’d picked up further supplies, and Varric had managed to get hold of the extra herbs and lyrium Anders had requested. Fenris hoped perhaps the sight of the herbs might cheer Anders up a little and distract him from the mood that had seemed to grip the mage before he went off to lie down.

The dormer room was dark as he entered, but Fenris could hear Anders’ breathing, slow and steady in sleep. He looked at his lover for a while, reticent to wake him from his rest but he knew Anders could sleep well into the next day if he was left alone. He knelt down and gently shook the other man’s arm to rouse him.

Anders came awake with a start, inhaling sharply. Fenris felt the apostate’s body tense as he awoke in the darkness; and then Anders gestured and a small globe of magelight bloomed into life just above Anders’ head. He stared at Fenris, blinking, and then relaxed with a relieved sigh. “Fenris. What time is it?”

“I’m unsure of the exact time but the sun has set. I hate to wake you but you should eat something.” Fenris moved back so he wasn’t crowding his lover. 

Anders struggled up onto one elbow, still groggy and disoriented from sleep, mind still fogged from the disturbing dreams he’d been caught in; dreams of the Blackmarsh and dead things rising up out of the stagnant waters to drag him down beneath their reeking surface, as he tried to scream and found no sound came. He shook his head to dispel the last clinging tendrils of the dream.

“Are the others back yet?” he asked as he sat up and reached for his shirt.

“They might be, I let you sleep a while before I decided to wake you. We’re worried for you love, Vic told me how you kind of...went away after Loghain gave you the deer heart.” Fenris reached out to Anders, but hesitated. He wasn’t sure his touch would be welcome while his mage was half-awake.

Anders paused in the act of tugging on the shirt, his gaze distant, then pulled it on over his head. “I was tired, and this place has me on edge,” he said slowly. “It just... threw me for a minute, is all. I remembered something I’d rather have forgotten, but I’m fine now.” He smiled hesitantly at Fenris then reached out to slip his hand into Fenris’ warm grip, his slender fingers cool against the elf’s warm dark skin as they tightened reassuringly and he tugged the elf a little towards him.

“Forgive my hesitation, I’d rather not startle you when you are not fully aware.” Fenris said as he let Anders tug him forward. 

“Given what I was dreaming about, that’s fair,” remarked Anders as Fenris lowered himself onto the edge of the cot. He released Fenris’ hand so he could wrap his arms around the elf’s waist, then rested his head upon Fenris’ shoulder. “Glad to be awake again, to be honest.”

“Sorry that I didn’t wake you sooner. Do you wish to tell me of your dreams? Remember you and Vic taught me sometimes it helps to speak of these things, dispel them from your mind.” Fenris rested his hands over Anders and leaned his head against his mage’s for his own peace of mind.

“A place called Blackmarsh. It’s where I first met Justice - before we joined, back when he was possessing the body of a Warden called Kristoff. Except Kristoff - Justice, that was - he wasn’t there; it was just me and these dead things, trying to drag me under the water and drown me. I was trying to scream but couldn't’t make a sound.” He pulled a face. “Hate those. Bad as the ones where you’re trying to run but your legs won’t move, or not fast enough.” He buried his face against Fenris’ shoulder. “Can we not talk about it?” he asked, his voice muffled.

“As you wish love, I didn’t mean to distress you further.” Fenris closed his eyes and just sat with Anders, his grip on his lover tightened with each squeeze he felt from his mage.

“Just wish I could sleep a few hours without dreaming,” said Anders as he gave Fenris one last gentle squeeze then pulled away. “Sorry, love, I’m still only half awake; I’ll be alright in a minute. This place has me rattled; for Lake Calenhad it feels rather too much like Blackmarsh for my liking. There’s something not right here. It feels like some of the bad places in Kirkwall did - the Veil’s far too thin.”

“Good thing we’re moving on then.” Fenris replied as he watched Anders wander to the small basin and freshen up. “I should try to eat more but...I couldn’t keep anything down.”

Anders splashed cold water on his face then glanced back, dripping. “What’s up? It’s not like you to get an upset stomach, and we’ve all been eating the same rations. Let me check; I hope you’re not going down with something,” he said, concerned. He stepped towards Fenris and lifted one hand, a soft blue glow springing up around his fingers.

“Loghain said it was tradition for the one who got the kill to have the liver and heart. I only ate half but I got sick from it.” Fenris glanced at Anders, unsure if he was sick or just disgusted at eating a raw liver, warm from the kill. 

Anders paused as he passed his hand across Fenris’ chest, his fingers a scant inch above the elf’s tunic, and pulled a face. “Ugh, I never could fathom that particular tradition,” he muttered. “Always seemed far too barbaric for my liking - not to mention unsanitary. Wild animals can carry all sorts of nasties - liver flukes, for one.” He moved his hand lower; intent on what he was doing, he didn’t see how Fenris turned green.

“Oh dear, your stomach seems very rebellious,” Anders went on, oblivious. “Hang on, let me just do something about that.” He pressed his hand gently against Fenris’ sternum and cool, soothing healing energies sank into the elf’s body; presently Fenris felt his nausea easing.

“Well, the good news is that I don’t think you’ve picked up anything unpleasant, but I’d advise you to avoid any further little ‘traditions’ Loghain may suggest to you,” said Anders finally as he straightened and stepped back. “How do you feel now?”

“I think I’m just going to lie down now.” Fenris mumbled as he tried to clear his head of the nasty things Anders had mentioned. Anders’ face fell in dismay.

“Love, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned... look, come with me, I’ll brew something to settle your stomach, alright? You’ll be fine, there’s nothing actually physically wrong with you. You just need to eat some proper food - decently cooked - and you’ll be OK. Love?” Anders held a hand out towards Fenris.

“Very well, I just hope it doesn’t bother me while we travel tomorrow.” Fenris replied as he took Anders’ hand.

They emerged into the common room to find everyone standing around with serious expressions. Loghain and Meneris were glaring at each other across the table, a map spread between them; Dorian stood a little behind Meneris, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression on his face.

“Oh this looks good,” murmured Anders. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“What’s the problem now? Like we didn’t have enough already?” Fenris asked as he slipped in besides Invictus.

“He wants us to go all the way to the Western Approach to track down Clarel. With little in the way of supplies, or potions or weapons. Do you realize how far that is from here Loghain? We have to go back to Skyhold, we’d pass it on the way there anyway.” Meneris said as he stabbed a marker into the map.

“Your cartographer must hate you Inquisitor.” Vic muttered.

“No, Meneris, we’re south of Skyhold,” murmured Dorian quietly. “Though granted Skyhold is far closer than Orlais, and at least at Skyhold we have horses. And more to the point, an army - you do realise, Warden, that we would need more forces to assail a fortress full of blood-enthralled Wardens? Unless this ritual is waiting on something - but even so, enthralled or not, I’m not sure I’d care to lay siege to a castle full of Wardens with so few numbers.”

“Wait. Ritual? Blood - you mean, I was right?” exclaimed Anders. “Loghain, what haven’t you been telling us?”

Loghain sighed. “There is... more to this than I told you, Anders. The forces hunting me were other Wardens. I was cast out when I rebelled against Clarel’s plan to join forces with a Tevinter magister and use a blood magic ritual to deal with this false Calling of Corypheus. All the Wardens are congregating at the Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach, where they plan to meet with this magister, Erimond, and perform the ritual.”

“This magister happens to be one of the Venatori,” added Dorian, waving a hand. “Which we could have told Warden Loghain if he had deigned to share this information with us at the start. And we could have gone back to Skyhold already, roused the troops, and been on the march already.” He turned and stared at the Warden, shaking his head. “You Wardens may be used to ‘death or glory’ assaults against impossible odds, Loghain, but really such things usually only result in a lot of dead people and achieve little. You honestly expect we few to survive such an assault?” He waved a hand again and turned away. “Utterly ridiculous. Cullen would laugh himself sick.”

“I’m already doomed by this damn mark, I’d rather not toss my life away to folly before we face Corypheus again Warden. In the morning we return to Skyhold, muster the troops and march come dawn the next day. I wager our friends could also use some rest, supplies and healing.” Meneris said in challenge.

“It gets better,” Varric muttered as an aside to Anders. “Apparently this blood ritual is supposed to raise an army of demons to go march on the Deep Roads and slaughter the last of the Old Gods to put a stop to the Blights once and for all.”

“What?” gasped Anders, the blood draining from his face. “That’s insane! That would play right into Corypheus’ hands!” He turned and stared at Meneris, wild-eyed. “They don’t understand. Corypheus - I’ve faced him before. Up here - he was in my _head_ ,” he added, tapping his temple with a finger. “He corrupts. He twists your thoughts. They don’t know what they’re doing! He’ll destroy them all - it’s Janeka all over again!” He turned to Invictus. “Tell them - tell them, Hawke!”

Vic did just that, without leaving out anything including how they had to fight Anders due to Corypheus’ control over him. “If he’s gotten more powerful since we faced him, you’ll need more than a few tired, half-starved, and cranky fighters to take him on. It would take powerful blood magic to enthrall that many wardens. We’re going to need a lot of people, and if you have mages that know combat, even better.” 

Anders had dropped down into a nearby chair as Invictus spoke; as he described how Anders had been possessed by Justice directly under the influence of Corypheus, the blond apostate dropped his head into his hands and slumped. Varric patted his back awkwardly; after a moment, Cole moved up to Anders’ other side and reached out a hand to do the same.

“Don’t touch him demon.” Fenris hissed when he noticed Cole. 

“Not a demon, I don’t think.” Vic replied absently before he turned back to Meneris and Dorian. 

“Dorian, you’re an Altus, I assume you know how to fight blood magic?” Vic asked. The Tevinter mage nodded.

“Far too much practice, though more since I joined the Inquisition than whilst I was in Tevinter,” he remarked. “A ritual like this however... that’s very powerful blood magic indeed. It will require a huge number of sacrifices to raise that many demons.” 

“The wardens, he’s going to use them and give them over to the demons for this ritual. They think they’re dying anyway so it wouldn’t matter to them if they made a sacrifice for what they thought was a greater good. Andraste, Maker and Maferath…” Vic whispered as the pieces fell into place for him. Anders had lifted his head and was staring at him; all the colour had drained from his face.

Dorian glanced to Meneris. “I’ll start packing our things,” he said tersely. “Cole, give the Bull a hand carving up the venison; we’ll take it with us for the journey back to Skyhold. Varric -” He broke off and eyed the dwarf. “No, I think perhaps your friend needs you right now.” He gave the Inquisitor a brief, distracted kiss on the cheek then headed off to the dormer room they’d been sharing.

“Blondie? Hey, Blondie?” called Varric quietly.

“We’re all going to die,” Anders said very softly. “Every one of us. They’ll kill us all.”

“No, we’re not. You didn’t survive nearly drowning. We didn’t survive that wreck to just lie down and die at the hands of foolish men with too much power. You will get up and you’re not going to fall into despair.” Fenris said from behind his mage.

“You don’t understand,” whispered Anders. “I’ve had him in my head. Heard his singing, his....” His voice tailed off. “Singing. It’s in my head. It’s there, it won’t go away, calling.” He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “And I don’t have Justice to fight him off. Nothing. It’s empty. Gone.” He buried his face in his hands with a low moan.

Fenris dropped to a crouch in front of Anders and took his hands. “You’ve got us, we won’t let you fall to this. You trust us, you know we’ll fight to the end of the line for you love. Don’t give up, please?”

Anders lifted his head slowly, a haunted look in his eyes. “Promise me you won’t let me fall to him, love,” he whispered. “Don’t let me turn on you all again like that. Promise me you’ll take me down yourself before I can hurt anyone.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so very afraid of hurting anyone. I don’t want more deaths on my hands. No more. I’ve killed too many.”

Vic let his hands rest on Anders shoulders while Fenris hung his head for a moment before he agreed to Anders’ request. “It will kill me, but I will do as you’ve asked.” 

Anders let his head drop, answering Fenris with a squeeze of the hands. Varric patted Anders’ back awkwardly then glanced up at Invictus.

“I’ll go pack. You three look like you need some alone time, Hawke. I doubt anyone feels much like eating now.” He shook his head and moved away.

“I’m sorry. So sorry,” Anders breathed. “Sorry I’m not stronger. Sorry I ever dragged you into any of this.”

“Stop, stop!” Fenris pleaded as he stood and pulled Anders’ arms around him. “You’re stronger than you know.”

Anders didn’t resist as Fenris pulled him to his feet; he slumped forwards, burying his face against Fenris’ shoulder. “I wish Invictus had -” He broke off with a choking sound. “No. No, I don’t. But I am afraid. You didn’t have Corypheus in your head; you can’t hear him. I’m afraid of what will happen. He was still imprisoned when we last faced him, but he’s so much more powerful now. Maker save me, I’m afraid.”

“We’re afraid too love. Come on, let’s get you both fed and we’ll call it an early night. Don’t argue, you’re spiralling and not having enough to eat makes it worse. Fenris, you too, I know you didn’t keep dinner down.” Vic got them both settled at the table before he got them both full plates, and after another trip for drinks, he sat between his lovers.

Fenris glanced at his food then at Invictus in surprise. “But…”

“Don’t but me, eat.” Vic glared at the elf then raised an eyebrow at Anders. The blond apostate’s face was still ashen, his lips bloodless and dark shadows around his eyes. He stared at his plate without appetite.

“I can’t,” he said quietly. “I feel... sick. Numb.” He stared at it for a moment longer then reached for the bottle of wine.

“Don’t you dare. If you drink without something in your stomach you’ll be even worse tomorrow. I’m a terrible healer, you’ve told me yourself. Do you really want to travel with a hangover?” Vic asked as he gently placed his hand over his lover’s.

Fenris just watched them, surprised by how firm Vic was being with them. It saddened him when he realized that he’d recognized Leandra’s steel in how Invictus was caring for them. 

“You sound like my father,” Anders said, his voice colourless. He let his hand fall from the bottle. “Maybe a hangover would make it easier to believe this is all just a horrible nightmare. Maybe drinking would let me sleep without dreaming.” He lowered his head. “Or maybe it would just make everything worse.”

“Anders...you know it would be worse. Come, if we both have something, maybe we can all enjoy the wine afterward?” Fenris offered. He didn’t feel like eating either but he knew the signs of a dark, fast descent in his lover, if not himself. “Please?”

Anders stared at the table for a moment, then slowly nodded. He drew the plate towards himself and began to slowly eat, choking each mouthful down with difficulty. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, and he could feel his stomach heave rebelliously with every swallow. He forced himself to eat, not looking up.

Fenris did the same until he’d cleared half his plate then pushed it away. He glanced to Vic before he looked around for glasses but gave up and grabbed the bottle for a swig. He handed it to Anders while he dared his other lover to say a word.

“I can take a hint, I’ll see you when you both come to bed, I’m tired.” Vic knew better than to argue, and the hurts his lovers shared were one of the things he’d never get no matter how much he loved them. He was lucky, and he knew it made it impossible for him to understand Fenris or Anders’ pain.

The others had come back to the table and were clearing their own plates; there was little conversation. Anders took the bottle from Fenris with a nod, setting it to his lips then tilting back his head as he drank straight from the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. When he set it down again, a third of the bottle was gone, and Dorian was eyeing him from across the table.

Fenris shrugged and took another swig, then glanced at Dorian skeptically. “Something to say Pavus?”

“I think perhaps we need a few more bottles,” replied Dorian quietly. He rose from the table. “Meneris, wine? Or perhaps brandy would be better.”

“Wine, brandy will give me a headache on top of everything else.” Meneris answered as he glanced to the others. “I thought the rifts were bad enough, why this too?”

“There’s a few bottles of wine in the store room,” said Dorian. He headed in that direction, returning a short while later with three dusty bottles plus a smaller square bottle tucked under his right arm. He set a bottle of wine in front of Meneris and the other two in the centre of the table, then put the square bottle in front of Anders. “You look like you need this.”

Anders set down the near-empty bottle of wine and eyed the square bottle before picking it up and uncorking it. He took a sniff, then smiled. “Antivan. Zevran would approve.” His face fell slightly. “I wonder where he is? I miss him.” He took a swig from the bottle, then coughed.

“Hopefully he got Vic’s missive and will be waiting for us at Skyhold.” Fenris said sullenly. He missed their Antivan as well but he was already in a dark place and didn’t want to fall further into despair.

Anders nodded solemnly. He had slumped down in his seat; as Fenris spoke, he took another swig of the brandy then cradled the bottle in his arms, his head slowly drooping. Varric leaned over and deftly rescued the bottle before it could fall.

“Blondie never did have much of a head for booze,” he remarked as Anders slid sideways in his seat, head lolling to one side as he began to faintly snore.

“That’s probably the fastest I’ve seen him pass out from drink.” Fenris remarked as he gazed fondly at his mage. “Zev teases him about it all the time.” 

“He’s barely recovered from the infection and he was at death’s door from starvation when I found him,” remarked Loghain gruffly. “He’s nothing but skin and bone; no wonder he’s got no tolerance for it.” He took a bottle from the table and uncorked it, taking a swallow himself. “He could drink a dwarf under the table once, from what I heard. The whole of Vigil’s Keep tried to drink him under the table after the siege and by my understanding, it was the first time anyone had actually managed it. The way I heard it, he slept for four solid days afterwards and then bounced up on the fifth day without a hangover. Bastard,” he added with a grin. “How have the mighty fallen, eh?”

“We’ll get him back in shape and maybe you can try to take him on in another drinking contest? Right now I’m presiding champion of that dubious title among our friends.” Fenris said with a slight grin. He knew he was getting drunk but he didn’t care, after all they had been through he felt he deserved it.

“Dalish honeywine would unseat you from that wobbly throne Fen---ris.” Meneris said with a hitch in his voice and a protest when Dorian nabbed the bottle he’d been nursing.

The Iron Bull snorted. “He hasn’t got a chance against me. You’re all lightweights,” he grunted. “But I don’t think us all getting drunk here is a good idea Boss. Some of us need to keep a clear head.”

Dorian handed the bottle back to Meneris after a sparing sip. “Our bovine friend is correct,” he mused. “Some of us should keep our wits about us. Hawke, at least, is still sober.” He glanced in the direction of the dormer.

Anders began to snore audibly, his breath rasping. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“My word, he could beat you for sheer volume, Bull,” he exclaimed.

“He’s at an awkward angle…” Fenris countered even as he tried to glare at Dorian and failed. “I might be a little drink...drunk.” he admitted.

Varric nudged Anders; the snoring stopped for a moment as Anders’ head lolled. The dwarf managed to get the unconscious mage a little more upright; his head dropped back, and for a moment he appeared not to be breathing. Then he drew in a gasp of breath and began snoring again, a little quieter than before.

“I should take him to bed, but...its so far.” Fenris mumbled as he pondered the half full bottle in his hand. “I don’t usually get drunk so fast...wish Zev was here, he’d have something to sober me up.” 

The Qunari got to his feet and moved around the table. Bending over, he scooped up the comatose mage in his arms easily. “Nothing to him,” he rumbled. “Skinny thing. Come on, let’s get him to bed.”

“I’m next, don’t think I should try to walk right now.” Fenris squinted at the bottle, shrugged and finished it off. If he was in for a copper, he’d be in for a sovereign's worth of hangover the next day.

The Bull carried Anders through to the dormer and laid him down on the nearest bed. He laid him on his side, his head on the edge of the bed, then kicked an empty chamberpot over to the floor just beneath his head. “Hey, Hawke. You still awake?” he grunted, as Anders continued to snore.

“Barely, is sleeping beauty ready for bed?” Hawke asked as he rolled over to face Anders, and grimaced at the scent of wine. “Did he fall into the bottle?”

“Pretty much - he finished that bottle and had brandy on top. You might want to keep an eye on him in case he pukes in his sleep,” observed the Qunari. “Your elf boyfriend’s not much better, though he was still awake and talking, last I checked.”

“I hate this fucking place.” Hawke grumbled as he got up to collect Fenris and get them both asleep. “I’ll get my drunken elf.” whatever he was going to say fell away when he opened to door to hear singing coming from the kitchen. “How drunk is he?”

“Too much for just two bottles,” said Varric, shaking his head. “Go on, get Broody to bed, Hawke; the wine’s done nothing for his singing.”

“He’s got a good voice, when he’s not shit-faced.” Vic said with a sigh as he picked up his elven lover with some difficulty. “I forget you’re heavier than you look. Let’s go to bed my nightingale.” 

Fenris scowled as he was interrupted by being picked up and put over Vic’s shoulder. “I’m not a sack of potatoes, put me down.” 

“You’re a loud, off-key sack of elf that’s drunk. Time for bed my cranky songbird.” Vic waved over his shoulder as he got them in his room and finally let Fenris down, right before he had his arms full of a soppy elf. “See.”

The Bull was crouched over Anders, holding the apostate’s hair back out of the way as he retched. “Huh,” was all he said, intent on the unconscious mage. 

“Maker, this is why I didn’t want kids.” Vic sighed as he put Fenris to bed and grabbed a canteen to pass Anders once he was done puking. The Bull waved him away.

“He’s still out for the count,” he grunted as he tugged Anders’ hair gently; the mage’s eyes shivered slightly, only the whites showing before they closed again. “You get some sleep with your songbird there,” he continued. “I’ll take first watch and sit up with Blondie here, make sure he doesn’t drown on his own puke in the night. Had to do the same for one of my boys once; wouldn’t be the first time and probably won’t be the last.” He shrugged. “I’ll keep him safe and wake you in a few hours for the next watch.”

“Thanks, not sure how much I’ll actually sleep but I’ll try.” Vic curled up between them and shut his eyes and dropped off faster than he expected. He was vaguely aware of Anders jerking and twitching at one point; the sounds of retching again, and then the bed shifted as the Bull lifted Anders gently.

“Go back to sleep,” Bull muttered as Invictus rolled over. “You’ll sleep better without him waking you every so often. I’ll take care of him.”

“Alright.” Vic mumbled as he rolled over to cuddle Fenris and drop back off.

It was a few hours later when the Bull nudged him awake. “Your turn for watch,” he rumbled. “It’s quiet.” The Qunari headed back into the common room. When Invictus emerged from the dormer, he found the Qunari had laid out a bedroll in the common room and was laying down again, the unconscious Anders tucked up next to him.

“He’s going to be mortified tomorrow.” Vic mumbled as he took up his spot for watch and waited for the dawn to come.

The Bull snorted. “He’s not gonna be the only one,” he rumbled as he lay down again.

The room fell silent, punctuated only by the faint snores of Anders.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things never change, and few things remain the same.

“Where am I?” said Anders groggily the next morning as he opened bleary eyes and instantly regretted it. “Andraste’s flaming knickers!” He clutched his head and groaned.

“Morning sunshine.” Vic said as he stepped over Anders on his way to the table. Anders opened his eyes enough to note his passing, then stiffened.

“Wait. If you’re there.... then who....” He rolled over and came face to face with Iron Bull’s broad bare chest. His eyes roved upward to find the Qunari regarding him with a grin as he rested his head on a fist.

“Mornin’,” remarked the Qunari.

“Andraste’s flaming tits!” exclaimed Anders, pushing himself away hurriedly. “What - how - _Hawke!_ ” He stared around wildly for the other mage.

“I’m right here, stop yelling.” Vic said as he sipped his tea and waved at Anders. “All that muscle probably makes for a good pillow.”

Anders blinked, staring from Invictus to the Bull, who merely grinned. The mage’s mouth opened and closed a few times wordlessly. “How?” he finally managed to squeak.

“Someone, who might also be a warden can’t hold his liquor. Bull was kind enough to take care of you so we could sleep.” Vic raised his cup in salute to the other man before he went back to his meal.

Anders threw the blanket back and then hurredly pulled it back over the Bull. “Maker preserve me, he’s _naked_ ,” he exclaimed. “Because I so needed to wake up next to that and - and why are you grinning?” he asked the Bull.

“Enjoy the view, Blondie?” asked the Bull. “Want a closer view?”

“No!” exclaimed Anders hurriedly. “That- that won’t be necessary, thank you!”

“Aw, is that any way to thank the guy who stopped you choking to death on your own puke - three times, by the way? And watched over you in your sleep?” asked the Bull, raising an eyebrow.

“N-no... no, I’m sorry, I’m....” Anders gave him a worried look. “Three times?”

The Bull nodded and held up three fingers.

“I’m sorry... you’re right, I should be saying thank you. Er... thank you for not letting me choke to death,” the mage said quietly. “Maker. I feel like nug shit.” He clutched his head and groaned. “And I can feel you laughing at me, Invictus Hawke. You delight in my misery. Bastard.”

“Not delight my heart, but I am going to tease you for awhile. Besides you and Fenris’ shenanigans seem to have broken the dark mood that had come over some of us. So thank you love.” Vic raised his cup a final time before he helped Anders up and to a seat. “Here, you need food and plenty of water.”

Anders stared down at the food and turned a queasy shade of green. “Excuse me,” he said very faintly, and then abruptly bolted for the door. The sounds of retching drifted back from where he’d doubled over a bush.

“I’ll make more elfroot tea.” Vic said as he glanced at the dormer room door, slightly concerned that Fenris hadn’t come out yet. A piteous groan drifted back from Anders’ bush.

 

***

 

They arrived back at Skyhold a few days later. Anders and Fenris had recovered from their hangovers; Anders had been quiet and withdrawn under the excuse of his aching head, but he was still quiet by the third day as the towers and walls of Skyhold hove into view.

Fenris whistled as they came closer. “Impressive view coming this way.” he glanced at Anders and instead of empty platitudes, he simply took his lovers hand in his as they approached the bridge that led into the ancient fortress.

Vic walked on the other side of Anders, his staff in hand and a spell at the ready for their meeting with the former templar commander. 

“Can we get into Skyhold before you have your pissing contest with Cullen?” Meneris asked tiredly as they trudged up the stone stairs that led into Skyhold’s massive foyer and throneroom.

“Whatever Cullen wants, as long as it stops short of hanging me or Tranquility, then go along with it,” said Anders quietly. “Let’s just get there and worry about it later. I’m not going to cause any trouble.” His eyes were on the ground.

“Cullen won’t do much for long if he attacks you.” Fenris promised. 

“He can take it out on me, but if he comes after you here will be a problem.” Vic added.

Anders shook his head. “He won’t hurt me. I can handle a few hours in a cell if need be. I don’t want to be the cause of more fighting, and I don’t want anyone being hurt or killed on my account.” He lifted his head to stare with pleading eyes at Invictus. “Please.”

“Ah, Inquisitor, glad to see you back,” called Cullen as he made his way down the stairs to greet him. “We got your message and-” He broke off as Anders glanced up at him then came to a halt. His eyes hardened. “Guards! Arrest that mage!” He gestured at Anders.

The blond apostate staggered slightly as the Smite struck him; he closed his eyes as he felt his magic drain away, leaving him helpless as the guards leapt towards him.

Fenris snarled as he stood over Anders and held the guards at bay. “So your word meant nothing Meneris? This is what we get for coming with you?” 

Vic raised a shield around them as he glared at Cullen. “The Inquisitor gave us his word, and you didn’t even let us cross fully into the courtyard. I knew this would happen.”

Meneris turned to Cullen with a pleading look. “Commander, stand down. I gave my word they would not be harmed here. There are bigger problems than Kirkwall and if they can give us help I’ll have it. Anders has experience fighting off Corypheus, all of them are good fighters and we need all the help we can get. Call off your guards, now.” 

“Stop it, please!” cried Anders as he pushed past Fenris. “Please, there’s been enough fighting and dying over me. No more.” He turned to Cullen. “I’ll go with you. I surrender.” He glanced back at Invictus. “I’ll be alright. You’ll sort this out. Just... no more fighting. Please.” He held out his wrists towards Cullen in surrender.

Fenris and Invictus just stared as Anders let himself be led away by two Inquisition guards. Once Anders was out of sight Invictus turned to Meneris and Cullen with fire in his hands and rage in his eyes. “So this is your Inquisition? You give your word and it means nothing?” 

Cullen was speaking quietly to his lieutenant. “Put him in one of the private cells for high-ranking prisoners,” he ordered the man. “No templars. Keep a light in his cell at all times, understood?” The man saluted and turned away. “Oh, and bring him a cat!” Cullen called after him.

“Sir?”

“Are you deaf, man? A cat! Bring him a cat.” He waved the man off.

Fenris stared at Cullen as if he was going to take his head off. “Neither of you answered us. I suggest someone start talking, now.” 

“The apostate Anders is a known criminal, wanted for the deaths of hundreds that can be officially counted as direct victims of the chantry destruction, likely thousands as a direct consequence. We have both mages and templars here that have suffered as a result of what Anders unleashed,” said Cullen. “We can’t simply let him walk free through Skyhold; there are plenty of mages who hate him for what he did. He’s going to be the target of reprisal attacks every minute he’s here, quite apart from what he’s done. A cell is the safest place for him right now until we decide what’s to be done with him and how best to keep him safe from assassination attempts by other mages and vengeance from templars.”

“Your Inquisitor agreed to let us take responsibility for him. You didn’t even give him a chance to speak. If anything happens to him, I will take it personally Commander.” Fenris’ voice hadn’t risen but his brands were bright even in the late afternoon sun.

Cullen regarded him coolly, then gestured up to the battlements overhead. “See that, Fenris? That’s my guards arresting a former templar. They just took a crossbow off him. What makes you think Anders would have lived to reach your quarters if I hadn’t placed him immediately under guard?” His eyes narrowed. “I was anticipating attacks. Were you?” He turned to Meneris. “My apologies, Inquisitor; there was no time to advise you before you arrived. I had to take immediate steps to assure his protection. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go make sure Anders is as comfortable as can be expected under the circumstances.” He glanced at the others. “Gentlemen.” He turned and headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

Fenris and Invictus turned as one to stare at Meneris. “If we hear of him being harmed, one hair on his head you and your Inquisition can jump in the Minanter as far as we’re concerned. We see your word means nothing Inquisitor Lavellan, and we will be watching our backs.” Vic said as he sheathed his staff and took Fenris’ hand. 

“Where is he being held? I do not trust your men with his well being or safety.” Fenris asked. 

“He’ll come to no harm,” said Dorian quietly. “If Cullen is seeing to the matter personally then Anders will be quite safe.” He glanced to the Inquisitor. “This is as much of a surprise to us as it is to you, though I think I can see Cullen’s reasoning. Not that I agree with it, you understand,” he added, glancing back at Invictus.

Meneris counted to ten before he turned to face them again. “I will work to get Anders out of a cell and back with you. I do not wish him harm, and my word is good Champion.” the elven warrior glanced up the stairs then back to them. “Dorian, can you take them to him after everyone has been shown rooms? I’ll have a word with our Commander.”

“Of course, Meneris,” said Dorian quietly. “We’ll go find Josephine; I’m sure she’ll have quarters already arranged.” He turned and gestured for Invictus and Fenris to follow him.

Varric sighed. “Messy,” he observed dolefully.

“You going to need me for anything Boss? I should check in with my Chargers, but if you need me around....” The Bull raised an eyebrow.

“Be ready for any trouble, especially once word gets out that we’re back and Anders is with us.” Meneris headed off towards Cullen’s office to wait for him rather than chase him all over the fortress.

***

Fenris and Invictus were stone faced as they were led down through the keep towards the dungeons. Anyone foolish enough to speak to the former Champion or Fenris were quickly rebuked with an angry snarl or curt word. Neither man cared for pleasantries or diplomacy at the moment. Dorian didn’t attempt to make conversation; he had seen their growing fury as time was wasted in tracking down Josephine then finding rooms; by now, Anders had been in captivity a good two hours, and Dorian could only hope that Cullen’s orders had been obeyed to the letter. He didn’t much fancy his chances if they had not.

He led them down to one of the lower levels and paused to speak to the guard for a moment. He glanced through the barred grill set into the door, and drew a slow breath before turning to Invictus and Fenris. “He’s here.” He gestured to the guard to open the door. “Please remember, this was not my idea - or that of Meneris - and I for one will be raising strenuous objections to Cullen,” he said quietly before gesturing to them to enter.

The cell was lit by soft candlelight. Though sparse, the cell possessed a bed, table and small desk. They only had eyes for the figure hunched on the bed, however.

Anders was huddled in a ball upon the bed. A small ginger tabby cat was curled in his arms; he was stroking it mechanically as he stared into space, the manacles about his slender wrists clanking softly with each movement.

“I’m going to kill Cullen, slowly.” Fenris said as he came to the bed and knelt before Anders. “Love?”  
Invictus took a seat at the desk and tried to calm himself. All they had done to escape this very thing and Anders had surrendered meekly to them. 

Anders’ hand upon the cat went still as he blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on Fenris. “Hello, love,” he said in a small voice. He hesitantly reached towards the elf then halted as the chains reached their limit, checking his movement. He glanced at the manacle, then back at the chain. “Sorry, I... can’t move very far at the moment. Cullen said they can come off later, it’s... just a temporary thing.” He glanced back at Fenris. “It... it _is_ temporary. Right?”

“If it’s not, then he’s breathed his last today.” Fenris said as he moved close enough for Anders to reach him. “You’ve got a cat now?”

The cat miowed and butted Anders’ elbow with its head; Anders smiled gently. “Yes. The guards brought him an hour ago. It’s not Mr Wiggums, or Pounce, but it’s good to have company.” He turned back to Fenris. “I’m sorry, I’m causing trouble again, aren’t I? I’m sorry.” His head drooped.

Vic came over and wrapped his arms around his lover. “No, no you’re not. We’re going to stay with you ok? One of us will stay with you and not leave you alone. I’m sorry, I failed to keep you safe.” 

Anders clutched at Invictus’ arm, the chains clanking as he moved. “No, don’t leave me alone,” he muttered, his breathing coming faster. He closed his eyes briefly, getting himself under control with an effort of will. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he murmured to himself. He opened his eyes and gave them a wavery smile. “I’m sorry, I’m... not handling this too well. On the other hand, I haven’t started screaming yet.” He laughed; his voice was sharp and brittle.

“You’re not fine, it’s ok to admit it.” Vic said as he stretched out behind Anders and pulled him against his chest. “We’re here love, and we’re going to be here.” 

Fenris took the chair Vic had left but stayed close enough for both men to keep contact if they wanted. “We’re here alright?”

Anders nodded jerkily. “Alright,” he whispered hoarsely. After a while he let his head drop back to rest against Invictus’ shoulder. “I can’t feel my magic,” he said quietly. “Something about the manacles nullifies it I think.” He blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling. 

The cat meowed and jumped up onto Anders’ lap, circling before settling itself down; his hands automatically moved to pet it once more.  
“You were also hit with a smite before you were chained up. Give it some time but one of us will be here with you so you won’t be alone.” Vic reminded him.

Fenris reached out to them both, his expression sad as he saw how Anders had folded in on himself. Furious because he knew too well how the mage felt.

“How long have I been down here?” asked Anders quietly. “There’s no window. I have no idea what time it is.” He turned his head a little to one side. “I can hear water somewhere. The dripping is maddening.”

“Just a few hours. There’s a waterfall powering a lot of things in this place, its probably what you hear.” Vic pressed a kiss to Anders’ neck and sighed. “Fenris, can you make sure they bring us dinner?” 

“A waterfall... oh. That makes sense,” said Anders quietly. Maybe there’s an underground lake or something. I swam Lake Calenhad once; did I ever tell you? On my fourth escape. Or was it the third? I can’t remember....” His hands stilled on the cat, and then Invictus felt a shiver run through Anders as the mage tensed.

Abruptly Anders threw himself forward until he reached the limit of the chains and he jerked, arms wrenched back as he stared at the door, breathing hard.

“Fenris can you phase through the chains? Or just break them?” Vic asked as he tried to soothe Anders and get him to hold still. Anders strained against the chains, leaning hard against them; Invictus heard his shoulders crack and pop as he wrestled with the cold iron. He didn’t speak, merely grunted with the effort, his eyes fixed on the door.

“Freeze them, I’ll snap them, on three, two...one.” 

As Fenris snapped the chains, Anders flung himself forward, no longer restrained. He threw himself at the door and wrenched futilely at the handle, then began to scrabble wildly at the studded iron with his bare nails, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps.

Vic grabbed at Anders and wrapped his arms around the other mage. “Listen to my voice, hear me. You are with us, yes it’s a cell and you’ve got to stay for a while. But we’re here Anders. We are not leaving you alone. Just nod if you heard me.” 

Fenris picked up the cat and sat with it to calm it and his nerves.

“Let me out, please, please let me out,” begged Anders. “I can’t breathe. Please. I’ll die. Please, let me out, I’ll do anything!”

“Dorian, get Meneris we need to get Anders out before he panics and hurts himself or us.” Vic yelled as he tried to keep his mage from rushing at the door again. 

“Fenris, can you light your brands, please? I normally--” Vic was cut off when Anders bucked against him and managed to break Vic’s nose with his thrashing. Unheeding of Vic’s grunt of pain, Anders flung himself at the door once more. 

“Let me out!” He pounded at the barred door frantically. “Please, oh please, I’ll do anything only please let me out! I can’t, I can’t breathe....” He slumped against the door, wheezing. “Please,” he sobbed.

“Hang on!” called Dorian. “Just - just hang on, I’ll get help!” 

“Hurry…” Vic tilted his head back to stem the bleeding while Fenris tried to subdue Anders by lighting his brands and getting in front of him. 

“Anders! Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself and you just broke Vic’s nose. Calm yourself.” Fenris said once he’d gotten a hold of his lovers hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” panted Anders. “I’ll be good. I promise. You can do anything, just please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I’m sorry.” He screwed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “Please don’t hurt me any more.”

The cat jumped down and padded over, butting Anders’ face with its head again. The blond apostate buried his face against the cat’s flank, his wrists limp in Fenris’ grasp.

Fenris pulled Anders until he was on the bed and curled up with this cat. “I’m going to let you go now, you are going to sit there and stay still. We are not going to hurt you, no one is going to hurt you. I’m going to check on Invictus while we wait for Dorian to return. Do you understand me?” 

“No, I’ll be fine, give me a moment.” Vic grabbed a small flannel to clean his face and to muffle the noise he expected when he set his nose. He felt his face gently and sighed. “Not out of place but I’m going to look like a raccoon soon enough.”

Anders curled up, his chest still heaving. “Can’t breathe,” he whimpered softly. “Sorry. I’m dying. I’m sorry... sorry....”

There was the sound of pounding feet, and then the rattle of a key in the door before Meneris and Dorian burst in, Cullen only a step behind.

Anders glanced up at them as they burst in, and whimpered softly.

Fenris glared at the Inquisitor and Cullen. “He needs out of here, we’ll keep him in our quarters and under our watch. Period.” 

Cullen was staring at Anders; he swore softly. “Poor bastard. He was only down here three hours but he looks almost as bad as he did when I pulled him out of solitary,” he said quietly. Anders was staring at Cullen, a faintly hopeful look in his eyes.

“C-can I go now, Ser?” he whispered. “Is it over? I’ve been good, haven’t I? Please, Ser, I’ll be good now, I promise.”

Cullen’s face softened. “Yes, Anders. You’ve been good. You’re a good mage. We’re going to get you cleaned up, alright?” 

Fenris’ hand had stilled on the cat as he heard their exchange, and as Cullen along with Hawke led Anders towards the door, he let out a choked sob. Hearing the way his lover had pleaded for mercy, to be free had gotten him right in the heart and took him back to his past in one fell swoop.

Anders stumbled between Cullen and Hawke, still murmuring that he would be good. Dorian regarded him with a mixture of horror and sympathy. “Poor bastard indeed,” he said quietly before turning and spotting the expression on Fenris’ face. He frowned and approached the elf slowly.

“Fenris? Are you... my word. You are....” The Altus fished in a pocket and produced a small white handkerchief. “Here you are - clean yourself up a bit. I shan’t ask you if you’re alright, you obviously aren’t,” he fussed quietly. “Come on Fenris, let’s have you up. Anders will be alright - see, he’s out. Come on. You don’t want to stay here, do you?” He held a hand out to the elf.

“N..no.” Fenris tucked the cat under his arm but didn’t take Dorian’s hand either. He just looked at the Altus in confusion. “You’re being nice, you’re an Altus and I’m an elf…” the warrior cocked his head in confusion as he looked at Dorian then around the cell again.

“Yes, well, don’t tell everyone, it will simply ruin my reputation,” said Dorian and gave him a wink. “Come on, let’s have you up and out of here - ghastly place. It doesn’t exactly do wonders for _my_ mood down here, I can tell you. Come on, I have a good bottle of wine upstairs with your name on it - in a manner of speaking.” He still held his hand out.

“Alright.” Fenris took his hand and let himself be led out towards the upper level of the fortress and away from the darkness of his and Anders’ pasts.

Cullen and Hawke led Anders to the suite of rooms that had been set aside for Invictus and Fenris. They led him over to a bed, and Anders meekly sat and watched as Cullen bent down and unlaced his boots then set them aside. Dorian led Fenris in behind them, Meneris bringing up the rear. 

Dorian glanced over his shoulder. “Meneris, there’s a bottle of good Navarran red on the table in my room - do be a dear and fetch it?” he asked quietly. “I dare say Fenris is in need of a drink. He hasn’t tried to rip either my heart or Cullen’s out so he’s obviously not feeling himself.”

Fenris sat down heavily and let the cat run over to Anders while he stared blankly ahead. Dorian regarded him with a small frown then glanced at Invictus, who was hovering over Anders with a worried look, blood staining the front of his shirt from earlier.

Cullen glanced up at him. “It’s OK, I’ve got this,” he told Invictus. “I’ve handled him before in this state. Go check on Fenris; Anders will be alright in a little while.”

Vic frowned at Cullen but gave him the benefit of the doubt. He sat with Fenris, took his hand and gave him a wan smile. “See, he’s back with us.”

Cullen was quietly talking to Anders as he helped him out of the Warden tunic, stripping down to shirt and pants. “Alright, come on Anders; let’s get you into a hot bath, alright?”

“So tired,” murmured Anders.

“I know, but you’ll feel better once you’ve bathed. Remember? You always like a good bath after you come out, don’t you?”

“Yes Ser,” replied Anders.

“Stop saying that!” Fenris said as he launched out of the chair and towards Anders. “You’re not in captivity any more, stop please!”

Anders jerked, startled, as he stared at the elf. “Sorry,” he breathed. “Force of habit. I’m... I’m sorry, I....” He put a hand to his head. “My head’s splitting.”

“Come on Anders. Hot bath, food, you’ll feel yourself in no time,” said Cullen briskly. Anders nodded, jerkily.

“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry.” He got slowly to his feet. “Cat - where....”

“The cat’s here. It doesn’t want to get wet, does it?” said Cullen.

“He,” said Anders automatically. “It’s a he.”

“Of course,” said Cullen in a humouring tone. “Well, he doesn’t want to get wet, so let’s leave him here whilst you have a bath, alright? And Dorian will have food sent up. Come on.” He gently took Anders’ unresisting wrist and tugged him towards the bathing chamber.

“Of course Dorian will; Dorian’s only the hired help,” muttered the Tevinter mage as he turned towards the door. 

Fenris glanced at the others before he set the cat down and walked out of the room before Dorian, he needed to get himself together and he didn’t trust Cullen entirely. Dorian cast him an odd look but said nothing as he headed towards the stairs. He glanced at Fenris as he started to descend.

“Can I... help?” he asked quietly. “You seem very....” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “It must have been very distressing seeing Anders in that state. It was bad enough for me, and I barely know the poor fellow save from what little I’ve seen thus far these past couple of weeks. I can only imagine how I’d feel if I saw that happen to Meneris.” He glanced away as they turned the corner. “Though of course I’d never dream of saying so. Gossip has wings faster than any hawk’s, of course, and there’s gossip enough about him and I as there is. No sense in making things more awkward for him than they need be.”

“I...don’t know.” Fenris said honestly. He glanced behind them and sighed. “Where is the bathing chamber, I wish to be with Anders.”

Dorian halted and stared at him. “Yes, yes of course you would,” he said, almost to himself. “Come on, I’ll show you. It’s just back here.” He turned and retraced his steps, leading the elf to a hallway that led off from the one Invictus’ suite was on. “It’s just in here.” Dorian opened the door and gestured inside; the sound of faint splashing came from within, and a small cloud of steam escaped through the door.

“Go ahead, I’ll fetch food for all of us,” he said as he waved Fenris in. “And Fenris... if there’s anything I can do....” He smiled a little sadly. “We’re not in Tevinter any more. I’m not an Altus here. Just... Dorian.”

“As you say...Dorian.” Fenris replied before he turned and headed to the chamber.

Anders was reclining in a long copper tub that was almost large enough for even his long legs to stretch out in. He lay back in the steaming water, one hand draped limply over the side. Cullen sat a few feet away on a stool, turned away from Anders, as he quietly read aloud from a small book.

“Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

“Benedictions, 4:10,” murmured Anders softly. “Go on.”

“Blessed are the righteous, the -” Cullen broke off and glanced around. “Ah.”

“Why did you stop?” asked Anders, frowning. “‘Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow, in their blood the Maker’s Will is written.’”

“We’re not alone, Anders.”

“Don’t stop on my account.” Fenris said as he remained by the door, unsure if he liked that Cullen was reading Chantry doctrine to his mage. Anders sat up in a surge of water, his head whipping round to stare at Fenris as his eyes widened slightly.

“Fenris!” he exclaimed. “I... I mean, this is....” He glanced over his shoulder at Cullen.

“It’s alright. I’ll leave the book in your room, Anders. You can read it later if you like. I’m... glad you still remember the verses so well. You were always a good student,” replied Cullen as he rose to his feet. “You seem more yourself now. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow, when you’ve recovered more.” He headed towards the door, with a nod to Fenris.

“Cullen!” said Anders. The Commander paused by the door, not looking around. Anders stared at his back. “Thank you. I - thank you.”

Cullen inclined his head slightly, then closed the door behind him, leaving Fenris and Anders alone.

“You know the Chant by heart? I am surprised.” Fenris said as he approached slowly and sat on the stool vacated by the former templar. 

Anders dropped his gaze as he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “We had to learn it - in the Circle, I mean. All the apprentices did. And, well... my parents used to read them to us. The Chant of Light was the only book we had. Mother taught me to read from it. It was... comforting.” He shrugged, then glanced up. “I’ve always been a good little Andrastean,” he said with a sad smile. “It wasn’t my fault I was born damned.”

“You’re not damned, any more than I am. Do you want me to help you finish?” Fenris asked solemnly.

Anders dropped his gaze for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I think I’m done,” he said quietly. “Help me out?”

“Of course love.” Fenris tugged him out and helped to dry Anders off quickly. “Need help getting dressed?”

“I think I can manage,” Anders replied quietly. “Pass me my shirt?” He took it as Fenris handed it to him, and tugged it on. He sat down on the stool to tug on his pants; as he glanced up at Fenris, his hands stilled. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“What’s what?” Fenris asked as he grabbed the Chant of Light and handed it to Anders. Instead of taking it, Anders gently laid a hand on Fenris’ shoulder.

“Your eyes. They look... haunted,” he said quietly.

“I am but you’ve known that of me for years. Do not worry yourself my heart.” Fenris said quietly. Anders let his hand fall as he stared up at the elf.

“No, this... I’ve seen you like this before. Something reminded you of the past. What....” His voice trailed off as he stared into the jade-green eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “You should never have seen me like that.”

“I’d rather not discuss it, at least not in here. Perhaps when we are finally alone and with Vic. Come, I want you to sit and eat something.” Fenris kissed his knuckles gently, took Anders hand and tried to lead him out. Anders rose to his feet, one hand tugging up his pants as he held back, and then he stumbled after Fenris back into their rooms.

“I don’t think-” Anders began as he lifted his head; he fell silent as Invictus and Meneris turned towards them. Dorian was bent over the table, setting out food. Anders froze, feeling their eyes upon him.

“Sit, I think we could all use a hot meal and a real bed.” Fenris took a seat and dug in without waiting for any of them, his usual manners gone.

Vic slid a plate of food in front of Anders and took his own spot across from his mage. “Please?” was all he asked before he dug into his meal as well.

Anders stared at him, then dropped his gaze to the food and began to eat slowly. He was fighting hard the urge to apologise again; it seemed to be all he were capable of saying right now. Everything felt slightly unreal; there was a ringing in his ears, his head aching, and he kept having an uncanny sense of deja vu - except when he glanced up, it wasn’t fellow mages in Kinloch Hold robes around him but Fenris, Invictus, Meneris and Dorian. He glanced at Invictus and for a moment it was Karl smiling gently at him. He blinked, and Invictus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Alright there love? You seemed unsure for a moment?” Vic asked between bites. Anders blinked; tears had sprung unbidden to his eyes, and for a moment Invictus’ face seemed to swim before him. He shook his head to dispel ghosts.

“Just... old memories,” he finally managed, dropping his gaze back to his plate.

“I...see. Seems to be a problem lately with all of us. I think a good night's rest will help. If you gentlemen don’t mind?” Vic said.

Anders’ head jerked up. Dorian reached over and patted him briefly on the shoulder. 

“He means us. Don’t worry, no-one’s going to leave you alone,” he said as he got to his feet. “Meneris?”

“Yes, let’s go, we have our own catching up to do.” the elven Inquisitor rose to leave.

Anders sat and watched them go, then turned to Invictus and Fenris. “You’re... not going anywhere?” he asked quietly.

“Not one step out of this room. I just want to lie on a real bed for a few hours.” Vic said tiredly. He didn’t miss the look of relief in the blond apostate’s eyes as Anders nodded, before he dropped his head into his hands. 

“My head’s splitting. Sleep sounds good,” he groaned.

“You two rest, I’m not tired yet. I will guard while you sleep.” Fenris offered as he flipped through the Chant of Light, his gaze away from both his mages. Anders rose from the table and stumbled over to the bed, almost falling onto it. The small tabby cat leapt up onto the pillow beside his head, padding in a circle around him before curling up against his shoulder, purring. Anders curled up slightly, arms folded across his chest.

Vic followed suit with one last glance at their elven lover before he curled up next to Anders and dropped off.

Anders was on the verge of dropping off to sleep when he suddenly started awake, half sitting up as he stared around wildly. “The lights - don’t put out the lights!” he blurted, disoriented. 

“I’ll make sure there’s light,” Fenris answered as he let his brands go brighter in their chamber and settled in for a read.

Anders sank back against the pillow, eyes already drifting closed. “Don’t put out the lights... can’t stand the dark,” he murmured before sinking down into a restless sleep.

The room was silent save for the rustling of pages as Fenris read on, and the sounds of sleepers breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk with Cullen goes astray, the Hero's reputation is sundered and things are shifting...

It was a tap at the door that brought Anders to wakefulness, though it took a moment’s disorientation before he recalled where he was. There was a second tap.

He lifted his head and glanced round. Several candles were still burning, though sunlight was visible around the edges of the thick curtains shading the windows.

To his right, Invictus was still sound asleep; as Anders sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he saw that Fenris had fallen asleep in the chair where he sat, the small volume of the Chant of Light resting upon his chest.

There came a third tap, a little louder and more insistent. Anders slipped from the bed and padded to the door barefoot swiftly. He fumbled with the door catch sleepily and finally managed to get the door open just as the guard raised his hand to knock again. Anders jerked back, startled, his breath catching in his chest as his heart started to race, a feeling of dread washing over him as his heart sank. There were six guards, and they were standing right on the doorstep. Anders regarded them with dismay.

“Commander Cullen has requested your presence,” said the one immediately on his left.

“Right now?” Anders gulped, and glanced back at his sleeping companions before turning back. The guard nodded. Anders swallowed. 

“Please... can I at least leave a note for my companions?” he asked. The two nearest guards exchanged a look and then the guard on the left nodded. The other four guards watched silently, their faces impassive behind their helms.

Anders hastily found quill, ink and parchment on the desk. He scribbled a hasty note then laid it upon the bed, on his pillow. Then he returned to the doorway.

“I’m...ready,” he said, and held out his wrists to be shackled, his head lowered. The guards glanced at each other. 

“Commander Cullen said no manacles,” said the guard on the right. Anders’ head jerked up and he glanced to him, then to the other guard.

“He said you’re to come unshackled and of your own free will,” said the other guard.

Anders stared at them. He’d been told that before, by templars; he’d always been in no doubt that had he refused, then free will or no he would have been dragged along anyway. He had no wish to be manhandled again; the guards yesterday had not been ungentle with him, but despite his intentions he’d panicked when confronted with the cell, and they’d been forced to drag him over the threshold and chain him. His arms still ached with the ghost memory of their gauntleted grip upon them, and he rubbed his arms unselfconsciously through the thin linen of his shirt.

He jumped as something warm and furry twined about his bare ankle just below his pants leg; he glanced down and the ginger tabby glanced up with a small, curious chirp.

“Can I at least bring my cat?” he asked, scooping it up and cradling it in his arms. The guards exchanged another look.

“Commander Cullen said nothing about a cat -”

“Please? I’ll come - just -”

The second guard shrugged. “All the same to me,” he replied. “He didn’t say he _couldn’t_ bring the cat.”

“Thank you,” whispered Anders tonelessly. He stepped into the hall and they closed the door behind him.

The two guards who had spoken took up position on either side of him; two more walked in front, two more behind. He walked barefoot through the cold stone halls, surrounded by armed men, the guards close on either side but not touching him save to guide him occasionally to right or left; he took heart from the comforting warmth of the cat in his arms, wondering what awaited him. He was worried about how Fenris and Invictus would react when they woke to find him gone; he was under no illusions that their fears for him would be allayed one whit by the note he’d left.

His eyes were downcast as they walked, not looking up until they stopped in front of a door. Anders lifted his eyes slowly as the guard to his right lifted a hand to knock.

“Come,” called a brisk voice from within; the guard on the left opened the door and then gestured for Anders to enter.

“The apostate Anders, Ser,” he announced as Cullen glanced up from behind a desk littered with papers.

“Ah, Anders. Good of you to come. Do take a seat; I’ll be with you in a moment,” said Cullen, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of his desk as he returned his attention to the document in his hands, frowning slightly. 

Anders walked slowly over to the chair and sat as the guards closed the door behind him. The cat jumped down to his knee then settled itself, purring quietly as his fingers began to stroke it automatically without thinking. Anders shifted nervously in the chair as Cullen laid the document down, reaching for a quill and scrawling something swiftly upon the document before laying it aside.

Finally he glanced up and took in the expression on Anders’ face; his eyes softened a little. 

“No need to look so nervous, Anders. I’m not about to throw you back in a cell. Maker, man, you’d think you were waiting for me to pronounce judgement on you.” He leaned back in his chair.

“You mean you’re not?” asked Anders slowly. 

“Not my place,” replied Cullen briskly as he put one booted foot up on the corner of his desk, tipping his chair back slightly. “For a start, you’re a Warden still; that makes you the Warden’s problem, not mine. I have no jurisdiction there. Technically I believe you outrank Warden Mac Tir, though as a deserter I’m not sure your former rank really counts for anything - but like I said, not my business.”

Anders stared at him, his mind racing. _A trap. It has to be a trap._

“Dorian has argued quite eloquently and, I might add, vociferously upon your behalf,” Cullen went on as he lowered his foot and pushed himself to his feet. “The Inquisitor has also left me in no uncertainty as to _his_ feelings on the matter.” He began to slowly walk around the desk; Anders followed him with his eyes. “I have also been approached by Warden Mac Tir, who demanded I surrender you into his custody immediately.”

Cullen paused by the edge of the desk and picked up a piece of paper which he held up. “This is a written demand from the Reverend Mother Giselle, insisting that you be turned over to the Chantry immediately for summary judgement and execution.”

Anders drew in his breath sharply with a gasp and tried to rise, but Cullen laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, pinning him down in his chair. “Easy there, Anders. I rejected her demand and informed her the Chantry has no jurisdiction here.”

Anders swallowed hard, his heart still racing. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. After a moment, Cullen patted his shoulder briefly, tossing the rejected demand back onto the desk before resuming his slow pacing, circling behind Anders.

“Word has got around of your presence,” Cullen went on slowly. “I’ve had to quietly replace half of the regular guard. I have practically all the mages on the verge of rising up and storming the keep intent on carrying you away. Half of them want to worship you, the other half would like to tear you limb from limb for what you did. I have quite a few former templars who’d like to join that particular lynch mob.”

Anders’ breath was coming faster; he was no longer stroking the cat but instead gripping the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally managed to choke out.

Cullen’s hand came down to rest on his other shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I don’t say this to frighten you, Anders,” he said quietly. “But you need to be aware of how feelings are running regarding your presence, and to understand just why I had to have you arrested the moment you arrived - for your own safety.” He squeezed Anders’ shoulder briefly then moved away. “And I have to make you aware of just why I have to insist that you remain confined to quarters in the rooms you share with Hawke and Fenris. Meals will be brought to you. Your staff will be returned to you of course. You will have an armed escort whenever you need to leave your rooms for any reason, and they will remain stationed outside the door at all times.”

“Then... I’m still a prisoner,” said Anders, staring at Cullen as he circled back around in front of Anders and leaned against his desk, folding his arms as he stared down at the blond mage.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” nodded Cullen. “For your own safety. There have been no fewer than five attempts upon your life already.”

“Five...!” exclaimed Anders, staring up at the former templar.

“Five,” nodded Cullen. “My men dealt with them. Well, most of them,” he amended with a shrug. “Dorian fireballed one enterprising fellow who thought climbing the wall outside your window was a good idea. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough left to question afterwards to ascertain if he’d been working alone or if he’d had any fellow conspirators.”

“Hawke and Fenris would never allow me to come to harm,” said Anders.

“Yes, well, we’d rather take no chances. Better to let my people deal with it than have to deal with Fenris and Hawke getting in my face over it. Speaking of which, I fully expect one or both of them to come knock my door down shortly.” He pulled a face, then straightened. “I’ve ordered the guards not to obstruct them; no sense in their dying, after all.” He shrugged as he moved back around the desk, seating himself once more. “I take it you haven’t eaten yet?”

Anders shook his head silently. Cullen nodded once. “I’ll have breakfast sent up, though I dare say you have little appetite?”

“I feel sick,” Anders said quietly.

Cullen steepled his fingers as he leaned forward, regarding Anders intently.

“I shan’t deny that I am conflicted, Anders. Make no mistake; what you did was murder. You slaughtered hundreds of innocent people, and set in motion a war between templars and mages that has resulted in several Circles being annulled throughout Thedas. Those deaths are on your head.”

“I know,” whispered Anders, closing his eyes in pain. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he asked quietly, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Do? Nothing,” said Cullen. “I told you, I have no jurisdiction here. Whatever my personal feelings over what you’ve done, I don’t hold the power to pronounce sentence over you.” He regarded Anders thoughtfully. “Dorian tells me you were under the influence of blood magic. He argued your case - most persuasively, I might add. I will confess that I am... greatly troubled.”

Anders opened his eyes slowly as Cullen leaned back. 

“I... know what it is like to be at the mercy of blood magic,” said Cullen slowly. “I was at Kinloch during Uldred’s uprising.” His face had grown pale; Anders could see a thin sheen of sweat upon Cullen’s brow. “It was Solona Amell who freed me. And this tale of Dorian’s - that it was Solona who bound you and used you to destroy the Chantry....”

“She - Sol-” Anders broke off, coughing. Cullen’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward.

“Go on.”

“Sol- Solon-” Anders felt his throat tightening; it was suddenly hard to breathe. Cullen pushed himself to his feet and leaned forward over the desk, a keen interest in his eyes as he stared intently at the mage.

“Say her name,” he ordered.

“I- I can’t,” gasped Anders, putting a hand to his throat, chest heaving, his eyes widening. “Please, I - can’t-”

“Say it!” roared Cullen, slamming a hand down hard on the desk. Startled, the cat bolted from Anders’ knee into a dark corner of the office.

Anders screwed his eyes tight shut. “Sol- S-solo-” He couldn’t breathe; it was like a vice fastening around his chest, throat swelling shut; he had to fight against pain in his chest as it heaved, labouring for breath. Black stars burst around the edges of his vision. He opened his eyes wide and stared at Cullen. “S-Solona -” he managed to gasp.

Pain erupted behind his eyes; blinding, intense, white-hot, as his throat closed up completely. He tried to scream but nothing happened; he felt himself falling.

Cullen’s eyes widened in shock as Anders clutched tightly at his throat, eyes wide in panic and fear, mouth opened wide to scream; only a faint wheezing sound emerged from his throat. Twin rivulets of blood trickled from his nostrils and began to run down his face. As Cullen pushed himself away from the desk and swiftly flung himself towards Anders, the mage’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the ground; Cullen barely managed to catch him before his head could hit the hard flagstone floor. He shifted his grip slightly, sliding his arm beneath Anders’ shoulders as he tore open the collar of his linen shirt, accidentally ripping a long rent in the thin fabric in his haste. He grasped Anders’ chin gently and turned his face towards him; the mage was pale, his skin clammy, lips white beneath the blood covering his face. Cullen opened his mouth to call for help.

Hawke and Fenris chose that exact moment to burst in through the door, Hawke shouldering it almost off its hinges. They stared down at Cullen, crouched on the floor cradling the unconscious Anders in his arm, one hand resting upon the blond man’s throat, blood running down the side of Anders’ face and covering his mouth and chin as it dripped wetly upon the floor, Anders’ shirt ripped open from neck almost to waist.

Fire licked up around Hawke’s hands as he raised his staff; beside him the elf suddenly blazed with light.

“It’s not what you think,” said Cullen tersely.

“Not what we think? What the fuck is it then?” Vic snapped as he waved his fingers lazily around the fireball that had formed.

“Put him down...gently so I can take your heart templar.” Fenris said as he advanced on them both. He had speed on his side whereas Cullen had his arms full of ennervated mage.

Cullen drew a slow breath. “Fenris. Hawke. Please, just - just hold off a moment. Let me explain.” He shifted his hand away from Anders’ throat slowly and held it up to show it was empty. “I haven’t hurt him. I know this looks bad, but just hear me out. And if one of you would call for a healer, please?”

“He’s bleeding, and your men came for him without letting him bring one of us. Why the fuck should we believe you?” Vic asked as the fireball in his hand flickered.

“Because I believe Anders,” replied Cullen quietly. “I believe now that it was not his fault - the Chantry explosion. Please. Stand down.” He stared steadily at Hawke, willing him to believe him. He didn’t dare look directly at Fenris.

“Like we’d leave you alone to finish what you’ve tried to start. You’ve wanted this for so long, to hurt him for what he did. You arrested him the moment you saw him, you think we’ll believe you templar?” Fenris snarled as he advanced on them. “Stop using him as a shield.”

“Fenris. Look at the size of my hands. Now look at the marks on Anders’ throat. Do they truly look as though I made them?” he said desperately. “This - this is Solona’s doing.”

That brought Fenris up short, barely. He remembered what she had done to him in a fit of rage, and he knew that the Chantry’s destruction wasn’t his lover’s doing. His hands twitched as he wondered about Cullen’s words to them. “Swear on your Chant, on your life that you didn’t do this to him.”

“You can’t believe him!” Vic cried at Fenris’ words. 

“No, but I do remember what she did to me and how she caused nine kinds of Void bedamned trouble while we traveled together. If a healer can concur what he says, I will not take his life. If he lies, today Cullen will breathe his last.” Fenris replied.

“No,” said Cullen, shaking his head. “Not on my life. I swear on _his_ life. Anders’ life. I tell only the truth - and may the Maker Himself strike me dead if I lie to you.” He stared down at the unconscious man in his arms. “He spoke Solona’s name. This is the result. He... had some kind of fit, he was choking himself, unable to breathe, trying to scream.” He looked up at Fenris, then at Hawke. “I was a _templar_! I was tortured by blood mages during Uldred’s uprising in Kinloch! Do you not think that I, of all people, would not know the signs of blood magic when I see it??”

Invictus stared at them, his gaze hard and unyielding as he hoped that he wouldn’t have to flash fry the other man. More than that, he was worried about Anders. “Fenris, can you get a healer? I’ll stay right here and watch Cullen. If he breathes too hard, his life is forfeit.” 

“Alright. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” Fenris dashed out to find a guard that could get a healer for them. “You, where can I find a healer in this damned place?”

“This way Ser,” replied the guard, snapping a salute then turning to run down the hall towards the stairs.

Cullen stared still at Hawke. “I know you don’t believe me, Hawke. But I am telling you the truth. In Andraste’s name, man, _look_ at him!”

“You had your men take him from us bright and early, then we come in to find him bloody, unconscious and you holding your hand to this throat. What do you expect me to think?” Vic replied tersely.

“I expect you to use the evidence of your eyes,” said Cullen quietly. He stared down at Anders’ still face. “There’s a chair in the corner - bring over one of the cushions. He needs something to rest his head on.” He glanced around. “My cloak - it’s hanging behind the door. We can use it to cover him.” He flicked loose strands of dark gold hair away from Anders’ closed eyes, not looking up to see if the other man had moved. “I’m just checking his pulse,” he said as he slowly lifted a hand towards the side of Anders’ throat.

“Don’t move a finger to touch him.” Hawke said as moved slowly towards the chair Cullen had indicated. He hoped for a chance to rescue Anders from him and make him pay. Unfortunately for the former templar commander, Hawke didn’t care for a thing he had to say, and was blinded by his rage.

Cullen froze, then moved his hand away slowly. “Then maybe you would care to check yourself,” he said quietly, not lifting his head.

“Like you won’t run the second I take him from your arms. Remain still until the healer returns with Fenris.” 

Cullen exhaled slowly. “I’m not going to run,” he said. He lifted his head to stare at Hawke. “If I wanted to kill Anders, I could have done it and you could not have stopped me. Yes, you’d kill me immediately afterwards; of that I am in no doubt. But I don’t want Anders dead any more than you do.”

Anders’ fingers twitched; the slight movement drew both mens’ gazes immediately.

“Love? Can you speak?” Vic asked. Anders’ fingers twitched again, and then a small frown creased his brow as his eyelids fluttered.

Vic frowned as he watched Anders struggled to come around. Instead of waiting for Cullen to move, he grabbed the cushion and flung it at the other man before he took his place before them again.

Cullen caught the cushion with his free hand and lifted Anders slightly, tucking the cushion beneath his head before gently laying the mage down. Anders’ eyelids fluttered again, and then his eyes drifted half open as he inhaled sharply then coughed.

Cullen sat back and lifted both hands up clear where Hawke could see them, well away from Anders.

“Love?” Vic said as he approached Anders and hoped he could tell the truth. Anders blinked slowly; his lips parted as if to speak but was suddenly racked by a fit of coughing. He clawed weakly at his throat, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated as he wheezed.

“Be useful, get some water.” Vic snapped as he pulled Anders into his lap and took his lovers hands in his. “Peace, be at peace I’m here now.”

Cullen got to his feet and snatched up the water carafe that stood on his desk and an empty earthenware cup. He splashed water in the cup then held it out to Hawke as Anders blinked dazedly, still coughing fitfully as he fought to draw breath. He spluttered on the water as Hawke held the cup to his lips, then sipped slowly before weakly waving a hand for Hawke to stop.

“Maker,” he managed to breathe huskily. “Vic?”

“That’s me, all day every day. Can you tell me what happened?” Vic asked as he held out the cup for a refill with a glare for Cullen’s trouble. Cullen knelt down beside them and wordlessly refilled the cup.

“D-don’t.... don’t kill Cullen,” the mage managed hoarsely. “Not his fault. S-s-”

“Don’t try to say her name,” said Cullen gently. “Not again.”

“I’m going to kill my cousin should I ever see her again, slowly.” Vic said as he tipped the cup back to Anders’ lips. Anders sipped slowly, until the cup was almost empty, then feebly batted at the cup until Vic lowered it away.

“So tired,” he murmured. “Fen. Where....”

“I’m here, and I have a healer with me.” Fenris said as he walked up to them. “So Cullen yet breathes, was he telling the truth?” Fenris asked.

Cullen backed away slowly, keeping his hands where Fenris could see them. He set the water carafe down on the edge of the desk then dropped heavily into his chair, dropping his head into his hands as he drew a shuddering breath.

“Cullen - no, Cullen.... didn’t hurt me,” Anders managed to rasp. He tried to sit up.

“Are you sure? Don’t protect him if he did.” Fenris said as he watched the healer take Anders’ pulse and check him over while Vic hovered nearby, his hand around his lovers.

The healer inspected the bruising around Anders’ throat and frowned; he gently but firmly turned Anders’ head to one side then the other, lightly brushing his fingertips over the marks. “These appear to be... self-inflicted,” he said slowly, frowning down at the blond apostate. Anders turned his head a little, not looking the man in the eye, silent. The healer frowned, then took Anders’ chin firmly and Anders was forced to tilt his head back a little as the healer inspected his nose then peered at his eyes. Finally the healer sat back.

“All the signs are consistent with strangulation; likely interior bruising to the trachea as well as external, but no permanent damage that I can see,” he said brusquely. “I suggest a liquid diet for a day or two, then soft foods only for a week or so. He should speak as little as possible to allow his throat to heal. I can provide a mix of herbs for a healing tisane that should help.”

“I can make my own tisanes,” growled Anders hoarsely. “I’m a healer.”

The healer blinked, taken aback. He glanced around at Hawke and then Cullen. “Commander, this man should be fit and well soon enough.” He got to his feet. “If there is no further need of me?”

“Forgive him, he’s a terrible patient but a great healer. We’ll make sure he is taken care of, thank you serah.” Fenris gave a slight bow of his head and sighed as he watched the healer scurry off. 

“No need to be that way love, you were unconscious and you’ve said so many times that I’m a terrible healer.” Vic reminded him gently. “Come up, get up.”

With his lover’s help, Anders was able to get to his feet; he clutched at Invictus’ shirt as a wave of dizziness swept over him. “Maybe... lying down was better,” he murmured, voice rasping, as his knees threatened to give way.

Cullen remained where he was, not lifting his head. “Perhaps now you believe me, Hawke,” he said quietly.

“Don’t push it with me Stanford. You weren’t lying, but that doesn’t negate---” Vic’s rant was cut off by a soft don’t from Fenris, not Anders as he assumed.

“Much as I don’t like the man, he told the truth. Leave off it Hawke, even I can see he’s about to faint or something over there.” Fenris said as he went over to retrieve the cat since it had poked its head out in search of Anders. The mage himself was slumping against Hawke, looking as though he were on the verge of passing out again himself.

“As you wish, I’m taking him back to our room. With an armed escort.” Hawke said as he picked Anders up and headed out. Anders protested weakly, unable to do anything in his current state.

Cullen ran a hand through his hair slowly, then reached for the water carafe with a hand that shook badly.

Meneris came in just as Invictus had been escorted towards their rooms. The elven warrior came in with a glare. “Cullen, care to explain why I was just pulled out of bed by a very agitated guard that looked afraid for his life and yours? A nice warm bed, with a very nice warm man next to me?”

Cullen lifted his head slowly and stared over at the Inquisitor; he looked ghastly, his face drawn and pale, a haunted look in his eyes and his skin clammy. “Please close the door,” he said softly.

“I should go.” Fenris said as he tried to move towards the door.

“Should you? Perhaps someone should bear witness to this that can tell me what happened,why I’ve been pulled from the first rest I’ve gotten in a couple of weeks because of Cullen.” Meneris was irritated as could be.

“Anders....” Cullen broke off to clear his throat, sitting up straighter. “The apostate Anders is innocent of the destruction of the Chantry,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “The Hero of Ferelden however.... Inquisitor, I must ask your permission to initiate a stronger search for Solona Amell and to issue a warrant for her arrest. For the murder of Grand Cleric Elthina and the innocents of the Kirkwall Chantry.”

Fenris nearly dropped the cat in surprise, and got a swipe at his hand for his trouble. “Damn beast, that hurt.”

“You want the Inquisition to arrest the Hero of Ferelden? On what grounds? Do you realize what that would do to our already tenuous support from various lords and holdings in Thedas?” Meneris asked in surprise.

Cullen got to his feet. “I do,” he said stiffly. “She is a dangerous maleficar. She used blood magic to compel Anders to destroy the chantry and initiate the Mage-Templar war. To what ends, I do not know. But in addition to her murder, she would have allowed an innocent man to die and take the blame.”

He took up a piece of paper from his desk; it fluttered wildly, betraying the trembling of his hand as he tossed it across the desk to Meneris. “The Reverend Mother Giselle has demanded Anders be turned over to the Chantry for judgement and execution by hanging. I took the liberty of refusing. Then ascertained that Anders has been the victim of blood magic. I am satisfied that he has.”

“I really, really should leave you two to discuss this.” Fenris said as he tried to leave the room and get back to his lovers.

“No, I would speak with you in my chambers if you don’t mind. Or to Anders directly, if he can take a chat.” Meneris said as he turned to find Fenris half-way to the door. “Issue the order Commander, work with Josephine to make sure it’s not the biggest political disaster to befall us and when she’s brought in, Hawke and Anders will decide her fate.”

“Inquisitor, one last thing,” said Cullen, bracing one hand upon his desk. Meneris turned and raised an eyebrow. “Inquisitor... do not ask Anders to speak her name. Be wary of even speaking it in his presence. Something of the blood magic is still binding upon him; he... may not survive it if you do.” A look of regret crossed his face. “Anders has been through enough. Please... treat him gently for now. He understands he must remain confined to quarters for his own safety.”

“Very well, I will remember that. Take the day Cullen, you look about ready to fall over.” Meneris waved towards the other door that led to the stables. “Take a ride, something to get your mind off things.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” said Cullen, bowing slightly stiffly; his eyes darted towards a cupboard near the door briefly before he turned to Fenris. “And... thank you, Fenris, for not ripping my heart out. I... cannot say I would have blamed you, under the circumstances.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a slightly ghastly grimace.

“Thank Anders when you see him again, if I had not heard it I would not have fully believed you. However, I know too well what it’s like to be enthralled by blood magic, and how it can affect you years later. Once you have recovered your wits, we may speak of it as..colleagues.” Fenris offered as a concession to nearly taking the man’s life in error.

“It’s... certainly not an experience I would wish to repeat - or for anyone else to ever endure,” said Cullen faintly, his voice wavering slightly.

“Nor I, Commander.” Fenris lead the other elf away and gave Cullen one last look of regret before he shut the door.

Cullen waited a moment until the sounds of footsteps had faded, then made his way out from around his desk over to the door. He pressed his forehead against it for a moment as he exhaled slowly, then braced his hand against the door to push away but paused, staring at his hand.

It was still smeared with Anders’ blood.

He drew a shuddering breath and turned to the cupboard. Wrenching it open, he grabbed the first bottle he saw then staggered towards the stairs up to the room above.

He was going to get very, very drunk. He doubted it would do much to blunt the dreams. It never did.

 

***

Vic had swaddled Anders in all the blankets on their bed and was making sure he drank some of the liquified food that they’d been brought. “Maker above you are the worst patient I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Anders plucked listlessly at the blankets and scowled. “I’m not-” He broke off, coughing, lifting a hand to his throat as he grimaced. He fell back onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling, a look of frustration on his face.

“You’re not an invalid?” Vic asked as he tried to nudge Anders to sit up again, right as the door opened with Fenris and Meneris right behind their lover. Anders merely glared at him silently, then glanced over to the door. He blinked, then allowed Vic to help him to sit up, glancing from Fenris to Meneris then back. His face held a slightly uncertain look.

“Peace Anders, I’m just here to chat if you are up for it. If not, I can return later. Also Fenris made sure to get your cat.” Meneris stepped aside and waited to see if he would be allowed to stay.

Anders glanced to the tabby in Fenris’ arms and his eyes softened a little; he gestured towards the cat. “Water,” he whispered to Invictus. “And -” He broke off, grimacing, then swallowed hard. “Healing potion,” he managed to rasp.

“Stay put Vic, I”ll get them, soon as I get that beast’s fur off me.” Fenris dropped their newest companion on the bed and brushed at himself with disgust. “True sign I love that man, I put up with this.”

Anders was gesturing to the cat, beckoning it to him; it trotted over and butted its head against his face and he wrapped his arms around it, burying his face in the fur for a moment before glancing up at Fenris. “Thank you, love,” he managed, voice rasping painfully. Then he glanced at Meneris. “Speak.”

The warrior raised an eyebrow at the other man’s tone but didn’t argue. “Cullen has explained what happened to me, Fenris witnessed it, rather unintentionally. I’ve agreed to have Sol-” Meneris caught himself before he said the Hero’s name. “I mean, we will have her arrested and tried for the carnage in Kirkwall. You and Hawke will decide her fate. If you wish, I can give you the options I usually present to prisoners of the Inquisition, or you may agree on your own terms-”

He got no further; Anders’ eyes had widened as Meneris checked himself on Solona’s name, and at the words “decide her fate” he had begun waving his hands in an emphatic “no” gesture, shaking his head. “No! No!” he rasped. “No, I _can’t_ , I-” He broke off, coughing hard, clawing at his throat as he wheezed between coughs. The cat fled, alarmed.

“Don’t speak, yet. Then if you agree, the Inquisition can decide what to do with her unless Hawke would like to decide. Regardless, I would like to apologize personally for the distress you’ve had since coming to Skyhold. I will leave you to rest, perhaps once you are healed you can join me for dinner and to talk.” Meneris gave a bow of his head and turned to go.

Anders had fallen back upon the pillows, one hand still clutching at his throat as he fought to breathe, his eyes rolling wildly towards Invictus. Fenris sprang to Anders’ side with a glass of water, a look of fury on his face as he glared at Meneris.

“What in the Void do you think you are doing, Inquisitor?” he snarled. “Did Cullen not warn you of this?”

“Oh, maker, I...I thought he meant not saying her name. I’m sorry. I’ll just leave you to taking care of him.” Meneris backed up swiftly, his expression shamed.

“It is blood magic!” snarled Fenris. “Did you think you could calmly discuss doing harm and enacting retribution upon its caster in front of one who is yet its thrall?” He held the glass to Anders’ lips, an arm around the choking mage’s shoulders. He looked down at Anders. “Easy, _mi amatus_ ; sip slowly.”

Anders clutched weakly at Invictus’ fingers as the other mage reached for his hand, sparing an unfriendly look for the Inquisitor as he and Fenris tended to the distressed apostate whose chest still heaved as he laboured to draw breath.

“I...apologize. I will leave you and if you need anything, have a guard send for me personally or Ambassador Montiliyet.” Meneris backed away and headed to his rooms, shaken and worried for what he’d done.

Dorian’s head emerged from beneath a pile of blankets upon the bed as Meneris entered the bedroom; the Tevinter mage’s dark hair was tousled, and he blinked sleepily at the Inquisitor. “Meneris?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. He took in the expression upon the elf’s face and sat up. “What is it? Another attempt on out apostate guest’s life?”

“No, me being woefully stupid about heeding Cullen’s warnings about blood magic and its effects.” Meneris sat on the bed and pulled his clothes off before he flopped back to lay across Dorian’s legs. Dorian stared down at him, nonplussed.

“Why in blazes would you be asking _Cullen_ about blood magic?” he wondered, then his eyes widened in alarm. “Meneris, are you alright?” He reached down and began to run his hands over the elf’s body, checking for any wounds or signs of harm. “What happened? Was it Venatori? Are we under attack?” He glanced over towards the windows. “I heard nothing-”

“No, there’s no Venatori. I was stupid about Anders. He’s been under thrall to the Hero of Ferelden. Solona Amell is to blame for Kirkwall. He can’t even speak her name without her spells affecting him. I thought I just needed to avoid speaking her name, but I was wrong. Perhaps you can help them unravel whatever she’s done to him.” Meneris sighed as he waved away Dorian’s attempt to check him over.

Dorian snatched his hands away and stared at the Inquisitor. “Meneris,” he said quietly, his voice unnervingly calm. “What did you say to Anders?”

“I told him he could decide her fate, and that I wanted to speak with him about her. Apparently that made it worse. I thought Fenris was going to take my heart this time.” Meneris said dejectedly.

Dorian stared at him, his face blank with disbelief, motionless apart from one eyebrow slowly inching higher. “Meneris. I love you dearly but sometimes you are a complete and utter _ass._ ” He shook his head slowly, then threw aside the down comforter and rose from the bed, snatching up Meneris’ houserobe and belting it on. “ _Vishante kaffras_. It did not occur to you that a blood mage would place failsafes within their victim precisely to prevent them attempting vengeance in the event they survive the caster’s purpose?” he asked as he walked over to one of the bookshelves. “Merely even _thinking_ about such a thing would likely trigger them.” He began to leaf through the various volumes.

“I...we never really dealt with blood magic in our clan. I’d heard of the Champion’s companion Merrill, from clan Sabrae who dabbled in it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse.” Meneris said as he watched Dorian flit around their room in a huff.

“Void take it, I think I left it in my room,” Dorian muttered. He turned and stared at Meneris. “I strongly advise you speak nothing further with Anders on any subject more strenuous than - than the weather, or dogs, or some such rubbish or whatever passes for chit-chat in this Void-forsaken backwards little country, you hear me? Maker only knows what other triggers she’ll have put in his head. And why _Cullen_ , of all people?” He frowned. “I am surprised at you, Meneris. I would have thought you would come to me to ask of such things. After all, Hawke had already told us they feared blood magic was behind Anders’ acts in Kirkwall.”

“Apparently Cullen asked him to explain things, and when he spoke her name it made it seem as if he’d been strangled. Hawke and Fenris managed to show up to find Cullen in a compromising position and then I was sent for. You also sleep like the dead, since you didn’t rise from all the racket they made.” Meneris said as he watched Dorian pick up his clothing and pull it on between berating him.

Dorian paused and turned to glare at him. “And whose fault is that? It’s a wonder I can walk straight at all, Meneris Lavellan, the way you shagged my arse raw last night! And after I’d dealt with that wretched intruder on the wall as well. If anyone had the right to sleep in late this morning it is I, I’d say!” He raised an eyebrow at the Inquisitor as if daring him to say anything.

Meneris sat there wide-eyed and shocked at how loud his lover was being. “Maker Dorian, be quiet do you want people to gossip any more than they do?” he sat back and hung his head at the dirty look leveled at him.

“Oh of course, we can’t _possibly_ have people gossiping about Andraste’s Herald, can we?” said Dorian bitterly. “What _would_ people think about the great Inquisitor shagging the dirty Vint, eh? Is that all I am, Meneris - your dirty little secret? Mother Giselle been lecturing you again has she?” He snatched up his tunic. “Fret not, Meneris; I shall hold my tongue. Though it seems to me perhaps mine isn’t the one that needs guarding. _Do_ try not to kill our apostate guest with further little ‘chats’, hmm?” He turned and stalked towards the door, snatching up his staff.

“Altus Pavus, you stop that right now. I have never said you were my dirty little secret.” Meneris pulled on his trousers and got in Dorian’s face, anger making his eyes dark and his mark flare.

“I’m not the one who pulls away in public, I’m not the one who won’t hold hands, or even acknowledge me when we part ways for missions. I’m not the one who acts like they’ll be shunned for showing they care for me.” Meneris whispered rather than shouted.

Dorian swallowed hard, staring at a point on the ground a little to Meneris’ right rather than at his erstwhile lover. “It’s... not you they gossip about,” he said quietly. “You’re not the one they suggest uses blood magic to entrance his lover. To hold sway over him and influence him. It’s not -” His knuckles tightened on his staff, and then he gave a funny little laugh as he straightened his shoulders and turned to Meneris. “But of course they talk about me. They always do.” He smiled. “I’m sorry, Meneris. You’re right, of course, and I had no right to say any of that. I’m an ass.”

“They gossip about both of us. Don’t assume it’s about you, but considering how vain you are, you would assume that. Go on and help Anders, I’ll remain here, as no one wants to see me today.” Meneris backed off and slipped under the covers, annoyed that they smelled like the pomade Dorian used in his hair when he wanted to be left to himself.

Dorian shrugged. “As you wish,” he replied, pushing the door open then closing it behind him. He leaned against the door for a moment, resting his head against it. “ _Venhedis_ , I am such an idiot,” he muttered to himself. “Dorian Pavus, the greatest fool that ever lived.” He sighed.

After a moment he straightened and headed back down the hall. He wondered what he could say that would have the least likely effect of ending up with Fenris’ fist in his chest or a fireball in the face from Hawke; he doubted either would welcome him with enthusiasm.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's a master at the game, Vic is outclassed, out maneuvered and cornered.

Cullen opened an eye blearily and instantly regretted it. He clutched his head and groaned, ducking his head beneath the blanket he’d managed to drag over himself at some point. The pounding on his office door was loud and insistent - as was his throbbing headache. He groaned piteously.

“Go away,” he quietly told whoever was pounding the door. Oblivious, the unknown visitor kept knocking.

“Alright, alright!” he bellowed, then winced. “Maker. Ow.” He threw aside the blanket and clumsily got to his feet. By some miracle he managed to make it down the rickety staircase in one piece rather than fall. He stumbled to the door and managed to wrestle it open.

Cassandra stood with her hand raised, about to knock again. She took in his state of undress, and Cullen realised with vague surprise he was clad in just his pants and - Maker, what _was_ that? He tugged at the bright pink scarf.

“Isn’t that Ambassador Josephine’s scarf, Commander?” asked Cassandra, curious.

“I have never seen it before in my life,” replied Cullen as he tugged it loose and held it at arm’s length, vaguely horrified and rather confused.

“Commander, are you alright?” asked Cassandra with concern. 

“I’m fine,” coughed Cullen as he straightened. “What’s the matter, Seeker?”

“We have reports from the Western Reaches, and the last of the supply wagons should arrive later this morning,” she replied, holding out a sheaf of reports. “Are you sure you are well, Commander? You look rather... green.”

“Up late. Paperwork. You know how it is,” said Cullen. “Anything else I can help you with, Seeker?”

She shook her head. “That was all, Commander. I... I could send one of the healers-”

“That will be all, Seeker. Oh, would you return this to Josie? She must have, ah, dropped it last time she brought me her reports,” he replied, handing her the scarf. “Thanks Cassandra. I’ll get right on these reports. Busy.” He grinned queasily at her as he snatched the paperwork and shut the door in Cassandra’s face.

He tossed the papers onto his desk, staggered round to his chair, dropping into it heavily before burying his face in his hands and groaning. “Maker kill me now.”

***

 

Fenris and Invictus shared breakfast quietly together. Anders was still sleeping; the coughing fit brought on by the Inquisitor’s visit had left him drained and exhausted by the time they had gotten him settled down again, and he had spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep. They’d woken him near dusk and coaxed a bowl of clear broth into him; he had managed perhaps half the bowl before turning away. He had been dispirited and listless; he’d made no effort to talk, and dropped back to sleep soon after.

By unspoken agreement they had left him to sleep when the guard knocked with the breakfast tray. They tucked into the food quietly as Anders slept on. There was more colour in his face now, and his breathing was less hoarse and ragged; with any luck, perhaps the rest would help restore a little more of his vigour.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and Fenris and Invictus stared at each other.

“If that is Meneris...!” began Fenris, scowling.

“I doubt it, he looked like a kicked mabari pup when he ran off.” Vic said as he went to the door and found Dorian there. “What brings you here?”

Dorian held up a bottle. “Antivan brandy. Does wonders for the throat, particularly with a little hot water and honey.” He held up a small jar. “Which I just happen to have with me. It might help ease our apostate guest’s throat a little perhaps?” He gave Invictus his most charming and sincere smile.

“I’d usually say beware Altus’ bearing gifts but you do have a point and ...you helped me the other night. You may enter.” Fenris said as he finished off his morning tea.

Dorian inclined his head in thanks and slipped into the room. He set the bottle and jar down on the table then glanced around.

“How _is_ the patient?” he asked courteously. 

“Listless, sleeping mostly.” Vic said as he passed Dorian a set of mugs to fill. The Altus set to work, pouring fingers of brandy for everyone and fixing one with honey and water, gesturing to it casually with a small touch of magic without thought to warm it.

“Perhaps a little brandy will be just the thing to cheer him up,” remarked Dorian. “Shall we wake him then? Or perhaps let him sleep a little longer?”

There was a soft rustle from the bed as Anders shifted slightly.

“Wake him up with a mug of that brandy. Maybe it will help him talk since that seems to bother him more than feeling like something ran him over.” Fenris said as he took the bottle and made himself a steaming mug of spiked tea.

Dorian glanced to Invictus for permission, then approached the bed. Hitching one leg up, he perched his hip on the edge of the bed and reached over to gently shake Anders’ bare shoulder. He called the apostate’s name softly.

Anders was still for a moment, then stirred slightly, turning his head on the pillow and making a small noise before opening his eyes.

“Anders. I’ve something warm for you to drink,” said Dorian quietly.

Anders rolled over and stared up at the other mage, then glanced round for the others, bewildered. He made a small interrogative noise.

“We’re here, it’s fine love. Dorian brought a gift to help your throat.” Fenris said as he sipped his own drink. He reached out to brush Vic’s bangs out of his face gently. “You need a haircut love.” 

“I know but it can wait.” Vic said as he blew the errant strands out of his face.

“Come, let’s have you sitting up a little, hmm?” suggested Dorian as he shifted round slightly. Before Fenris or Invictus could say anything, he slipped his hand around beneath Anders, his warm palm brushing across the apostate’s scarred back. Anders stiffened slightly, but if Dorian noticed he said nothing, merely lifted Anders up a little so he could sit up before removing his arm and holding out the mug. “There, take a sip.”

Anders took the mug and stared down at the contents suspiciously, then cautiously sniffed it before taking a tentative sip. He swallowed, and then a look of relief washed across his face as he relaxed against the pillows.

“Sometimes the old-fashioned remedies are the best, hey?” said Dorian with a smile, turning away to reach for his own cup.

“Mind your hands Dorian, also Anders isn’t really one for being handled by strange men, even if they are fetching.” Fenris warned him.

Hawke nearly choked on his drink, stunned by the change in his lover’s attitude towards the Altus. “You...you…”

“Me what?” Fenris asked innocently as he continued to sip his drink.

Dorian inclined his head in acknowledgement, turning back towards Anders. “My apologies if I discomforted you,” he remarked.

Anders sipped his drink slowly, saying nothing though he was studying the others intently, his gaze flicking back to Fenris often.

“I swear Fenris, you run hot and cold like a damned Ferelden summer.” Vic fumed even as Fenris continued to grin at him with no shame. 

Anders’ eyes glittered; he looked as though he were full of questions, and they could sense frustration practically rising from him like a cloud at his inability to talk. He stared into the mug, then tossed back the last of the hot brandy and gestured at the bottle, staring at Fenris.

Fenris got the hint and brought the bottle over, along with a tablet and chalk that had been dropped off for Anders while he slept. “It’s driving you up the wall to not speak, so here.”

Anders held the mug out to Fenris as he drew his knees up beneath the comforter. Balancing the tablet on it, he scrawled rapidly then turned it around so Fenris could see. _What the Void are you up to?_

“Me? I’m not up to anything love.” Fenris frowned slightly wounded at Anders’ question.

Anders hastily scrawled a picture. Even Invictus could see the picture of a penis with a large arrow pointing at the pair of hairy testicles beneath.

Fenris glanced up at Anders then at the picture and scowled. “Don’t be childish Anders.” 

“You just hate that he’s telling on you in a few pictures rather than words.” Vic added.

Anders rubbed the image out with the side of his hand and stared at the tablet for a moment, then scrawled something else. _You’ve changed your tune about D. - Sorry._ He looked up at Fenris apologetically, his confusion plain.

Dorian ignored the tablet as he took the mug from Anders’ hand and claimed the bottle so he could make another brew for Anders with honey and hot water. 

Fenris glared at him for a moment before he slipped away to make another drink for himself. The elven fighter was embarrassed by Anders words, especially right where Dorian could _see_ them. He finally returned to his lover and sighed tiredly. He mumbled his response, hopeful the Altus wouldn’t hear.

Anders looked up at him, his frustration clear. He wiped the slate clean again then scrawled two words - _tell me_ \- and then shoved the tablet firmly into Fenris’ hands and held out the chalk. “ _Please,_ ” he mouthed, his eyes pleading.

Fenris took the tablet and wrote out his reply, slowly, hating his letters even as he carefully wrote them out. He could read very well but writing was still a hardship, especially with others watching. He handed the tablet back so Anders could read his reply. _yes, I’ve changed my ‘tune’. He was kind when I needed it. I was wrong._

Anders stared at the tablet, then slowly wiped the message away with one hand whilst with the other, he silently reached out his hand to twine his fingers with those of Fenris, not looking up. He squeezed Fenris’ hand very gently.

“Are you feeling better? If the brandy helped, I’ll go get you more.” Fenris said softly.  
Vic said nothing to his lovers; he knew well enough to leave off when things got serious among them. He felt bad enough for Dorian and Meneris after overhearing their row and remembering similar arguments with Fenris before Anders had come along.

Anders held a hand up, fingers spread, and wobbled it a little - _a bit_. He nodded. 

Dorian glanced over, saw Anders’ hand signal, and slid a fresh mug of hot honeyed brandy towards Fenris before sitting at the table. His eyes flicked down to Anders’ hand and then away.

“I understand Anders’ staff is to be returned to him. I can take care of that, if you like,” he said diffidently, inspecting his fingernails.

“I’ll go with you if you wish, I have a feeling that they need a moment.” Vic said as he watched both his lovers dance around each other like cats.

Dorian glanced back at Fenris and Anders again. The blond mage had lain back upon his pillows and was staring up at the elf, looking wan and worried; the elf was staring down at the tablet, not glancing at the man who had eyes only for him. Anders still clung to Fenris’ hand.

“Yes, I think perhaps that would be for the best,” he nodded. “Cullen should have some idea where it’s being kept.” He rose to his feet.

Fenris squeezed Anders hand gently before he curled up against his lover and nuzzled against him, soft words drifted from him but not enough for Vic or Dorian to make out.

“If he’s not regretting being alive right now, or hiding out from the verbal beatings he got yesterday.” 

Dorian regarded Invictus with surprise as they reached the door. “Why - what on earth did Meneris say to him?” exclaimed Dorian, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “Damnable pup - shall I now have to apologise to the Commander as well on his behalf?” He strode ahead down the hall, muttering to himself. Invictus thought he almost recognised a few of the choicier swearwords.

Vic strode after him and grabbed him by the wrist to slow him down. “Hold on, hold on. Slow down, and listen to me.” 

Dorian halted and stared down at Invictus’ hand on his wrist, then up to the other mage in surprise. He half-turned back towards Invictus, tilting his head a little on one side as he twisted his wrist a little in Invictus’ grip. “I’m listening,” he said slowly. His eyes flicked down to Invictus’ hand again then back up to his eyes.

Vic let go when he saw how Dorian kept staring at him. “Apologies, I seem to have a bad habit of touching you without permission lately.” he folded his arms and stared at the other man intently. “Cullen had everyone on his case yesterday, between me, Fenris and probably Meneris for being dragged from bed; Fenris witnessed that particular moment...he had a hard day.”

Dorian took a step closer to Invictus, not taking his gaze off Invictus’ eyes. “Maybe I enjoy being touched by someone who-” He checked himself; his face changed, becoming more mask-like, his eyes shuttered. “No. I... should not say anything. Excuse me.” He glanced away. “I feel quite sorry for our poor Commander; the woes of the world frequently seem to land at his feet.” He glanced back, giving Invictus a bright smile. “Come, then, let us brighten Commander Cullen’s day.” He turned on his heel.

“Dorian, you are deflecting and believe me, I know what you’re doing. I’ve seen that same look in the mirror often enough.” Vic said quietly.

Dorian turned and began walking backwards, still with that same smile. “Devastatingly effective, isn’t it?” he smiled. “I do find that a charming smile, debonair looks and stunning wit can carry a man quite far in this world, wouldn’t you agree Champion?” He turned again, not missing a step; almost a dance.

“Since I’m not debonair, I wouldn’t fully know. My wit is occasionally sharp, not stunning so tell me how effective it is on someone who doesn’t know the steps to the old tune?” Vic said as he followed behind Dorian.

The Altus halted, and began to laugh before slowly turning on his heel once more. “My dear Champion, I think you know this tune far too well.” He took a slow step back towards Invictus. “One should never underestimate the value of....” He reached out and brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his tunic. “First appearances.” He glanced up from beneath dark eyelashes. “And subsequent ones.”

“I know this tune by heart friend Altus, I could sing a few bars of it, hum it in my sleep if pressed. I daresay we’d fight to lead this particular set of steps.” Vic said as he approached Dorian.

Dorian closed the space between them. “Maybe my value is in knowing when to... submit,” he murmured, glancing up at the Champion through lowered lashes.

“You’re powerful, well connected and sharp as a freshly minted blade. I daresay submission wouldn’t wear well on you.” Vic leaned his head to the side and smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage Dorian, there’s no more room for me to run.”

“Oh I don’t know; the Reverend Mother assures me I’d look good in rope,” murmured Dorian as he laid a hand on Invictus’ chest. “I’m not sure the result would match my complexion however. Maybe something tasteful in silk.” He lifted his eyes to stare Invictus in the eye. “You look like a man with.... _exquisite_ taste, Champion. What do you think?”

“Something in blue, a deep, dark blue would compliment you. Orlesian silk, or Nevarran hemp, they do wonders with it.” Vic said. He debated how far Dorian would take it and how fast he’d die if Fenris or Meneris happened upon them as they were.

“I may dance in hemp yet,” remarked Dorian quietly. “I’d sooner it were silk however. Blue is not my colour, as I told your-” He paused, the word “sweet” upon his lips. “Anders.” He smiled to cover his hesitation. “Perhaps.... red?”

“Red...yes, that would be fetching on you. It would compliment your tone and eye colour well.” Vic said with a slight tremor to his voice. He was caught and realized it.

Dorian leaned up closer. “Beware lest I hold you to that, Champion. My reputation is ruin enough; can you afford to say the same?” he murmured in Invictus’ ear. He pulled away slowly, still smiling though his eyes appeared sad. “Perhaps we should have played chess instead.” He stepped away, then turned.

“I’m terrible at this game.” Vic breathed as he watched Dorian walk ahead of him. “Maker save me.” 

Dorian glanced to the side, not turning as he walked. “I almost wish I were not so good,” he said, almost wistfully. “Sometimes learning a thing is more satisfying than what that skill will bring in the end.”

“Sure, yeah. Um, let’s go get Cullen.” Vic said as he trailed behind Dorian while he tried to get himself under control.

Dorian nodded absently. He turned to a side door. “In here,” he said, opening it and stepping inside.

“What’s in---oh.” Vic said as he saw the opulent bedding and decorations. “Your quarters?”

Dorian closed the door. “How perceptive of you, Champion.” He glanced sideways at Invictus. “Silk or hemp?” As Invictus hesitated, he turned away impatiently. “Come, man, you made your interest quite plain and I thought I had done likewise. Are your eyes really that blind?” He turned back toward Invictus. “I’m not asking for a commitment. I don’t expect one.”

Vic’s eyes widened as he took in the way that Dorian stared at him. “Um...I, you, me? You want me like that?” he squeaked.

“Void, man, do I have to spell it out for you?” exclaimed Dorian. He gestured at his groin. “Is _this_ not evidence enough for you?”

Vic glanced down and then back up to Dorian’s face. “Well that’s… that’s obvious. I’m just, conflicted.

“Fenris and Anders are quite... occupied,” replied Dorian. “I’m simply offering you an hour or two, my body, no strings attached.” He regarded Invictus seriously. “But if you’d rather not, then you may walk out that door and I promise you I will not breathe a word to a soul.” He stared at Invictus.

As the silence stretched, Dorian dropped his head. “I... see. I... was mistaken. Very well, go, I shall not -”

Invictus closed the space between them in a few short strides, one hand snagging in the smaller man’s hair to yank his head back as he crushed his lips to those of Dorian in a fierce kiss. He tasted blood as his teeth bruised the lips of the other man; the Tevinter mage braced his hands against his chest, and then after a moment Dorian relaxed against him, his lips parting willingly as Invictus plundered his mouth hungrily. 

Invictus pulled away for breath, and Dorian tongued his bleeding lip experimentally and smiled. “Not wrong after all then?” he said breathlessly.

“What do you think?” growled Invictus. Dorian laughed breathlessly. 

“I think-”

Whatever he thought was abruptly cut off as Invictus dragged Dorian bodily to him to kiss him once more. He tightened his grip in Dorian’s hair and felt, rather than heard his gasp. A moment later he thrust the Tevinter mage away from him. “Strip,” he growled.

Dorian opened his mouth as if to speak, but then he saw the look on Invictus’ face. Silently his hands went to the buckles on his tunic as Vic turned away and began to strip off his own tunic. By the time he’d shucked off his pants and was down to his smallclothes, Dorian stood naked by the bed.

“Silk or hemp,” he repeated quietly.

“Silk,” replied Vic. Dorian inclined his head, then turned away to a small chest. He produced several lengths of crimson silk cord and held them out for Vic’s inspection.

Vic took them and gave them a cursory study, then turned to Dorian and smiled. “On the bed,” he ordered.

The other mage climbed slowly onto the bed, his grey eyes never leaving Vic.

Vic reached for Dorian’s left wrist and dragged it over to the left side of the bed. He lashed the silk cord to the bedpost then bound his wrist firmly. Then he moved around to the other side and did the same with Dorian’s right wrist so the mage was bound face down, his arms stretched taut between the bedposts. His breath came faster.

“Talk to me, Pavus,” said Vic. “That should be easy for you, right?”

Dorian twisted his wrists experimentally in his bonds. “It is... tight, but not unbearably so,” he said after a moment. He craned his neck to stare at Vic over his right shoulder.

“Safe words?” asked Vic.

Dorian regarded him sombrely. “What did you have planned?”

“I just need to know how far I can go,” replied Vic. “Anders can like it... pretty rough sometimes. I don’t want to make you bleed unless you ask me. Nicely,” he added with a grin.

Dorian laughed. “I am not Anders,” he replied. “I do not wish marks that might require... explanations.”

“So....” said Vic slowly.

“I am not adverse to rough play,” said Dorian slowly. “But no teeth, nothing... external.” He flashed a quick smile.

Vic reached between Dorian’s legs and fondled the other mage’s balls before letting a quick flash of lightning trickle from his fingers. Dorian arched his back and threw his head back, eyes widening as he gasped loudly.

“Oh... _Venhedis_... yes, you can do that again!” he breathed. Vic obliged a couple more times, until Dorian uttered a strangled moan and his cock was straining, stiff and dripping.

“Mmm, you like that, hmm?” asked Vic. He slapped Dorian hard on the ass with a loud crack, and the other mage stiffened, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Vic reached around and closed his hand around Dorian’s cock, starting to work it; the Tevinter mage moaned, low and needy.

Vic couldn’t help a low, dirty chuckle as he pulled away and Dorian groaned in disappointment. Vic called up a handful of grease and palmed Dorian’s ass, rubbing his flat palm slowly up and down Dorian’s crack as the Altus fell forward, spreading his knees.

“Good,” Vic purred; on the next downstroke, he slipped two fingers inside Dorian. The Altus responded with a low moan as he rocked himself back to meet Vic’s fingers as they thrust slowly inside.

“More,” Dorian managed to groan, and Vic obliged with a third finger. He thrust deep inside Dorian until his knuckles were grazing against the other man’s outer ring of muscle.

“Tell me how much you want this,” ordered Vic, bringing his free hand down with a hard smack on Dorian’s ass. The Altus cried out.

“Tell me!” growled Vic.

“N-no marks,” panted Dorian as he ground down on Vic’s fingers. 

Vic grinned darkly, and then let another trickle of lightning fly from his fingers deep inside Dorian’s body. Dorian shuddered, keening faintly.

“Please!” he begged.

“Please, what?” growled Vic.

“I want you inside me,” panted Dorian. “Damn you, man, I’m-”

Vic pulled his hand free as he called up another palmful of grease; he slicked himself down then slammed into Dorian’s body in one smooth move, and the Altus cried out, his body stiffening briefly before he rocked himself back onto Vic’s cock.

Vic gave him a moment, then began to rock his hips slowly, drawing out almost to his full length then sliding back in. Dorian rocked back to meet Vic’s thrust.

“Harder,” he begged. Vic obliged, picking up the pace as he began to pound into Dorian’s hot, tight, willing body. He reached around and began to work Dorian’s cock with his hand, flicking his thumb across the sensitive glans and letting a little trickle of electricity fly with each downstroke as Dorian bucked into his hand, rocking back to meet Vic’s thrusts between each stroke until Vic could tell from the other mage’s ragged breathing that Dorian was coming close.

Vic sped up his stroked, leaning over Dorian’s back as he pumped faster into his body, the mage now quivering beneath him as he let the electricity fly faster. He felt Dorian’s body twitching erratically as he began to babble incoherent pleas for _more_ , _please_ , _faster_ and other words in Arcanum Vic couldn’t quite make out. He sped up, chasing his own orgasm, angling his thrusts so that each stroke grazed Dorian’s sweet spot until finally, shuddering, Dorian screamed as he reached climax, collapsing beneath Vic.

Vic followed Dorian a moment after, crying out as he came. He gave a few more desultory thrusts then rolled onto his side, sliding out of the other mage.

After a moment, he lifted his head. “Dorian?”

There was silence for a moment, then Dorian quietly breathed, “ _Vashedan._ ”

“What does that mean?” panted Vic. Dorian laughed breathlessly.

“It means I’m done,” he answered. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Glad... to oblige,” replied Vic, rolling onto his back. He stared at the underside of the canopy of Dorian’s bed.

Dorian lay ennervated, face down, his ragged breathing slowing. After a while he turned his face to the side and opened his eyes, staring drowsily at Vic. “Could you untie me please?” he asked quietly.

“Oh yes… sorry.” Vic untied the other mage and took his wrists between his hands one at a time to heal the slight bruising he saw. “Sorry, I tried to tie them just enough to pull but not enough to bruise. Is that better?”

Dorian groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering closed as he felt the healing magics wash across his skin. “Ohhh.... Meneris can’t heal. That feels....” He exhaled on a low sigh. “Much better,” he breathed. “My word. You can do that again any time.”

“Next time? You’d want this again?” Vic asked solemnly.

Dorian’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Vic. He held his gaze for a moment, then abruptly rolled away, coming to his feet and stumbling across to the wash basin. He stared at the cold water for a minute, then splashed his face briskly.

“You should clean yourself up,” he said tersely. 

“What’s wrong? I...I thought you had a good time?” Vic asked in confusion as he sat there with the silk cord dangling from his fingertips.

Dorian turned and pressed his back against the ornate dresser. “And I did!” he said, flashing a grin. “And I believe you did too. And that was the whole point, I believe? A mutually-enjoyable diversion, a momentary thing, yes? You still have your Fenris and Anders, and I have... well. Whatever tidbit Meneris deigns to throw me, if I still can claim even that after yesterday, but that’s nothing that should trouble you.” He tilted his head to one side. “No strings attached - well, apart from those in your hand. Do be a good fellow and toss them back in that box behind you.” He turned away, staring at his own reflection as he willed his heart to slow down.

Vic burnt the silken rope with nary but a thought as he waited for Dorian to move so he could clean up and run away. When the other mage didn’t budge, he asked for the nearest bathing chamber instead. 

Dorian whirled as the stench of burnt silk reached his nose, and stared at the ashes floating from Vic’s fingers. Wordlessly he gestured towards the door of his own bathing chamber, staring at Vic’s hands. 

He watched as the other mage stalked to the bathing chamber, then crossed back over to the bed on legs that trembled more than he liked. He sat upon the edge as he heard the sounds of water splashing, and stared into space.

“You’re a bloody fool, Dorian Pavus,” he said quietly to the empty room.

Vic came out dressed, his expression neutral as he regarded Dorian for a moment. “Thanks for a good time, I’ll see myself out.” 

Dorian glanced up at him and nodded. “Give my regards to Cullen,” he said quietly. “If you see Meneris-” He broke off and turned away, stretching out on the bed with his face buried in the pillow. “Tell him what I imagine I would say to Fenris,” he said softly, his voice muffled.

“I do not understand the second part of that, especially with your face turned from me.” Vic said sullenly. He felt almost dirty for what he’d done, after the way Fenris had snarled at him yet here he was, guilty as sin with a man that seemed just as torn as he felt.

Dorian turned his head a little. “I will say nothing to Fenris or Anders,” he said clearly. “Tell Meneris whatever your conscience dictates.” He buried his face again, unwilling to look upon the disgust he felt sure must be writ large upon Invictus’ face.

“I like living, I will say nothing to anyone. It’s clear you regret this moment between us, you can’t even look at me now.” Vic said sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you were looking for.”

Dorian pushed himself up from the pillow and glared over his shoulder at Invictus, his eyes suspiciously red. “I neither asked for nor want your pity!” he hissed. “Just - go! Tell them whatever you want! Tell the whole bloody keep for all I care; give them one more thing to gossip about! Maker knows they can’t get enough of it!” He stared at Invictus for a moment, his chest heaving, and then he turned his face away. “Go,” he repeated, but quieter, his voice dull. “Leave me. They all do, eventually. I’m glad you seemed to enjoy it, at least whilst it lasted. It would be foolishness to look for more.” He fell back onto the bed and curled in upon himself.

Vic didn’t go, instead he came over and knelt at the edge of the bed. “What is this about, really? You said I could do this again, then it was like a lamp was lit and you changed. Is it about the fight you had with Meneris?” 

“Only children dream of things they cannot have,” said Dorian softly. “I am too old to be a child.” He buried his face in the pillow. “Please. Go.”

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry you’re hurting. If you wish to talk, I will listen. I know this isn’t easy, and if you wish me to leave you be, never speak unless it’s for Inquisition business, I will do as you wish. I’m sorry Dorian, forgive me.” Vic left quickly and headed for Cullen’s office, hoping he’d find the former templar in a better place than he’d left him.

“Come,” called a weary voice from inside the office when he knocked. The door swung open at his touch. Cullen was sat behind his desk, slouched over a pile of paperwork, looking haggard and weary in just his pants and a loose grey shirt. He didn’t look up as Vic entered, merely gesturing vaguely in the direction of the table to the right. “Put it over there; thank you,” said the Commander mechanically, his eyes on the paper in front of him.

“I didn’t bring you anything Cullen.” Vic said dully as he watched how fast the other man jerked upright at the sound of his voice then winced. “I actually came for Anders’ staff.”

Cullen rubbed his temple, grimacing, then nodded. “Of course. Forgive me; I should have had it sent straight after.” He pushed himself slowly to his feet. “Is Anders well?” he asked, crossing to a tall cupboard in the corner.

“He’s sleeping a lot, hopefully he will be able to travel soon, I know Loghain is antsy and I don’t like keeping him confined to the rooms.” Vic said as he watched Cullen fumble with the lock and finally pull out the staff for him to return to his lover.

Cullen nodded as he passed the staff to Vic. “Hawke... for what it’s worth... I truly _am_ sorry for what has happened to Anders. If I’d known....” He sighed. “We uncovered another plotted assassination attempt this morning. It’s been taken care of.” He paused, closing his eyes briefly, then made his way back to his desk.

“I doubt Anders will wish to see or speak with me again. But please tell him I... I’m sorry. And I don’t think he deserves any of this.” Cullen glanced up at Vic. “Truly.”

“Tell him yourself, he advocated for you when he came around remember? Just give him time to rest up. I can’t speak for him or Fenris, so attempt to see him for yourself before you assume. I’m off to return his staff then take a ride to clear my head. It’s been a long couple of days.” Vic slipped Anders’ staff next to his and saluted the former templar before he turned to go. 

“Hawke,” said Cullen, laying down his quill. When the Champion turned back, he smiled sadly. “Please tell Anders that when I come, it will be as... just Cullen. Not the templar, not the Commander. Just... me. Cullen.”

“Of course, you should probably eat something if you can. You look peaked. I’ll see you around.” Vic headed off to his lovers, hopeful they were fine or better yet, asleep so he wouldn’t admit what he’d done the second one of them gave him puppy eyes. 

Fenris was curled up asleep with his arms around Anders when Vic returned, but Anders opened his eyes drowsily and looked around as the Champion closed the door behind him.

“Vic,” he rasped softly, then coughed.

“Rest love, I’m just dropping off your staff before I take a walk. You too rest up, I’ll be back later.” Vic pressed a kiss to Anders’ forehead, then Fenris’ cheek very, very softly before he left the staff in easy reach.

Anders reached wordlessly out towards Vic. His fingers caught the other mage’s wrist in a grip so weak, he could have broken it without even thinking. “Wait,” Anders whispered.

“What’s the matter? You shouldn’t be talking love.” Vic said as he gave Anders a gentle smile. “Your kitten could best you in a fight, save your strength.”

Anders drew Vic’s hand towards him weakly, then bent to kiss his fingers. “The Maker blessed me when he sent you into my life, love,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you.”

Vic’s eyes welled up at his soft words and he blinked to keep the tears at bay, but failed. “No, it’s I who is blessed and undeserving of you, all of you.” 

Anders smiled gently. “No, love. I’d die a thousand deaths to keep you safe.” He tightened his fingers almost imperceptibly upon Vic’s wrist. “And I’d die a thousand deaths if I lost you. You are one of the few good things in my life. It was the thought of seeing your face again that gave me the strength to go through with it - the cell, everything. I knew you’d come through for me, love. I knew you wouldn’t betray me.” His voice cracked, and he coughed, softly.

Invictus felt like Fenris had his heart in his fist, no that would be less painful than how he felt in that moment. He closed his eyes and wept out of guilt and love for both of the men he sat with. He nuzzled against Anders and sobbed openly, sure he was going to confess his sin if Anders offered any more words of love that he did not deserve.

“Hush, love,” Anders managed hoarsely. “Don’t cry... it’s all going to be alright. I’ll be well again soon, you’ll see. We’ll be fine. I love you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Vic’s hair. “I love you,” he echoed, his fingers slipping loose from Vic’s wrist as his head lolled upon the pillow, his eyes falling closed once more.

Vic pulled away from them as quickly as he could and bolted from the room, sure he looked a fright as he hurried to the stable to take the first horse he could find and head out for a long, long ride.


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris woke up with a sharp rapping on the door, groggy from having slept a good part of the day away. He opened the door to find a servant with food and guards. “What time is it?” he asked dully. 

“The eighth bell has run serah, when no one requested dinner be brought up the Commander had us bring something. If we may leave it with you?” asked an elven guard that regarded Fenris warily. 

“Yes, the table is fine thank you.” After they’d been ushered out, Fenris helped Anders up and to the table so they could eat together, and wonder where Invictus had gotten off to that he wasn’t back in time for the evening meal. Anders was every bit as groggy and disoriented as Fenris had been on wakening; he sat in his chair looking vaguely dazed and not with it, and Fenris had to bring his attention to the bowl of stew in front of him three times before he finally focused on it enough to pick up his spoon and begin eating.

“I’m not even that hungry, I just want Vic to come back so we can sleep and help you recover,” Fenris mumbled as he pushed the bowl of stew away, half-eaten.

“Came whilst you were sleeping,” Anders whispered. “Went away though. Don’t know where. I passed out.” He glanced at Fenris apologetically. Whispering was becoming a little less painful, but he was still terse of word; trying to talk for long exhausted him and could set off another bout of coughing. Fenris had never thought he would find himself in the position of _wanting_ to hear Anders’ normal chatter.

“I’ll get the slate for you. Since Pavus left the brandy, I’ll make another drink as well for your throat. Hopefully they have a decent store of herbs here so you can make your ...whatever you called them in Trade,” Fenris said as he got both slate and brandy as promised, and made them both a large mug of spiked tea.

Anders drew the tablet to him and spelled out the word “tisane” on it, then underneath wrote “tea” in both Trade and Arcanum before wincing. He’d been writing so much on the tablet his fingers were beginning to cramp. He hadn’t written so much since Kirkwall and his days of manifesto writing. 

He blinked at the unbidden memory, remembering long hours hunched over a small desk, the quill frantically scratching across whatever scraps of parchment he could gather, driven on to write feverishly in spite of the cramp in his fingers or the bone-deep ache in his back. He felt his fingers itching to write more, and he dropped the chalk, reaching for the mug. He curled his hands around the soothing heat and closed his eyes.

“Oh that’s what it means!” Fenris said with a slight smile. “Do you need me to get something for the pain? Just nod or shake your head.” 

Anders hesitated, then nodded briefly.

“I’ll get some more healing potions sent up.” 

Anders dragged the tablet back over towards himself as Fenris spoke, rubbing out the words already written, then carefully wrote out “poppy juice”, repeating it in Arcanum below. _antitussive_ he wrote below, then under that _stops coughing_. Then on a new line he wrote _analgesic = painkiller_. He glanced up at Fenris, to see if he understood. He pondered adding under that, “sedative” but decided against it. 

“I can do that,” Fenris said with a nod. 

Anders smiled his thanks, then bent to sip the hot tea, closing his eyes again.

**

Invictus cursed the day he was born, the day he left Ferelden, he day he discovered he was a mage and any other damned thing he could think of while while he roamed in the dark. He’d gotten off the path during his wandering and had wasted time seeking a sign of the fortress for what seemed like half the night. In reality it was more like three hours of wandering until he found the path back and made it into the stables. 

“Get inside serah, this horse needs to be taken care of and dare I say it, so do you,” Dennett said as he led the chestnut mare inside for a good brush, currying and feeding. 

Vic strode inside, his mood foul as he made his way back into the Keep and towards their rooms. He entered to find Anders asleep but Fenris still up and reading in bed. “You’ve been gone some time, Vic.”

Anders stirred slightly; he made a vaguely interrogative noise then rolled away onto his side, away from the light of the candles Fenris was using to read by. His eyelids fluttered briefly, then he went still, his breath wheezing slightly in a very faint snore. Fenris glanced at him; he and Vic held still until they were certain Anders was still deeply asleep.

“I got lost; it was stupid to go riding alone in unfamiliar territory,” Vic said quietly as he headed towards the bathing chamber attached to their room.

Fenris watched him as he moved around quietly and followed to the bath, but left the door open in case Anders called for them. “Vic, what’s wrong?” 

Invictus paused for a moment, grateful his back was to the elf as he started the pump going. “Nothing, I just needed to clear my head.”

“Anders told me how you sobbed earlier, how his simple declaration of love for made you cry like a child. We’re all somewhat at the end of our collective rope but that’s a bit much even for you.” Fenris watched Vic doing all he could to avoid looking at him.

“It’s been rough, especially seeing Anders laid low by just a few hours in a cell. I thought he was dead when we broke into Cullen’s office yesterday. I’ll be fine after a bath love. It’s nothing,” Vic said.

Fenris regarded Vic sombrely. “I too feared he was dead. My dreams since have been... uneasy. I awaken often and find myself checking that he yet breathes. When Meneris spoke of -” Fenris fell silent and glanced at the open door, then dropped his voice. “- _her_ and he began to choke, I was afraid we might yet lose him.” His expression darkened. “He will not be allowed to speak of her again. Not in Anders’ presence. We do not know what further witchery may yet lie dormant to be awakened.” He sighed.

“Strange,” he added as he leaned against the side of the tub, watching it fill. “When first we arrived at Skyhold, I thought no ill of the Inquisitor; it was the Tevinter mage that filled me with rage. Yet now, I find him... tolerable. Even, I dare say, likeable - for an Altus.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “His heart should be quite safe from me - as long as he refrains from doing more than innocent flirting with either of you, my love.” He grinned, all teeth. “I draw the line at sharing bed-partners with him.” He brought his hand down to swat Invictus playfully on the ass.

“What changed your mind?” Vic asked as he got in the water and tried not to look terrified at Fenris’ words.

Fenris shrugged. “He was... considerate when I took Anders’ reactions in the cell... ill. And then further demonstrated an unexpected compassion when he brought the brandy. He seemed genuinely concerned for Anders’ wellbeing, and took pains not to overstep his bounds. He could have easily observed what Anders and I wrote to each other but deliberately averted his eyes - he is a man who understands the value of discretion.” He toed a splash of soapy water thoughtfully. “He seemed to be genuinely angry that Meneris endangered Anders by blurting out about Solona.”

“Yeah, he’s not terrible. Easy on the eyes if nothing else,” Vic said without thinking.

Fenris turned to regard him with mild surprise. “Should I be concerned, beloved?” he asked, smiling slightly. “Careful, _mi amatus_ , I might begin to think I have cause to be jealous!”

“No, no need to be jealous love. Even you have to admit he is fetching, as you put it?” Vic said playfully though his heart felt like it would hammer out of his chest. “Besides, the three of you keep me more than satisfied, why should I look elsewhere?”

Fenris looked pensive. “I wonder where our errant Crow is?” he mused. “He would not be happy to hear of what Solona’s witchery has done to our love. Though I do not think it would be well to place him in a position where he might be obliged to join in searching for her. We have no way of telling if perhaps she has worked blood magic on him also at some point.”

“I doubt it, he didn’t give her much chance to be alone to pull such things on him. Anders, unfortunately did have that moment alone and it was all she needed.” Vic ducked under quickly then stood to get one last rinse with clean water before he toweled off. “Hopefully he will be here soon, I miss him.”

“Vic... she had two chances to get her claws into him,” Fenris demurred. “Do you not remember? That first night in the inn after we encountered her, though I should think he were on his guard then. But the second time was when my... sister... took Anders. Do you not recall how grievously he was injured? We both left him in her care whilst we went in search of Anders.”

Fenris straightened and paced slowly. “I am thankful she had no such chance to wreak ill upon my brother; and he is hopefully far out of her reach at present. Though I could wish he had not chosen to follow Isabela.” He sighed.

“He’ll be fine, and hopefully we will get news from them after they get our letters. I know you dislike being separated so soon after finding him. I just...I am sorry that it turned out as it did. I would have given myself over in an instant for you all to be happy together.”

Fenris shook his head. “You saw how I reacted to Meneris’ mark. Can you imagine how much worse it would have been for him, half-unmade as he was?” His gaze became distant. “If Meneris’ mark is that strong by itself, how much worse must it be in a rift? Dorian told me that Meneris’ mark is of the same substance as the energies in a rift. Perhaps it is as well we did not go in search of that rift by Lake Calenhad; I would not wish to experience that unprepared.”

“I don’t know what could prepare you for it love. I just don’t want you to be hurt, though I know it will happen. I just worry.” Vic wrapped a towel around his waist and gathered his clothes to be left for laundering. “Ugh, they smell like horse and outside.”

Fenris chuckled. “There are worse things to smell of, love,” he smiled, coming up behind Vic to press a kiss lightly against his shoulderblade before moving past him. “Anders is still fast asleep,” he added, glancing at the unconscious apostate.

Anders had rolled over onto his back, one hand flung across the bed, the other hanging over the edge of the bed. One foot stuck out from under the edge of the down comforter, dangling over the side of the bed. The ginger tabby had curled up nestled under one armpit, its head resting upon his chest.

“Yeah, I doubt much would wake him right now,” Vic said as he turned to embrace his lover and give him a long, slow kiss. “I love you, I’m so damned lucky.”

“Let him sleep,” murmured Fenris as their lips parted briefly. “It is rare enough he sleeps this deeply without dreaming.” He returned the kiss.

Vic leaned his forehead against Fenris’ and sighed. “I hate it here, I hate that Anders has suffered so, and I just want to get Zevran and go home, wherever that winds up being.” 

“Mmm,” concurred Fenris as he threaded his hands slowly into Vic’s hair. “Thus far he has been too weak to venture far from bed. But his strength is returning and his impatience is growing - and soon this enforced captivity will start to chafe, even with our company. He has never fared well when he has thought himself caged.”

“None of us do, but his past ...I wouldn’t be coherent if I were him. His strength, Fenris, how does he do it?” Vic wondered as he felt Fenris tugging him down for another kiss.

“I do not know,” replied Fenris softly. He claimed Vic’s mouth once more until they were forced to part for breath. “Ah, if we dared - but no, we would wake him surely,” he whispered with a little regretful half-smile.

“I am yours love, if you want me I will not refuse,” Vic said even as he pulled Fenris to him for more kisses.

“I am concerned that we might disturb him too much if we use the bed, and I cannot say for certain we could be quiet enough,” said Fenris regretfully. “But perhaps we may find some quiet corner soon where we may be... undisturbed.” Fenris’ smile was full of wicked promise. “Besides, love,” he continued as he reluctantly pulled away, “it is near morning and you look all but asleep on your feet.”

“Later once we get some sleep?” Vic said before he let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

Fenris bestowed one more kiss upon his cheek before drawing him back towards the bed. He gently lifted Anders’ outflung arm and laid his hand upon his breast so that both the elf and Vic could get into bed; then he leaned over and gave Vic one last kiss. 

Vic reached over and held Fenris’ hand as he laid their entwined hands across Anders stomach, but sleep didn’t come to him easily. His eyes were closed but his mind didn’t settle until the sun had risen.

***

The wine had probably been a bad idea, Dorian reflected, as the rising sun dazzled his eyes and sent a lance of pain through his aching skull. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillows with a groan. His bed stank of stale sweat and wine, but at least it was free of the smell of Hawke and sex. He’d had the wherewithal and the pride to at least finally wash and change the bedlinen the previous day before diving headlong into a bottle.

Well, more than one bottle, if he were being honest; there had probably been two or three. No more than three, he was fairly certain. Wasn’t he?

He groaned. There were a couple of healing potions in the chest across the room, but they may as well have been on the other side of Thedas for all he could reach them; even lifting his head seemed like a mammoth effort that promised to be more pain than it was worth.

He idly tried to recall what day it was and when he’d last eaten, but gave up; the throbbing of his head made conscious thought too much effort.

He drifted in that half-aware state between sleep and waking for a few hours, until an insistent tapping at the door finally penetrated his consciousness enough to make him realise it wasn’t just his aching head.

“Go ‘way,” he managed, rather indistinctly.

“So you’re not dead, that’s good. Open the door Dorian.” Meneris called through the thick wood.

“Regrettably not,” Dorian winced. “Door’s... not locked,” he managed before dropping his head back onto the pillow with a groan.

Meneris came in with a small tray with food, tea and water. He sat it down on the table and frowned at the state of his lover. “We’ve fought before, was it so bad you had to find yourself in the bottle again?”

Dorian turned his head to regard Meneris blearily. “Like so many things, it seemed a good idea at the time,” he replied.

“Come, have water and food. If you’ll speak with me, I would welcome it.” Meneris watched as Dorian dragged himself up and to the table. The Tevinter mage slumped in his seat, dropping his head to one hand as he reached for a glass of water.

“If you are going to shout at me, could you do it quietly?” he asked, a little plaintively. “I fear I am feeling somewhat fragile.”

“I’m not shouting, you’re hungover. Once you can crawl to the infirmary I dare say you ask for healing.” Meneris said quietly as he could.

“You’re not shouting _yet_ ,” Dorian corrected him wearily. He reached for the tea. “There’s a couple of healing potions in the box; doubtless one of those will suffice once I’m certain it won’t merely put in a prompt reappearance.”

Meneris said nothing but got the healing potions out for his lover, sat them in front of him and waited to see how long Dorian would take to get back to some semblance of his usual self.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained expression as he closed his eyes. He sat still for a moment, swallowing hard, then reached for one of the healing potions. “Sorry,” he smiled apologetically. “I fear I have left my usual dazzling wit in the bottom of a bottle. Several bottles,” he corrected himself. He uncorked the healing potion, stared it for a moment, then straightened and downed it in one.

“Four from the looks of it.” Meneris said with a soft glance at his lover. “What happened? Our fight wasn’t that bad was it? I know I said some harsh things but I didn’t think it was enough to drive you to this.” the Inquisitor fiddled with the empty potion bottle so he didn’t have to look at his lover.

Dorian smiled a little sadly. “Ah, just my own foolishness I suppose,” he said quietly. “Even I must have an off day occasionally it seems. Can’t be perfect all the time. And perhaps sometimes you cut a little too close to the heart, Meneris. It’s not easy to have one’s thoughts thrown back sometimes.” He glanced up. “But perhaps I’ll be a better man for it, hmm?”

“I shouldn’t have shouted like that, or lost my temper with you. I know things are different for you my heart. I’ve seen the glances you give Fenris, Anders, and Invictus; the way they are so open. I know it makes you uncomfortable.” Meneris admitted.

Dorian laced his fingers together and stared down at the floor. “Some things in the south are very, very different from Tevinter,” he said quietly. “I fear I still have not quite adjusted as well as I thought.”

“We’ll work on it together, if you still want to be with me?” Meneris asked shakily.

Dorian’s head jerked up and he stared at Meneris. “I... thought....” He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, laughing a little shakily. “It is I who perhaps should be asking _you_ that question.”

“No, not you. I worry I will push you away with something simple as wanting a kiss before battle, or to simply hold your hand as we stroll around Skyhold.” Meneris said as he reached for Dorian’s hand with a hopeful smile. Dorian stared at Meneris’ hand for a moment, then slowly reached out his hand to lace his fingers with those of the elf. He stared at their entwined hands for a few minutes, silent, with an unreadable expression.

Finally he lifted his eyes to stare at Meneris. He tightened his fingers a little.

“I’m sorry... love,” he said softly. “Forgive me?”

“Of course, we both had hard days and my thoughtlessness harmed our new companion. I wish you’d been with me last night, I could have used your company and counsel.” Meneris said with a smile.

Dorian’s smile slipped slightly. “I’m afraid I was busy drowning my wits in three bottles of wine,” he said casually.

“You mean four?” Meneris reached over and grabbed the fourth bottle that he’d spotted when he came in. Dorian glanced at the bottle in surprise. 

“Was Invictus so bad you had to drown yourself in wine to forget?” Meneris asked with a curious expression.

Dorian’s face went blank from shock. He stared at the bottle, then at Meneris.

“How the deuce did you know about that?” he asked softly.

“I’d come to talk with you yesterday morning, and heard you both. I figured I’d say something to you at least, and let you know that I knew.” Meneris shrugged.

Dorian leaned back, finally disentangling his fingers from Meneris’ hand to lace his hands behind his head as he tilted his chair on its back legs and rest one foot upon the table. “No, it wasn’t ‘that bad’,” he said slowly. “On the contrary. It simply... wasn’t what I needed though. Though perhaps four bottles were not, either. Perhaps I should be glad I did not wake in the infirmary instead of my own bed. A splitting head seems a small price to pay for that.” He smiled. “Doubtless the dear Reverend Mother would suggest the Old Gods are watching over me, or some such rot. I’m a lucky fellow indeed.” The wry half-smile upon his face suggested he was dubious as to his own good fortune.

“I’m surprised I didn’t find you in a puddle of your own vomit. Care to join me in my room for some air after you’ve eaten amatus?” Meneris said with his own grin.

Dorian pulled a face. “I think I need to soak off the stench of my own sweat first,” he said distastefully. “Eau de drunkard is an aroma that suits no-one.” 

“As you will, I’ll be in our room in time for dinner. Take your time my heart. Next time, ask me first and I won’t mind. I admit it hurt a little but I’m used to such casual things from my clan. I love you and if you need to explore, you just need to ask. I will not tell Fenris or Anders though, since I assume it was not planned?” Meneris kissed Dorian’s cheek before he stood. 

“Planned? No,” said Dorian slowly. “Something of the nature of a game taken too far on impulse.” He rose to his feet. “I appreciate your discretion, Meneris. Fenris and I got off to a bad start as it is; I’d rather not give him to rethink his change in attitude towards me. And I’m not so much of a cad as to be at all at ease with the thought of causing more harm to Anders.”

“I don’t think sharing his lovers, especially after that moment at the warden camp would be something he’d go for; even if he’s thawed towards you.” Meneris ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair as he pondered what could happen if the other elf changed his mind. “The things he’d do to you though if that was to come to pass...”

“I’m sure ripping my heart out would be the least of the harm he would inflict upon me. We’re both from Tevinter after all, and I’m sure he picked up some... fascinating punishment techniques during his time there. I’m really not keen on being the replacement for Danarius in his little revenge fantasy.” Dorian shuddered.

“That’s not the kind of fantasy I was speaking of my heart. You get cleaned up, I’ll see you this evening.” Meneris gave him a final kiss before heading off to the war room for yet another meeting with Loghain and the others.

Dorian waited until he was gone then stared down at the four empty bottles. “ _Venhedis_ ,” he muttered. He shook his head and headed into the bathing chamber.

 

***

Anders woke some time around mid-morning to find his two lovers still a-bed.

He lay there for a few minutes, still a little sleep-befuddled and bemused; from the sunlight streaming around the edge of the curtains it was far later than they would customarily sleep. He cautiously sat up as far as he was able with not one but two heavy arms pinning him around the waist, and then experimentally prodded Fenris very cautiously in the shoulder, careful to pick a patch of skin between lyrium whorls.

“Hmmph, no, sleep.” Fenris mumbled as he tried to move away from whatever was poking him.

Luckily for Anders, Invictus rolled over, pulled a pillow over his head and continued to snore.

Anders shrugged; it wasn’t the effect he’d intended, but at least he wasn’t pinned down any longer. He slid his legs out from beneath the comforter and set them on the floor, sitting upright. He pushed himself cautiously to his feet, and was relieved when the movement was not immediately followed by a wave of dizziness. Perhaps he was finally recovered from the physical insults of the past few days.

He headed to the door and opened it to be greeted by the sight of the six guards.

“Ah. Hello, lads. Just... privy?” he asked.

“If you’ll accompany us, Ser; it’s just down here on the left.”

“Excuse me?” said Anders. “Am I... you’re not seriously going to give me an escort to the _privy_ and back??”

“Commander’s orders, Ser,” replied the guard apologetically. “You’re not to set foot out of these rooms without a full armed guard. For your own safety, Ser.”

“We could bring you a bucket if you’d prefer?” asked one of the other guards. There were quiet snickers from all around Anders; he glared around, but couldn’t identify which of the helmeted figures it had come from.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said firmly. “Look, can’t you just... watch me from here? The door is _right there_. I’ll be two minutes - five at tops. I’ll come straight back!”

“Commander’s orders,” repeated the first guard firmly.

“Right,” said Anders firmly. “One minute.” He closed the door and glanced around, then snatched up the tablet and scrawled upon it. _Gone to piss in Cullen’s porridge. Back soon. -A_

He returned to the door and pulled it open. “Commander’s orders, you say?” he asked.

“That’s right Ser.”

“Right. We’ll see about that,” replied Anders, and pushed his way past the guards and strode down the hall.

The guards caught him up swiftly. “Privy’s there, Ser-”

“I’m not going to the privy,” said Anders tersely. “I’m going to see the Commander.”

Fenris sat up when he didn’t feel the warmth next to him he’d been cuddled up against. He sat up and noted the slate because the chalk had fallen off the side table and snapped in half. He picked it up, read it then bolted out of the room to find Anders. He saw them at the end of the hall and snarled as he teleported right behind Anders to grab his arm. 

“Where are you going?” Fenris asked, oblivious to the startled men around him and the one that had fallen back with a prayer to the Maker for mercy on his lips.

Anders shrieked in surprise, his voice cracking mid-cry as he was jerked back. He glanced over his shoulder and panted. “Andraste’s flaming knickers, Fenris - you might warn a fellow before you do that,” he exclaimed. “I swear you just took years off my life.” He glanced around at the guards. “Put your swords away, boys - you _really_ don’t want to go there, trust me,” he warned them.

“Well you can talk again, and Maker above that hurt.” Fenris winced as he stared at his lover. “I really don’t like waking up to find you gone, and seeing six armed people escorting you away. What is going on?”

Anders rubbed his throat. “Yes, well, I don’t think shrieking like that did wonders for me either,” he said, grimacing. “It seems I’m not even allowed to take a piss without a fully armed escort.”

“Commander’s-” began one of the guards.

“Yes, yes, Commander’s ruddy orders,” snapped Anders wearily. “So you’ve already said - repeatedly. I’m damned if I’m going to answer the call of nature with six pairs of eyes watching.” He turned to Fenris. “As to what’s going on, didn’t you read my note?” He grinned boyishly. “I will, too. Just you watch me. Well, actually it’s Cullen’s face you probably ought to watch. It’ll be a picture, just you see.” He turned back towards the way he’d been going.

Fenris glared at the back of Anders head then waved off the guards. “Go away, I will escort him to see Commander Cullen.” he fell in with the blond apostate, irritated at being woken from a pleasant dream.

“But - Commander’s orders-” began one of the guards as they trotted to catch up, Anders’ long legs setting a punishing pace as he strode down the hall. 

“ _Hang_ the bloody Commander’s orders!” called Anders back over his shoulder without looking back.

He didn’t slow or stop until they came to the door of Cullen’s office. Anders pushed the door open brusquely without bothering to knock.

Cullen glanced up, surprised, as Anders’ momentum carried him right up to Cullen’s desk.

“So I’m not to be allowed to the privy without an escort, hey?” said Anders without preamble. “Your idea of a joke, Rutherford? Right, laugh _this_ off.” He scrambled up onto Cullen’s desk, papers flying.

“Anders, what are you doing? Stop that right now!” Fenris shouted as he tried to get the mage off Cullen’s desk without injuring him. “Have you lost your mind?”

Cullen was staring up at Anders, his eyebrows rising as the apostate tried to evade the astonished and mortified elf whilst fumbling with the lacings of his pants.

“I suggest you move Commander.” Fenris snapped as he gave up and hauled Anders down to the floor. “I swear you piss on his desk or him I will put you out on the balcony to sleep and your damned cat.” Fenris huffed as he tried to keep Anders from making good on his threat.

Cullen watched wordlessly, merely picking up his breakfast and stepping back as papers went sailing everywhere as Anders’ legs flailed.

“Fenris, get off me!” insisted Anders, followed by a loud “OW!” as he and the elf hit the floor, followed by a string of swears.

Cullen walked slowly around the desk and stared down at Anders and Fenris.

“Privy’s over there,” he said quietly, gesturing at a door in the corner with his spoon.

Anders stopped struggling against Fenris.

“Oh.”

“Fuck, fuck, ow…” Fenris hissed as he let go of Anders to lay flat on the floor. “I think you broke something. Go piss first or I will be really, really angry.” 

Anders got to his feet sheepishly. “Er, yes. Right.” He headed towards the door.

He reappeared a couple of minutes later, still looking sheepish as he sidled over to Fenris. “Sorry about that,” he muttered as he crouched down to check the elf over.

Wordlessly, Cullen made his way back around the desk to take his seat once more. He turned his attention to his breakfast, ignoring them.

“Is anything broken or are you just heavier when you’re flailing like a landed fish?” Fenris muttered angrily.

“Only my dignity,” muttered Anders, turning pink.

“If you’ve quite finished, perhaps you would like to explain what that was all about... _Enchanter_ Anders,” said Cullen slowly.

Anders froze. He got to his feet slowly and turned towards the desk. “What did you just call me?” he said in a hushed voice.

Cullen raised one eyebrow. “I thought you’d outgrown childish apprentice stunts when you passed your Harrowing, Anders.”

Anders stared at the former templar wordlessly.

“I thought his status as a warden superseded that.” Fenris said as he slowly got up. “Or is that a Circle thing?”

Cullen tossed his spoon into the empty bowl and leaned back, steepling his fingers. “You tell me... Anders. Are you still a warden?”

Anders stared at Cullen. “I....” He glanced at Fenris.

“Sit down, Anders,” said Cullen. The mage wordlessly dropped into the chair opposite Cullen. The former templar leaned forward. “Now. Care to tell me what this was all about?”

Anders finally found his voice. “The guards insisted I was to be escorted even to the privy,” he said quietly. “Is that really necessary?”

Cullen frowned. “No. I shall make that clear to the guard,” he said, leaning back. “Is that what this was all about?”

Anders glanced to Fenris.

“Don’t look at me, you’re the one going on about it.” Fenris winced as he sat there with them, hating life at the moment.

Anders glanced back at Cullen. “The guards are not necessary,” he said quietly. “Fenris just proved that they cannot stop someone who is determined to get to me. If he had been an assassin, he could have slit my throat before they could have blinked, much less stopped him. I cannot -” He broke off, his voice growing stronger as he glared at Cullen. “No, I _will not_ be subjected to the humility of being escorted everywhere, including _to the damned privy!_ ”

“Very well,” said Cullen.

Anders blinked. “What, just like that?” he asked slowly. Cullen inclined his head.

“Just like that,” he agreed. “I’ll sign the order today. Effective immediately, Fenris is your assigned bodyguard.” He glanced to Fenris. “Is that satisfactory?”

Fenris glowered at Cullen for a moment, then nodded before he lost his temper. He’d had quite enough of being in charge of a mage’s well being. Not that he didn’t want his lover to be safe but it brought him back to a dark place, for just a moment. “I will guard his life better than my own, Commander.”

“Very well. In that case, if there’s nothing else, you may go.” Cullen reached for a paper on his desk and drew it towards him,. staring down at it with a frown.

“Ser?” asked Anders slowly. 

Cullen looked up at the blonde apostate. “You are dismissed, Anders,” he said quietly.

“Yes, Ser,” replied Anders. He got to his feet and walked to the door, Fenris following with a scowl.

“Oh, Anders?” asked Cullen as Anders set his hand on the door handle. He glanced back. 

“Ser?”

Cullen finally looked up. “Would you really have pissed in my breakfast?”

The ghost of a smile flitted across Anders’ face; for a moment, a glimpse of the old Anders peeked out from his eyes. “Oh yes,” he said nonchalantly.

Cullen smiled back. “You may go, Anders,” he said, dismissing him as he returned to his paperwork.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lie will always come to light.

Fenris scowled all the way back to their rooms, and didn’t say anything until they were behind a closed, locked door. “I’m going to go beat things in the courtyard until I don’t feel like snapping Cullen in half.”

Anders toed the rug sheepishly. “Sorry, love,” he said quietly. “That was....” He glanced away. “Hmm. Almost like old times. Almost.” He crossed slowly over to the window, unlatching it and glancing out. “Though Cullen’s changed. Back in Kinloch he was far more... well, unsure of himself, uncertain. Puppyish, in a way.” He grinned suddenly as he glanced back over his shoulder at Fenris; it gave him a boyish air, much belying his age. “As an apprentice, we used to all have this sort of competition to see who could make him blush the hardest. Didn’t take much, as I recall. Can’t imagine any of those tricks working on him now though.”

For a moment, as Fenris watched Anders’ face light up with memories, he fancied he could almost imagine a younger Anders as an apprentice, flirting with a young, inexperienced templar just to make him blush; despite his anger at Cullen, the elven warrior couldn’t quite repress the merest ghost of a smile.

Anders shrugged, musing. “He’s better than old Greagoir was mind you. _He_ would _never_ have let me get away with a stunt like that. That would have been fifteen lashes and bread and water for a week.” He smirked. “Would have been worth it though.”

He glanced out of the window once more. “I wish I could come with you love, and watch you practice,” he said wistfully. “But it wouldn’t be safe. Too open. No sense in making myself a target.” He stared out of the window for a moment, his gaze distant, then slammed his fist down hard on the window sill with a flare of anger. “I’m sick and tired of being cooped up in this room; I want to breathe free air and just....” He bowed his head and sighed, the flash of rage gone as swiftly as it had come. He leaned on the window sill and drew a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper like that.”

Invictus’ head appeared from beneath the down comforter and he looked around, bleary-eyed and scowling. “Maker’s balls, what does a guy have to do to get a bit of peace and shut-eye around here?” he growled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” murmured Anders. He turned away from the window.

There was a hissing, almost buzzing sound, and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wooden window frame next to his head, so close that Anders felt it graze his cheek as he turned.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” he exclaimed as he threw himself to the floor. Fenris was at his side in a flash, even as Invictus was rolling out of the bed, reaching for his staff.

“Fucking Void, it’s too early for this.” Fenris snapped as he quickly peeked out the window then crouched back down. 

“I’ll let Cullen know, you two stay here.” Vic said as he turned slowly towards them before he shielded the windows of the room.

Anders put a hand to his cheek and swore. “I’m bleeding,” he said, staring at his fingertips. “Bastards - where’s my staff?”

“In the corner, I think I laid it there so I wouldn’t trip over it.” Vic said before he reached back to fumble with the handle. “I’d almost feel safer on the road at this rate.” he muttered before getting the door open.

Anders got to his feet and turned towards the corner. Two more bolts thudded into the window, one shattering the glass pane; Anders swore as he was showered with glass. He threw himself bodily towards the corner as a third bolt hit the place where he had been a moment before, embedding itself in the wooden bedside table. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit _shit!!_ ” exclaimed Anders as he reached for the staff. “Where the hell are they coming from?”

“Well none of us are going to become a pincushion to find out.” Fenris snarled as he stood over his mage. Without a line of sight he couldn’t even get to their attackers.

Vic relayed what was going on to a guard and slammed the door since he didn’t trust that someone wouldn’t try to get in to finish the job. “Shield yourself, I’ll try to get a line on them from the other window.”

Before he could move, the other window directly opposite Anders and Fenris shattered, and the elf reeled as a bolt took him in the shoulder.

“ _Fenris!!_ ” screamed Anders, and pushed himself to his feet, the look of alarm on his face giving way to a blaze of pure fury as he threw himself towards the window. “You fucking cowardly _bastards!_ ” he yelled as fire wreathed hot around his hands and began to gather swirling about the head of his staff. He chanted under his breath as he shouldered aside the remains of the window. Both Fenris and Vic could feel the pull of heavy magic, and Vic suddenly recognised the words Anders was muttering as the blond apostate made a series of graceful gestures with his hands.

“Maker, that’s going to be ugly…” Vic said as he refreshed his shield before he made his way over to Fenris. “Love?”

“I’m going to take their heads...fuck it hurts.” Fenris hissed.

The sounds of distant fighting and shouts drifted through the ruined remains of the window. Two more bolts embedded themselves in the window frame next to Anders; oblivious, he raised his staff high as the power continued to gather. He called at the final trigger words in a loud, commanding voice as he gestured and unleashed a tempest of fire towards the group of templars on the battlements directly opposite their room. 

The shouts turned to screams. Anders stood, his face blank, anger still burning in his eyes as the stench of burning flesh drifted towards them on the breeze.

There was a pounding on the door; Cullen’s voice was clearly audible as he shouted. Anders turned slowly and threw his staff down as he walked back to Fenris. He crouched down next to him and reached for the bolt, blue healing energies flooding his palms. He was deathly pale.

Vic let Cullen in with a grim expression. “That didn’t take long.” 

Cullen pushed past Vic into the room and cast his eyes around at the smashed windows, crossbow bolts and shattered glass upon the floor. He took it in at a glance as he cast around and spotted Anders and Fenris.

“Maker,” he growled. He took two steps towards the mage and elf then paused, distracted by the blaze outside. He crossed to the window and stared at the conflagration still burning upon the battlements. Soldiers were frantically working to douse the fierce flames; the twisted forms of corpses could be distantly made out, black and charred. He turned slowly to stare at Anders.

“Problem Commander?” Fenris hissed as the bolt was yanked out and Anders began to heal him. He winced at the feeling of magic applied right against his skin but he knew it couldn’t be helped. He could feel Anders trembling slightly as he pressed his hands against the wound, his eyes fixed on his hands as he worked.

“Several,” said Cullen grimly as he continued to stare at Anders.

“Speak up then, since we all had such a rousing start to the day.” Vic snapped as he went over to pull the drapes at least since there was no point in closing what was left of the windows.

“Anders,” said Cullen quietly. Anders closed his eyes briefly then opened them again, not taking his gaze off his work.

“Love, answer him please?” Fenris rasped, as he tried to keep from squirming away from his lover’s healing. Anders remained silent, focused on the act of healing. As tendons and muscle rewove themselves and fresh skin stretched across the scar, thickening and smoothing over, he closed his eyes slowly. 

The healing done, he let his hands fall away, and opened his eyes to stare down at them, Fenris’ blood smeared across his palms. He shuddered. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispered.

“Vic, help him.” Fenris said right before Anders moved away to avoid throwing up on him. 

“Easy, easy. “ Vic grabbed a nearby plant and got his lover over it before he sicked up.

Fenris got up uneasily and made it to the bed with a shaky sigh. “We’re not safe, we can’t stay here.”

Cullen snatched up a cloth and moved to help Vic support Anders as the blond mage retched, twisting as his stomach tried to turn itself inside out. As Anders lifted his head, pale and clammy, Cullen gently wiped his mouth.

“I’ll have you moved to one of the sets of rooms on the inside of the keep, away from the outer courtyard,” he said. “I’ll have all former templars removed from the battlements, the duty rosters reordered. And there’ll be an investigation into this immediately.” He gently brushed Anders’ hair out of his eyes. “This should never have happened.”

“Get off,” said Anders, panting, as he tried to wrench himself away from both men. “Don’t touch me.” He staggered back away from them and put a hand to his face, turning away. “Maker. Don’t look at me.”

“But...you were brilliant. You were defending yourself and us, don’t beat yourself up over this Anders.” Vic said as he watched the other mage curl away from them.

Anders shook his head as he backed away. He slumped against the wall then slid down. “No. I killed... I _murdered_ them. I... Maker, the _smell_.... fire, why did I use fire?” He stared wildly at his hands. “I can still smell it. Wh-why isn’t there more blood on my hands? There should be more than this. How many died?”

Invictus turned to Cullen, confused by his lover’s reaction to defending them. Maybe he lacked the empathy of a healer but Vic didn’t understand it. 

Fenris had lain across the bed to observe them, sure his opinion on ‘mage business’ would just make it worse.

Cullen crossed to where Anders slumped on the floor against the wall. He crouched down in front of the mage, not attempting to touch him.

“Anders. You did what you had to. It’s not like the Chantry; those men were not innocent. It’s not your fault.”

Anders lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “How many?” he whispered. When Cullen didn’t answer, he screamed. “ _How MANY??_ ”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said quietly, not flinching. “A handful perhaps, no more. They deserved their deaths.”

“No-one deserves to die like that,” said Anders hoarsely. “Did Elthina? Did the acolytes, the priests - did they deserve to die like that?”

“Anders. Those men were not Elthina. They would have killed you all without remorse. They would not be weeping over your body, mourning what they had done. Do not waste your tears on them.”

“I swore I’d never kill again,” moaned Anders as he buried his face in his hands. “I _swore...._ ”

“I know,” said Cullen gently. “I know.” He leaned forward and laid a hand gently on Anders’ shaking shoulder; with a strangled sob, Anders flung himself forward, flinging his arms around Cullen’s shoulders as he buried his face in the soft black feathers of Cullen’s coat collar.

Invictus stared at them in surprise and a tiny flash of jealousy, or was it anger? He turned away to Fenris, and was surprised by the sadness in his lovers expression.

“I understand, more than I ever wanted to. I understand how he feels, and nothing we say will help him right now.” Fenris said softly.

Cullen gently patted Anders on his back, rubbing small circles as he murmured it was OK. After a little while of letting Anders cry it out, he rose slowly to his feet, drawing Anders up with him.

“I think perhaps we should adjourn to my office whilst I arrange to have your effects moved to a different set of rooms,” he said as he glanced to Vic. He turned towards Fenris. “Are you healed enough to move?”

There was the sound of pounding feet outside, and Dorian appeared in the doorway, staff clutched in one hand. Meneris was but a step behind.

“They said there was an attack,” said Dorian tersely. “What happened? Is Anders unharmed?”

Fenris grumbled as he got up to fetch his sword, then realized that was a bad idea. “Vic, take my weapon please?” 

“Anders is fine...physically, Fenris took a bolt to the shoulder however.” Vic said as he glanced at Dorian guiltily then turned to retrieve their weapons.

“We’re going to my office,” said Cullen. Dorian glanced to Meneris. 

“Your rooms would be closer, Meneris,” he said. “Not to mention more spacious. No-one would dare attack there.”

“I don’t care where we go, let’s get out of this damned room.” Fenris said irritably. 

“Cullen, can you...will you get Anders’ pack?” Vic said as he tried to help Fenris but was gently rebuffed. 

“I can walk, but this is going to hurt for a little while. I’m just lucky it didn’t dislocate my shoulder.” Fenris huffed.

“The good Commander has his hands full I fear,” remarked Dorian as he retrieved Anders’ staff and pack. Cullen glanced at Anders, who was now clutching the front of his coat, face still buried in feathers though no longer sobbing.

“Take your time, be gentle with him Rutherford.” Vic said sadly as he gave them one last glance before he fell in with Fenris and the others.

Cullen nodded, and coaxed Anders to move, slowly. He kept talking to him quietly; as they moved into the hall, he murmured a quiet question. After a moment Anders nodded, shakily, and turned to face the way they were walking. Cullen shrugged his coat off and draped it over Anders’ shoulders; he clutched it tightly.

Suddenly he lurched to a halt. “Cat. Where’s my cat?” he said tersely.

“This little beast?” remarked Dorian, plucking the ginger cat out of the top of Anders’ pack. “He seems to have decided this was the safest place when windows started breaking.” He moved forward and Anders took it gratefully.

“Come on, let’s get to Meneris’ room,” said Cullen gently, guiding Anders with a hand against the small of Anders’ back.

They arrived at the Inquisitor’s suite; Cullen guided Anders to a chair, well away from the windows, and pushed him down into the seat before turning to glance around. 

“Inquisitor, where do you keep your brandy?” he asked quietly.

“Sideboard by the bannister.” Meneris said distractedly as he watched Invictus worry over Fenris since Cullen seemed to have Anders well in hand. He was intrigued by the way they moved around each other; sad that Invictus seemed to have a moment of fear when he’d seen Dorian. He could understand he supposed, or not. Fenris seemed the type to blaze into fury without much provocation.

Said elf was trying to keep Invictus from hovering over him and asking he needed anything, repeatedly even though he’d told his lover he was fine several times over. “You’re worse than a mother hen Vic, leave me be.” Fenris finally snapped.

Dorian stepped over to them and pushed a glass of brandy into Invictus’ hand before holding a second one out to Fenris.

“You look like you could both use a stiff drink,” he remarked. He raised a glance at Invictus. “I think you can stand down now, Champion. Fenris seems hardly about to expire on the spot, hmm?” He smiled to take any sting out of his words.

Anders was sipping slowly at his brandy, listening as Cullen talked quietly to him. The Commander was crouched beside his chair, one hand on Anders’ knee. After a moment, Anders nodded slowly in response to whatever Cullen had said, one hand absently stroking the cat on his knee. He lifted his eyes and stared at Invictus, and after a moment his lips quirked in a faint ghost of an attempted smile.

Vic’s expression darkened for a moment before he caught himself. “Thanks for the drink.” was all he said before he stepped out to the balcony with his brandy. 

Fenris glanced at the door where Vic had left then back to Dorian. He stared at the other man for a long time, sure something had happened between them but unsure what it was to cause such animosity after Vic had tried to suss out whether Fenris would bed him.

Dorian watched Invictus go with a faint frown of perplexion, then shrugged. “It’s been a trying morning for us all, I fear,” he said.

Anders had risen from his seat as Invictus strode over to the balcony, the cat leaping down nimbly to curl and twine about his ankles as he took as step then another towards the balcony then halted.

“Not just this morning, I think.” Fenris replied in Tevene with another long look at the Altus before him. 

Vic heard the halting footsteps behind him and turned to see Anders at the doorway. “It’s nice out here but the view could be overwhelming. Nothing on the other side though and we’re too high up for someone to be lurking around.” 

Anders clutched Cullen’s coat tighter about himself as he regarded Invictus uncertainly, then nodded. He walked slowly to join him. He stopped beside the Champion and stared down at his feet for a moment, then stepped closer and laid his head on Invictus’ shoulder.

“I’m.... sorry,” he murmured.

“Nothing to be sorry about. You were defending yourself and us. I am not angry with you, I just wish I knew how to help you. Perhaps Fenris might be better suited to talk this out.” Vic leaned his head against Anders and sighed. 

“I don’t think I want to talk about it,” Anders confessed. “Well - not yet. It’s just a little too....” He gestured vaguely with the glass, unable to find the right words, then sipped at the brandy. “It’s very good brandy,” he remarked.

“Understood...I hope Cullen was able to help you at least.” Vic said with a tinge of bitterness he couldn’t curb.

“Don’t be jealous, love,” said Anders, slipping an arm around Invictus’ waist. “He’s been there himself. He... well, I guess being a commander, he’s gotten good at knowing the right words to say. And, well, he’s seen me something like this before.” He took another sip of the brandy. “I was a bit of a mess just after I got out of solitary. He was very new then - he’s twelve years younger than me, did I ever tell you that? - he wasn’t one of templars on duty whilst I was actually going through it down there, but he escorted me to the enchanters’ quarters afterwards.” He was quiet for a moment. “I was probably far worse than this, but... I haven't been this bad in a long time. Not since... since the siege at Vigil's Keep. Though you didn't see me back then. Wasn't pretty.”

He sighed and turned to bury his face against Vic’s shoulder. “I can’t do this,” he said softly. “This was never what I was meant for. I’m a healer. I wonder if the lives I’ve taken have outnumbered the ones I’ve saved?”

“I’d say so, the children you’ve delivered, the ones you kept from crossing over. I’m probably more in debt in regards to that than you could ever be. I’ve never held back from killing, not often.” Vic said as he nuzzled against Anders and sighed again. “I wish we’d never gotten on that boat. I should have remained somewhere else, not dragged you lot down with me.”

Anders shook his head. “We couldn’t have stayed. Sooner or later the Seekers would have caught up to me and I’d be dead - or worse. I’d sooner the rope than Tranquility, but funnily enough I’ve developed this annoying habit of wanting to live. Tiresome, I know, but there it is. You wouldn’t put an end to me in Kirkwall so I guess you’re stuck with me. Lucky old you.” He tightened his arm around Vic’s waist and managed a lopsided grin to show he was joking. He nuzzled the side of Vic’s face. “Thank you, love, for not giving up on me. You deserve someone better.”

“No, no I don’t. I ... “ Vic glanced back inside then pressed a kiss to Anders temple. “I don’t deserve any of you. We’ve covered that already. Just, stay like this for a while please love.” 

Anders nodded, clutching his glass of brandy to his chest, not trusting himself to speak. He drew a long slow breath, then let it go in a voiceless sigh. “It would destroy me to lose you,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so much Anders.” Vic replied with a hitch in his voice as he closed his eyes and leaned down to gently kiss his lover. He wished in that moment that Fenris would rip his heart out, or he’d tumble off the balcony into the snowy, jagged cliffs below. The pain would be less than what he felt at his betrayal of their affection.

Dorian watched the two men from where he stood inside, an arm’s length away from Meneris. Not taking his eyes off them, he blinked rapidly for a moment, then slowly stretched one hand towards Meneris without looking round.

The elven Inquisitor was surprised by the offer of affection, especially in front of others. He took Dorian’s hand with a glance out to the balcony then back at his lover with some understanding. 

Fenris glanced at their joined hands for a moment, then slipped out to join his lovers on the balcony.

Dorian felt Meneris’ fingers lace through his, and he squeezed the other man’s hand gently in silent thanks. “Dash it all, I think there’s something in my eye,” he murmured.

“Seems to be going around in here, damn drafty windows letting in dust and things.” Meneris replied. Dorian smiled slightly.

Cullen cleared his throat and both men turned to look at him.

“My apologies for interrupting, Inquisitor, but I must return to my duties. We need to find out how those templars were able to gain access to the battlements so easily.”

“Of course Cullen, please report in later? Perhaps we can take dinner in here while you try to get our friends more suitable accommodations?” Meneris replied.

Fenris leaned against the railing as he listened to the others, his gaze and manner ill at ease. He felt like Vic and Dorian were holding something from them but he couldn’t figure out what it was. The attack on Anders didn’t surprise him even if he was aggravated by starting the day that way.

Anders’ eyes were closed; he was oblivious to the elf’s presence. “It was my fault Fenris was hurt. That should never have happened,” he said quietly. “I need to find some way to make it up to him.”

“I’m battle hardened Anders, a bolt through the arm won’t stop me. Stop apologizing for Dumat’s sake. You were attacked, we all knew it was possible. I just wonder how they mobilized so quickly. I admit I liked seeing you use your full potential for once.” Fenris said between sips of his drink.

Anders started. “I’m s-” he began automatically, then checked himself. He frowned down into his glass as he slowly straightened. “How did they know that was our room?” he wondered.

“Who knows? I’m guessing one of the guards gossiped, or something. Not many people knew where we were in this place. I just want to get back on the road, it’s actually safer than here.” Fenris said.

“I’ll freeze them solid once I find out who it was.” Vic said viciously.

“I just want to get out of this place,” said Anders as he pulled away from Vic and walked slowly over to the balcony railing. He glanced down. “Maker. I had no idea we were so high up,” he murmured.

“Let’s get back inside, the wind is picking up and I’m getting cold.” Fenris said as he glanced at Anders. “Feathers always suited you love.” 

Anders clutched the coat closed as he turned away from the railing. He smiled a little at Fenris’ remark as he headed back towards the balcony door. He paused just inside and glanced round.

“Cullen gone already?” he said in surprise.

“He has reports to do, investigations to carry out and a thousand other mundane yet necessary things to deal with,” replied Dorian with a shrug. “He said he might stop by for dinner later if he can find time.”

“Oh,” said Anders as he walked inside. He returned to his chair and downed the last of his brandy. He suddenly grinned. “I still have his coat. I might not give it back.” He began to giggle helplessly. 

Invictus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Truth be told he was a few moments away from doing the same. He sat at the small table in Meneris’ room, put his head in his hands and tried to gather his wits.

Fenris had stopped in front of one of the bookshelves to peruse the titles he could make out. 

Meneris kept looking between the other men, worried Vic or Dorian might crack and give Fenris a reason to finally take them out. 

Dorian seemed unaffected by any such worry; he was regarding Anders with one eyebrow raised. Anders noticed his expression and only laughed harder.

“I s-started the day threatening t-to piss in his porridge,” he tried to explain. “An-and now I’ve s-s-stolen his _coat_!” He clutched his stomach as he laughed harder.

“I think you are done with the brandy for now.” Vic said as he subtly moved the glass away from his lover. Anders didn’t notice, he was too busy laughing almost hysterically. Occasionally they could make out the words “piss in his porridge” and “coat!” 

Fenris did turn at the sounds of Anders’ laughter and came over to stand by him. “I guess this is better than sobbing?” he said quizzically.

“I think the way his last few days have gone, this was going to happen anyway. I’ll have something to eat sent up since we all could use a real meal rather than a liquid lunch.” Meneris said as he headed down a level to pass his request to the guard left by Cullen.

Anders was beyond coherency when he returned, capable only of clutching his ribs as tears streamed down his face as he continued to laugh. Dorian was shaking his head slowly.

“There’s no point in trying to get him up, let him get this out of his system. Maybe food will help sober him up.” Fenris said before he glanced to Invictus. “Vic, why don’t you and Meneris go and get a quill, notebook and other things for us? I had some thoughts I wanted to jot down about all this.” 

“You hate writing though…” Vic said before he realized Fenris had narrowed his gaze at him and seemed to get the hint. “Sure, I’ll get on that.”

Dorian headed over to the side cupboard and poured himself another finger of brandy. “He’ll exhaust himself at this rate,” he remarked quietly as he walked over to join Fenris. “Which is possibly all to the good. Let him sleep it off.”

Anders’ laughter was finally tailing off into giggles and hiccups as he fell back into the chair helplessly. The cat had leaped onto his knee and was miowing at him curiously. Anders waggled a finger at it, speechless still.

“Pavus, join me on the balcony would you?” Fenris said as he took Anders’ unfinished drink and headed outside.

“Hmm? A moment,” said Dorian, distracted, as he watched Anders gradually quietened until he was laying exhausted in the seat, the occasional helpless giggle bursting out from him but for the most part, steadily succumbing to the result of the large glass of brandy on an empty stomach after a large amount of adrenaline. As he watched, Anders’ eyes slowly drooped, and then his head lolled to one side as he started to snore.

Dorian rolled his eyes good-humouredly at the sleeping apostate then turned to follow Fenris. He drew the door closed behind him as quietly as possible then made his way over to join the elf at the railing. 

“He’s sleeping now,” he remarked. “Didn’t like to leave him on his own until I was sure he was safely out for the count.”

“How charitable of you Dorian.” Fenris said as he went to the rail and stared out at the clouds, snow and mountain tops across from them. “Vic has so many tells, he doesn’t realize I know when he’s holding something from me when he’s struggling to keep his mouth shut.” 

“Charitable?” Dorian chuckled. “Don’t tell anyone, my reputation would be rather tarnished.” He turned and leaned his back against the rail. “Tells? Not sure I entirely follow.” He glanced at the glass of brandy in his hand then took a sip.

Fenris turned and smiled at Dorian, that predatory grin he’d perfected over the years before he looked him in the eye as he asked what was on his mind. “So who started it? Him or you?”

Dorian blinked for a moment. “Ah, that,” he said slowly. “I rather suspect it was a somewhat mutual momentary response.”

“Considering he was trying to convince me to bed you a few days ago, and now he looked like he wanted to punch you in the mouth for simply offering him a drink, I wonder at that Pavus.” Fenris didn’t raise his voice, didn’t yell but every movement radiated menace.

Dorian pulled a face and stared into his glass. “I didn’t think I was _that_ bad a lay,” he mused.

Fenris’s brands lit and he had Dorian by the throat, bent over the railing and perilously close to dropping the Altus over. “What did you say?”

The glass went flying, and Dorian screamed in shocked surprise as he felt the world tip around him and he got a far better view of the sharp, snow-covered crags far below. He grasped desperately at Fenris’ wrist, legs kicking to try and touch the balcony floor.

Meneris was almost up the stairs with Invictus behind him when he heard Dorian’s screech. He ran past Anders, managing not to wake the sleeping mage as he ran out to find Fenris had his lover in a very, very precarious position. “Fenris, I would really like it if you didn’t drop him off the balcony.”

Dorian had ceased his wild kicking; his grip upon Fenris’ wrist was painfully tight, his knuckles pale though Fenris gave no sign of discomfort, his grip upon the Tevinter mage’s throat tightening. Dorian made a choking sound and stared, wide-eyed, at the drop below.

“I’d like the truth Inquisitor. Especially if you wish to keep your traitorous Altus on this side of the Veil. Unless Invictus would like to confess something before I have words with him? I’d rather not wake Anders, but I won’t hold back either.” Fenris gaze was cold as he stared at Invictus, then to Meneris. Any warmth for his lover was gone in a flash of hurt and dismay.

Dorian’s chest heaved as he struggled to draw breath. “Men-Meneris!” he managed to gasp before Fenris’ grip tightened further. His grip upon Fenris’ wrist grew a little weaker. He reached his other hand desperately back towards Meneris as he stared at the rocks below. He closed his eyes.

“Fenris, let him go. Scream and yell at me all you want but don’t kill him. We...were both at fault, please love--” Vic was cut off by a low snarl.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that, not after what you did Invictus Endrin Hawke.” Fenris pulled Dorian back to the balcony and shoved him at Meneris. “You...both of you? Why?”

Dorian stumbled and fell heavily to his hands and knees, then clutched at his throat, wheezing. “Meneris,” he managed to croak.

The Inquisitor helped his lover up and got in front of him as if he could shield Dorian from Fenris’ anger. “Do you need anything?” he murmured as he watched Invictus and Fenris square off.

“A large stiff drink,” Dorian gasped. “And quite possibly a clean pair of pants.” He shuddered.

“I’d say lets go but I don’t think I want to chance it right now.” Meneris whispered.

Meanwhile Invictus stood before Fenris, terrified not because of the elf’s anger but for the hurt he saw in those forest green eyes he’d gazed into lovingly not long before. “I...I...lost myself. It was just, I don’t…” all of his words fell to dust as he saw how Fenris’s eyes started to glimmer.

“What’s going on?” asked a quiet, exhausted voice from the doorway behind them all. Dorian glanced over his shoulder.

Anders stood in the doorway, clutching the door frame with one hand whilst with the other he clutched Cullen’s coat closed. He looked exhausted, his eyes dull. He stared from Dorian and Meneris, to Fenris and Invictus.

“Nothing, nothing at all. You should be resting Anders. I’ll be back, I’m going to take a walk.” Fenris said shakily with a hard glare at the others before he skirted around Vic with a low warning to tell, to confess while he gathered himself again.

Anders frowned drowsily and rested his head against the door frame. “It’s hard to sleep with all the racket out here,” he said. “What was the screaming all about? I thought someone was being murdered.”

Fenris heard the remark but didn’t slow down, he needed air and to get control of himself before he murdered everyone. He was forced to stop when Anders let go of his coat to reach out and catch his wrist.

“Love?” he said, concern in his voice. “Something’s happened. I know that look.” He stared back at Invictus. “What did you do?” he whispered. “What have you done to him?”

“Lied, I lied and he caught me out. We didn’t want you to wake up. I’m sorry Anders, I’m so sorry.” Vic replied.

Fenris pulled his arm free and shook his head at Anders, a hurried plea to let him go before he broke down in front of them, whispered in Tevene.

Meneris watched them, and wondered if they ran out the other door would they get away to Dorian’s room before Fenris decided to finish what he started. “Fenris...why don’t you three talk, and we’ll go?”

“I can’t look at them right now, I need to get out of here.” the elf replied with a broken look at Meneris. “You knew? You knew didn’t you?” 

Anders let his hand fall and stared at Invictus in disbelief. After a moment, he managed to find his voice. “Why?”

He glanced at Dorian then back to the men before him. “Heat of the moment, we...pushed and pulled each other, I should have walked off but I didn’t. I don’t have a good reason other than I lost my head and I was stupid.” Vic looked to both of them then at Dorian once more before he apologized to them all. “I’m sorry.”

Anders didn’t miss his glances. He stared at Dorian, who glanced away. Then he stared back at Invictus for a long moment until the silence stretched out uncomfortably, before slowly turning away and walking back into Meneris’ room, away from them all.

Invictus slumped down against the doorframe, dropped his head to his knees and tried not to fall to pieces. 

Fenris sat down next to Anders, linked his arm with his lover’s and sat stone faced as he felt tears slide down his face. He was hurt, deeply by everyone but his warden. “He lied, lied right to my face.”

Anders slipped an arm around Fenris’ waist and tugged him a little closer until Fenris could rest his head against the apostate’s feathered shoulder. Anders gently kissed the top of Fenris’ head.

“You’ve still got me, love,” he said quietly.

Fenris swiped at the tears he couldn’t stop even as he leaned into Anders embrace. 

Vic glanced at the railing and wondered how fast he’d perish if he simply flung himself off. 

Meneris sat Dorian down at the bench and tilted his head to the side to check his throat. “Can you speak?”

Dorian cleared his throat experimentally. “I think-” He broke off as he glanced at Invictus as the other mage moved, then followed Invictus’ stare. He abruptly lunged to his feet and pushed Meneris aside as he flung himself forward to grasp Invictus by the shoulder.

“Oh no you bloody well don’t!” he said urgently. “Do not even dare to consider it!”

“Get your hand off me, it’s the least I deserve for doing that” he pointed at Fenris and Anders as they sat dejectedly next to each other in an attempt to comfort one another. “to men I professed to love, yet when given a chance I fucking leapt in your bed instead of remembering what I stood to lose.” Vic huffed.

Meneris came over and stared at Invictus. “Was it just physical? Unless you mean to leave them for Dorian, and he realizes what he’s done to them by being casual about it then I am fine with this. It is clear however that for them, it’s not. I’m going to see where our food is and maybe we can all talk about it.” 

Dorian circled Invictus to stand before him, his hands braced against Invictus’ shoulders. “This solves nothing, believe me,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “You throw yourself over that railing, what do you think will happen? An instant of pain for you and it’s all over; for _them_ it will be a lifetime of pain and hurt. Would you compound the damage you’ve already done by inflicting your death upon them also?” He searched Invictus’ eyes. “Whilst there is life there is hope yet to make amends. Throw yourself off this balcony and that is gone. Suicide is a very permanent solution to a problem that may yet be solved.” 

He tilted his head a little to one side. “Necromancer I may be, but even I could not bring you back from this mistake. Please. Don’t do this. Bad enough that I almost lost _my_ life over this.” A small half-smile flickered across his lips. “Besides, mine would have been a much prettier corpse.”

“I should have thrown him off instead of choking him.” Fenris hissed angrily.

“There’s no going back from this Dorian, I had my fun and now I need to pay the price.” Vic said as he continued to stare past him towards the railing.

Meneris returned with guards and servants who laid out a small feast for them and departed quickly. Two guards remained just outside the door to the Inquisitor’s chambers and a couple patrolled nearby, just in case.

“I know some of you may not feel like eating but this is not the time to fight over what’s already happened. Don’t look at me like that, I’ve got different ideas about casual dalliances than you all do and I want to settle this if we can before it detracts from all we have to do.” Meneris held a chair out for Dorian and nodded at the other seats. “Please?”

Dorian did not take his eyes off those of the Champion. “If you’re so determined to kill yourself, you’ll have to go through me, Hawke - because I am not about to step aside. I should warn you however that Anders is watching. If you jump, he will still be watching, and he will see you die. Is that what you want? After all he has been through? Do you really want to put him through that as well?”

“Hawke,” said Anders quietly from the doorway. He had risen from his place by Fenris and wandered there. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but though he was sleep-fuddled and exhausted, he knew something was wrong. “Hawke, come inside. Please.”

Invictus turned away and went inside to the table and sat there dejectedly. He looked up at Anders and Fenris then back to the plate put in front of him. 

“So...once everyone is seated, let’s just get this out in the open so we can move on?” Meneris said as he took a sip of wine and looked around.

Anders dropped gracelessly into the seat next to Fenris, looking utterly done in and about ready to faceplant into the plate in front of him. Dorian slowly followed Invictus back inside; he turned and shut the door, then turned the key in the lock and pocketed it before joining the others at the table. He sat at Meneris’ right, next to Anders and directly across from Invictus.

“Anders, are you up to this? You look exhausted and a bit shocked.” Meneris said gently.

“I don’t know if I am, but it needs to be done.” Fenris said listlessly.

Anders stared at his plate, blinking slowly. “I don’t know,” he said tonelessly. He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. “Someone wake me up and tell me today has been just one long bad dream. Lie to me, I don’t care, just....” He scrubbed at his face in exhaustion. “I’m... done. Just....” He pushed the plate aside and slumped forward, folding his arms and burying his face. “Just go on without me,” he said indistinctly.

“Why don’t you lie down and I’ll fill you in later love?” Fenris asked as he nodded towards the divan. He glared at Invictus as he realized that the former Champion was next to him.

“That would involve moving,” mumbled Anders, not lifting his head. Dorian made to get up then paused, glancing at Fenris, and thought better of it. He glanced to Meneris.

“Everyone just stay here, and Anders if you wish to rest in my bed it’s over there. It’s more comfortable than the divan that’s for sure.” Meneris said before he took a few bites. “Dig in, I made sure to get something Ferelden for you all.”

Fenris ate sullenly, his gaze occasionally going to Invictus who had begun to eat just as mechanically as he had. 

“Why does everyone seem determined to make me move?” Anders mumbled plaintively. He gave a tremulous sigh then slowly dragged himself to his feet. He managed to stagger to the bed before sprawling on it face down. A moment later he began to snore, the sound muffled by the down comforter.

“Well that’s that, now where were we gentlemen?” Meneris asked as he realized they were all faced off against each other and no one could avoid looking at each other. 

“Invictus and Dorian fucked, broke our trust and you are far too damn blase about this.” Fenris said tiredly.

Dorian leaned his cheek against one fist as he pushed food around his plate with his fork. “I-” He broke off and made a face. “No, I don’t think there’s much I can say to that,” he mused. “The first part is entirely correct. Yes, Invictus did indeed stick his rather ample cock in my posterior and shag me nearly senseless. That is undeniable fact.” He glanced at the Champion as Invictus made a choking sound. “What? It’s the truth. There’s no use in denying it. The physical act took place.” He shrugged. “No emotions involved, just a bit of give and take, over and done and moving on.” He threw his fork down and reached for his glass of wine. 

He observed Fenris’ face over the rim of the glass and lowered it. “You dislike being lied to. For the record, I never have. A simple physical act is all that took place. Did you think I’d given him my heart as well?” He snorted and stared into his glass of wine, deliberately ignoring the expression on Invictus’ face. “Oh _please_. As if. Meneris could tell you; I’m as shallow as they come and every bit as much the wastrel whore the Reverend Mother paints me as.” He tossed back the rest of his wine then set down the glass and stared directly at Fenris.

“So. Yes, he fucked me. What of it? It means nothing to me.”

“Nothing...it meant nothing Fenris. I hope I can recover your good grace, some day.” Invictus said hollowly.

Dorian leaned forward and reached for the wine bottle, his eyes never leaving Fenris. He didn’t dare look at Meneris; he could practically feel his lover’s eyes boring into him. He splashed wine into his glass and downed it swiftly.

“I will consider this transgression Invictus. You’ve broken more than my trust, you’ve shattered my heart. You tried to convince me to bed Dorian while you coveted him yourself. I don’t know if you can recover my good graces, it will take time and a lot of work. I cannot speak for Anders but I have a feeling he will be more forgiving of a casual dalliance than I can be.” Fenris went back to his meal without looking at Vic or the other men at the table.

“I...understand. I’m sorry, more sorry than I can express.” Vic said.

“You’re sorry because you were caught out, if you were sorry you wouldn’t have done it to begin with. You know how I feel about this, especially after all we dealt with over the last few years with Arden and company.” Fenris didn’t look up, he just attacked the roast on his plate as if it had offended him and not Invictus.

Dorian said nothing, merely refilled his glass again. The news that Invictus had tried to get the white-haired elf to take him to bed was intriguing and had come as a surprise to him. He kept his eyes on the glass in front of him however. On the whole, he suspected that keeping his mouth shut would be a wise move.

Perhaps he’d finally learned the value of discretion after all. Shame it had come rather too late on this occasion.

Vic said nothing, he just pushed his plate away. He glanced over when he heard a commotion downstairs and frowned. 

“Whatever is going on, they have the worst timing.” Fenris remarked. 

Meneris went down to find the guards trying to subdue a rather put upon blond elf that seemed determined to get to him. “What’s going on? Who is this man?”

“Says he’s a companion of the Champion your Worship.” 

The elf was still struggling in spite of the men pinning him to the ground, two of which were actually kneeling upon him as he fought like a wildcat to free himself. A stream of vitriolic Antivan was being directed at the men holding him down that only redoubled in vigour as the door opened.

“That’s… inventive. I suggest you let him up, so I may introduce Zevran Arainai, Crow Master and very much a companion of ours.” Fenris’ gaze had some of the warmth he’d lost just an hour ago for his other lover. He wanted to pull Zev into his arms and kiss him but that could wait.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has odd dreams, Zevran isn't happy and Fenris is done with everyone.

As the guards released him, Zevran shrugged them off and rose to his feet with an air of wounded dignity, clutching his left arm. He tossed his hair back over his shoulders and stalked past Meneris into the Inquisitor’s chambers, his eyes flashing fire as he strode towards Fenris. He paused for a moment, rubbing his arm slowly, and then a grin split his face.

“ _Carissimi_ , you are a sight for sore eyes indeed,” he laughed. He spread his arms wide and looked at Fenris expectantly.

Fenris embraced Zevran tight and held him close as he whispered adoration in Antivan for his wayward lover. “I’m happy to see you, and as usual you show up when you are needed most.”

Zevran returned Fenris’ hug enthusiastically, burying his face against the taller elf’s neck. “Ah, _carissimi_ , it does my heart good to see you. It is a long road I have travelled, but I am glad it is at an end.” He pulled back a little then glanced round.

“But friend Invictus, you do not look so glad. Has some mishap occurred?” He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on Anders. “Ah, our lost and lamented apostate! he is well?” He gave Fenris an inquiring look. “I can see there is a story here.”

“Yes, not a happy one however. Invictus has strayed and been caught out. Thus this unhappy scene.” Fenris said before he kissed Zevran on the forehead and lips. Had his Antivan been the one to spend time with Dorian he would have been happy for them, since they were not bound to each other as he was with Vic.

Zevran rolled his eyes. “And did we not go through this with the other Hawke?” he said. “I trust you took the heart of the offending person?” He flashed Fenris a grin.

“No, he simply tried to throttle me and toss me off the balcony,” remarked Dorian as he contemplated his glass of wine. “An endeavour I am quite glad he didn’t succeed in, though I fear it was not out of any love for me.” He tossed back the glass of wine then rose to his feet to bestow a dazzling smile upon Zevran that did not reach his eyes. “Dorian Pavus, Altus of that name, of Qarinus, Minrathous and latterly of Skyhold.” 

Zevran gave him a cold smile. “And I am Zevran Arainai, Master of Crows, and I think that already I do not like you, Altus Dorian Pavus. Be elsewhere.”

Dorian glanced at Meneris, then tilted the wine bottle upside down over his glass and frowned when only a drop splashed into the bottom of his glass. He set the bottle down and reached for another.

“That would rather be up to the Inquisitor, wouldn’t it?” he remarked as he set the glass down and uncorked the bottle. “Your very good health, Ser Crow.” He took a pull directly from the bottle.

“Well Anders is sound asleep, we’re in the middle of dinner and we’re in my rooms so unfortunately we cannot grant your request serah. I do welcome you to join us for dinner so aside from this we can catch you up on why they are here and not in their own rooms.” Meneris said with a bow of his head to the other elf. 

“Leave off, we’ve had our say for the most part. I will fill you in later carissimi.” Fenris said with an additional caveat given in Antivan just for his lover.

Zevran inclined his head. “If that is your wish, my heart,” he said quietly to the taller elf. He drew away then winced, rubbing his arm. “Your guards are fortunate I sought only to reach my companions, Inquisitor,” he said stiffly. “Or they may have lost their hands.” He glanced sidelong at the Dalish elf, then shrugged. “But perhaps friend Anders will be gracious with his talents later.” He plucked a bottle of wine from the table, and inspected the label, sniffing derisively. “Nevarran. Not a good year,” he tutted as he drew a small knife and opened the bottle.

“Not a bottle of Aggregio Pavali to be had either.” Fenris agreed as he ran his hand down Zevran’s back just out of need for touch. 

“I’ll check with Cullen about rooms, if you don’t mind Fenris.” Invictus asked.

“I’m not your keeper, do as you please Hawke.” Fenris snapped before he took the bottle from Zevran and took another swig.

“No need, I’m here now,” said Cullen breathlessly as he entered. He paused and glanced round. “Is there something wrong?” he said slowly. “And who is this? Wait... don’t I know you?”

“You do not remember Zevran? He is a veteran of the Fifth Blight.” Fenris replied.

“Pardon me, I ...need air.” Vic said as he tried to go back to the balcony but found the doors locked. “Oh for fucks sake.”

“Zevran?” Cullen’s face cleared. “The Crow! Kinloch Hold! Now I remember,” he said slowly. “That was a long time ago, and I was... not at my best at the time. Weren’t you with S-” He checked himself. “The Hero of Ferelden?”

Zevran executed a bow. “The one and the same.”

Dorian had sat back down and was drinking from the bottle. He pulled a small key from his pocket and held it up musingly.

“Give it to me.” Vic said menacingly.

“I think you’ve already had enough of him giving you anything Invictus, sit down.” Fenris snapped.

“Yes, ser.” Vic said without another word of protest. He sat next to Anders and jumped when he felt the other man’s hand brush against him. Anders made a faint noise of protest and turned his head slightly, his eyes only half open. 

“Too much shouting,” he slurred. “Can’t sleep.” He blinked drowsily. “Vic? Why’s everyone shouting?”

“I’m stupid as the day is long. Zev’s here if you want to say hi.” Vic said as he brushed his hand over Anders head gently. “I’m sorry, I hope you can forgive me one day.”

Anders managed to lift one hand and waved it vaguely. “Hello Zev,” he said mechanically. “Well I guess this dream’s getting better at last. I forgive you for being stupid. Can I go back to sleep now?” He blinked owlishly, eyelids drooping. “I am so, so tired.”

“Of course, we’ll wake you for dinner. Sleep well.” Vic nudged him back to sleep with a whispered cantrip before he turned to face the others.

Anders smiled dreamily. “Love you, Vic,” he slurred before his eyes closed and he sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“I...love you too Anders.” Vic replied huskily as he watched Anders slip away to slumber. He didn’t dare turn to see the expression on the others faces. “He should sleep for a few hours or until I dispel my cantrip.”

Zevran was staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He tapped a forefinger upon his chin, then his eyes slid to Fenris.

“It seems friend Anders either does not recall this... hmm... _indiscretion_ of Hawke’s,” he said slowly, “Or he is extremely forgiving.” He raised an eyebrow at Fenris before taking another pull of the wine then held out the bottle. He drew a knife with his other hand, spearing a large slice of roast beef from Invictus’ plate.

“What on earth is going on?” said Cullen, frowning. “Inquisitor?”

“It is not your concern Commander. The matter is ...resolved as it will be among us. Do you have news of new quarters? I would like to get settled and get Anders safely settled after dinner.” Fenris glared at Cullen for a moment before he glanced at Invictus. 

“Cullen, just...it’s said and done for now. What have you learned about the attack?” Meneris asked.

“Inside job I’m afraid,” said Cullen, shaking his head. “It seems one of the duty rosters failed to get changed despite my orders. I’m looking into that failure presently. A small group of templars were able to get themselves assigned to guard duty on the battlements; we’re still working to uncover who their accomplice was in the keep itself. Ambassador Josephine and some of my most trusted staff are going through staff records to try and uncover them.” 

He glanced at Fenris. “Quarters have been arranged in the inner keep on the same hall as my office; a large room for three, with attached privy and bathing chamber.” He glanced at Zevran. “I, ah, can arrange for a pallet to be brought in for Zevran; it will take me a little longer to arrange a room for him.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll deal with that now. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invite for dinner, Inquisitor; maybe another day.” He glanced over at Anders and frowned. “I’ll arrange for two healers with a stretcher to convey Anders to the new quarters.”

“That will be sufficient for now.” Fenris glanced at Invictus and smiled maliciously as he remarked on who would be using the spare pallet in Tevene. 

Dorian abruptly guffawed and slapped his knee. “Indeed,” he drawled, before turning his attention back to his wine, decidedly inebriated.

Zevran merely arched an eyebrow. “That will be satisfactory,” he remarked.

“Good, I’ll go make the arrangements then,” said Cullen as he nodded to Meneris. “Inquisitor.” He turned and headed for the door.

“I suggest you curb your laughter Altus.” Fenris said with a snarl. He snatched up the last open bottle and upended it despite the protest from his lover.

“It’s alright, I expected to be put out anyway. I’ll sleep on the flagstone if you wish Fenris.” Vic said morosely.

“Don’t fucking give me that pathetic act, I should have tossed you off the balcony along with him. We will have words once Anders is well again.” Fenris hissed angrily.

Dorian inspected the key in his hand then put it back in his pocket before taking another pull of the wine.

Zevran regarded Invictus with a sad shake of the head. “And I was so looking forward to our reunion.” He sighed.

“Oh it will be good, believe me. Once certain matters are settled.” Fenris got out before he fell silent when guards came in with a stretcher. 

The two healers escorted by the guard looked to Meneris, who gestured wordlessly to the comatose Anders. They carefully rolled him onto the stretcher then began to bear him from the room, escorted by the guards. “If you would follow us, Ser?” asked one of the guards courteously to Fenris.

“Of course,” Fenris fell in behind the stretcher with Zevran and Invictus flanking just in case. The procession made its way down through the keep into the innermost areas, dropping down through the levels until they reached the corridor adjacent to Cullen’s office. A guard stood on duty outside a door; he opened it as they approached. The healers bore Anders carefully into the room and transferred him onto the bed. One of the healers bent over Anders to start removing the feathered coat.

“Leave it, I will return the Commander’s coat once Anders has slept more. I also really don't’ want anyone touching him.” Fenris said.

The healers exchanged a glance, then moved away from the sleeping man. “Very good, messere,” one replied. “Should you have further need of us, the infirmary is at the end of this corridor.”

“Thank you.” Fenris waited until they were gone and the pallet had been dropped off before he finally let his fury go free at Invictus. 

“So, Anders is asleep and will stay asleep unless you dispel your work. You’d better make this good Endrin or all they will find of the Champion of Kirkwall is a bloody smear on the flagstones of this fortress.”

Vic backpedaled until he hit the nearest wall and held his hands up in surrender. “I told you it was a stupid, stupid decision that clearly meant nothing to Dorian. I was an easy, stupid fuck to him. You’ve already humiliated me, and I’ve admitted it, what else is there to say Fenris?” 

Zevran regarded them thoughtfully as he set his satchel down. He glanced around the room, noting all potentially sharp implements.

“What else is there to say? What else is there to say?” Fenris’ voice rose in pitch and volume as he cornered his lover and planted his arms on either side of Invictus.

“How about you tell me why you tried to convince me to fuck Dorian then went behind our backs and shagged him? How about that?!”

Zevran sauntered casually over to the table in the corner, picking up a bottle of wine. Uncorking it with the knife set there for that purpose, he examined the blade then tucked it into the top of his boot before turning to watch the two men.

“I… I, Fenris I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I made a bad decision and I didn’t think you knew or even thought I’d done such a thing. I’m sorry, I’ll do anything you say to make this up to you, all for you. Please I beg you, I am begging you to give me the chance to apologize.” Vic had flattened himself against the wall and prayed as he spoke, sure he was about to meet his end.

Zevran meandered over to glance over Anders’ Warden staff. He picked it up, testing the heft and studying the fine blue cord binding of the haft grip and then the sharp blade on the foot. He carried it back over towards the door and casually leaned it against the wall, tucked out of sight behind a bookcase.

“A bad decision is staying up for two days drinking instead of resting and planning our escape. A bad decision is having sweets for dinner instead of a meal. A bad decision is anything but what you did. That was cheating on us. That was fucking someone I’d just said I’d rather cut their hand off than let them touch me yet you fucked them.” Fenris’ voice cracked as he continued to rant at Vic.

Zevran moved himself casually to stand in front of Fenris’ sword, where it leaned against the side of a chair. He took a swig from the bottle as he pulled his cloak loose with one hand then casually draped it over the chair, neatly hiding the sword.

“Easy, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran quietly as he slipped up next to Fenris. “Save your voice a little, hmm?” He proffered the bottle. “ _Aggregio Pavali_ I believe.” He eyed Invictus, then turned back to Fenris. “Best not to attract too much attention; we would not wish to be disturbed before you are done, no?” He smiled charmingly, palming a small letter opened from the table as he spoke and tucking it into the back of his belt.

“I don’t want it, I want him to explain why he fucked that Altus.” Fenris snarled as he let his brands light again and raised his hand as if to slide it into Invictus’s chest. “No...that would be what you want.” 

“I told you Fenris it was ...it was a stupid fucking decision I made in the spur of the moment. He’s funny and witty and he outclassed me in verbal sparring and I just, fuck He was right there and I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry.” Vic realized he had begun to babble as he watched Fenris hold his hand still over his chest and stare up at him with fury and hurt.

Zevran closed his eyes briefly and muttered something obscene that sounded vaguely Orlesian then stepped between Invictus and Fenris, pushing the Champion flat against the wall as he pressed his back against Invictus’ chest so that Fenris’ hand now rested directly over his own heart.

“I cannot allow you to do this, _carissimi_ ,” he said gently. “If you wish to take his heart, then you must go through me.” He drew in a deep breath, recalling only too clearly the agony he had experience the last time Fenris had plunged his fist into his chest.

“Why do you protect him?” Fenris asked before he backed up and went for the wine. 

Zevran could feel Invictus’ heart racing against his back; he had no doubt the Champion could feel how his own heart pounded.

“I do not protect _him_ , _carissimi_ ,” Zevran said quietly. “I seek to protect _you_. If you kill him, it is you who will suffer.” He turned his head slightly to look at the sleeping mage. “I also do it to protect Anders from the repercussions of your impetuousness. What would he think, to awaken and find his love’s blood upon your hands?” He glanced back to Fenris. “No. I say again: if you wish to harm Hawke, then first you will have to harm me.”

“You’re smarter than I am especially when my emotions run hot. Stay with them, I need a walk or something to clear my head. Perhaps I will meet some of these other companions of the Inquisitor. Hopefully they are more charming than Pavus.” Fenris took another long pull of Pavali and left them alone. 

Zevran exhaled through his nose, then stepped away from Invictus. He made straight for the table to grab the second bottle of wine. He uncorked it then took a long pull before turning to regard Invictus, his face neutral. He appeared to be considering something. He finally shrugged then held the bottle out towards Invictus.

“No thank you, I think I might just go collapse now. I thought he was going to kill me.” Vic said shakily.

“I suspect he thought so also,” replied Zevran thoughtfully. “But I did not think he would be willing to harm me to do so.” He rubbed his own chest slowly. “I am... glad I was correct in my assumption. It would have been a painful mistake had I been wrong.” He walked over to the bed and sat near Anders’ feet. He frowned then reached behind to pluck out the letter opener, tossing it into the corner with a shrug.

“So, once again I have saved your life, friend Invictus,” he mused, and took a pull of the wine.

“I wish you hadn’t.” Vic let slip before he reached out for the wine anyway.

Zevran regarded him sombrely, then passed him the bottle. “Come the morrow, you may change your mind,” he said quietly. He bent down and began to remove his boots with a faint grimace. “I am getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to say it, just think it.” Vic mumbled. “I’m going to lie next to Anders unless I really do need to sleep on the pallet.” 

Zevran set his boots aside then stood, beginning to unlace his tunic. He strode slowly over to the pallet, dropping each garment beside the mattress; first the tunic, then his vambraces, then the grey linen shirt he wore beneath the tunic. He paused with an indrawn hiss of breath as he drew the shirt off, then dropped the shirt and reached with his right hand to rub a white bandage about his left bicep that was spotted with fresh blood. There were several recent scratches and shallow cuts across his back, and what looked like a nasty cut low on the left side of his back about an inch from his spine which had scabbed over.

The elf began to slowly unbuckle his belts, oblivious to Invictus’ eyes upon him.

“Maker Zev! Let me try to help you.” Vic called out. He wasn’t the Spirit Healer Anders was but he could try to alleviate the other man’s suffering.

“It is nothing,” insisted the Crow, shaking his head. “Some Starkhaven archer thought to use me as target practice. The Inquisitor’s guards merely... exacerbated it a little. It is nothing. Do not trouble yourself.” He shrugged, then winced.

“Hold still, let me do one good thing today.” Vic fussed as he let his hands glow blue over the scrapes and cuts. 

Zevran stiffened and arched his back with a sharp hiss at the precise moment Vic felt the arrowhead embedded in Zevran’s back beneath the scabbed wound. The elf reached back to grasp Vic’s wrist. “Wait!” he panted. “I fear that one will require a sharp blade.” He released Vic’s wrist then leaned against the wall, bracing himself with his hands. “Give me a moment,” he breathed, then swore softly in Antivan. 

“Should we leave it for when Fenris returns or when Anders wakes up? I’m not that good.” Vic said worriedly.

Zevran shook his head, breathing hard through his nose. The scabs upon his back had split; rivulets of blood were trickling down the elf’s tawny skin from the arrow wound. “Felt it move,” he managed. “It would be best to remove it swiftly.” He dropped to his knees, bracing himself against the wall with his forearm.

“Alright, let me get a blade.” Vic took one of the sharp knives Zevran kept and leaned over to slice where he saw the arrowhead right under his skin.

“Wait,” breathed the elf, and stretched himself out upon the floor. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Do it.”

Right as Invictus made the first shallow cut, the door opened and Fenris entered. “What are you doing?”

Zevran drew in his breath with a hiss, his hands clenching into fists. “Get it out,” he groaned. He bit his lip, steeling himself, holding as still as possible with the tip of the blade embedded in his back. He could feel hot, wet blood running down his side.

“He’s got an arrow under his skin.” Vic said testily. He sliced quickly and pulled it free with a slight squelch. “Sorry about that, let me get a towel. “

Zevran had stiffened as Vic reached into the wound; as the arrowhead came free, he shuddered, before sinking down onto the ground silently, breathing hard. His tightly-clenched fists slowly uncurled as he lay there, eyes half-closed.

“Here, I’ll see if I can find my kit.” Fenris passed clean towels to Vic, his concern for Zevran overriding his past anger. The elf was silent, his half-lidded gaze distracted as he breathed heavily, not showing any sign of having heard Fenris. Blood pooled in the small of his back and ran down his side, spreading slowly beneath him, glistening wetly in the candlelight that lit the room.

“Wet those towels and get me hot water, soap and a small container.” Fenris said as he knelt next to Zevran. 

“Carissimi, I’m going to stitch you up, I need you to hold still. Can you do that?” Fenris asked as he reached for a hot soapy towel from Invictus.

“Yes,” whispered Zevran. “Be swift, beloved.”

At the first touch of the needle, Zevran drew his breath in sharply but otherwise held still and silent.

Fenris didn’t speak; he focused on his lover until Zevran’s wound was no more than a row of neat stitches and a few smears of blood. “Have Anders heal that when he awakens.” 

The blond elf went limp beneath Fenris’ hands, exhaling slowly, his eyes closed. 

“He’s so fucking stubborn, I wonder what else is wrong.” Fenris said as he washed his hands and began to check over his lover, cussing a blue stream when he noticed his other injuries. 

“Should I wake Anders?” Vic asked quietly.  
“No, let him sleep and when he comes around on his own, he can tend to Zevran.” Fenris sat back and sighed before he looked at Invictus. “I should kill you for your betrayal, I shouldn’t forgive you at all but I probably will...eventually.”

Zevran stirred slightly. “Glad to hear... only blood shed this night... will be mine,” he said softly as he braced the forearm of his good arm against the floor and tried to push himself up, breathing heavily with the effort.

“Stay down, you should have been carried in like Anders. Are there healing potions in your bag?” Fenris asked. 

Vic had fallen back and just stared at them.

“They will carry me when I’m dead; whilst I have breath I will stand on my own two feet,” the Crow growled as he lifted his left arm and tried to rise. He hissed as the arm threatened to give way, rivulets of blood seeping from beneath the bloodied bandages. He gave up and settled for rolling onto his side so he could stare up at Fenris.

There are potions in my bag,” he said quietly. “Round flasks, red thread around the neck.”

“I thought I was bullheaded.” Fenris muttered as he went to rifle in Zevran’s bag and pulled out a broken arrow before he found the potion bottles. “Venhedis, you were in Starkhaven?” he asked.

“Fuck, I wonder if Sebastian tailed you.” Vic mumbled.

Zevran shook his head. “He came upon me in the Vimmark Mountains,” he said tersely, then suddenly grinned. “It was dark, and I was standing some distance from him. I think he may have mistaken me for Anders. There were templars with him, and they seemed quite dismayed that their attempts to smite me were for naught, if the cries of ‘maleficar’ that followed me as I fled were anything to judge.”

“Still, we should let the Inquisitor know when we take dinner so he can be aware that Starkhaven may become a problem.” Fenris said.

“I’ll go tell him, you two can catch up. I’ll get more bandages on my way back as well.” Vic said as he took the excuse to flee.

Zevran lowered his head to the floor and sighed before glancing at the seeping bandage upon his arm. “I fear this, too, may need your services, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “The Inquisitor’s guards were none too gentle in their attempts to impede me, and it was healing poorly even before their ministrations.”

“He would run off when I could use his abilities.” Fenris huffed as he unwound the bandages and cleaned Zevran’s wounds while he inspected his arm. “You’re lucky they didn’t break it.”

Zevran hummed in agreement, his gaze distant as Fenris cautiously probed the bloody wound. From what he could tell, an arrow with a barbed head had struck the arm from behind, grazing the bone. It had either passed all the way through or else been forced through the other side of Zevran’s arm. As his fingers carefully probed around the wound, Zevran stiffened, his breath coming a little faster, though he said nothing.

“I think I need to wake Anders, hopefully he’s close to naturally coming around.” Fenris said as he continued to gently clean the wound.

Zevran said nothing, merely grunted. His eyes seemed a little glazed as he stared vacantly, his breathing heavy yet even.

“Hold that against your arm, let’s see if I can wake our snoozing apostate.” Fenris went over and shook Anders a bit more forcefully than he normally would have. “We need your healing skills love.”

Anders turned his face away and made a vague sound of protest in the back of his throat; as Fenris shook him again, harder, his eyelids fluttered. “No, don’t, I’m moving, just don’t-” His eyes opened and he stared around himself, confused. “Where am I?” he asked, bewildered. “What’s going on?” He blinked, his gaze rather glazed and unfocused. “Feel so drowsy. Did someone poison me?”

“No, no poison. Vic did put a light cantrip on you so you could sleep uninterrupted for a while. Zevran needs your healing though, he’s wounded in a way I can’t fix.” Fenris gave him a wan smile as he helped Anders sit up.

Anders stared around groggily. “Can’t even think straight,” he muttered. He shook his head, to try and dispel some of the mental fog, then to Fenris’ surprise he turned to the elf and said, “Slap me.”

“I’m sorry what?” Fenris replied.

“Slap me. A good hard slap, mind.” He blinked, dazed.

“Uh, ok?” Fenris said before he reached back and slapped Anders hard as he dared to keep from hurting him. His hand struck the apostate’s cheek with a loud crack and Anders’ head was snapped to the side with the force of the blow. He drew in his breath with a hard gasp, then shook his head briefly before turning to stare at Fenris, blinking. His eyes were clear, his gaze sharp.

“That’s better,” he said, lifting a hand to rub briefly at his reddening cheek. “Cantrips aren’t designed to hold through things like pain inflicted on the subject,” he said as he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. “A good hard slap usually dispels a sleep cantrip fairly effectively.” 

He crouched down beside Zevran. “Where in the name of Andraste’s flaming tits did you come from anyway, Zevran?” he asked as he reached for the wounded arm. “No - don’t tell me now. Let me concentrate.” He closed his eyes as a blue glow surrounded his hands.

Fenris turned on the bed and watched Anders work quietly. “Do you feel better after rest love?” he finally ventured.

“A little,” replied Anders distantly, his eyes closed as he focused inward to direct healing through Zevran’s arm. “Still feel dog-tired and like I could sleep for a month. Had the weirdest dreams though.”

“Tell me about them after you’ve finished healing Zevran.” Fenris said as he slid from the bed and got the Pavali for himself.

“Weirdly, I dreamed Zevran was here,” Anders said quietly. “I dreamed - ugh, hang on. Something in the wound... ah. Oh, nasty,” he said as he opened his eyes and glanced down at the wound. “Let’s see....” He plucked something out of the wound and held it up; a sharp splinter of wood. “Unpleasant. Arrow, unless I miss my guess. Who’s been using you as target practice, Zevran?”

“Sebastian,” Zevran muttered tersely.

Anders’ hands stilled, his gaze distant. “Zevran. I am so terribly sorry.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “It-”

“If you say it should have been you, then I swear that wounded as I am I will slap you far harder than Fenris did until you see sense, my friend,” said Zevran through gritted teeth.

Anders was still for a moment, then lifted his hand to continue healing the elf.

“I’ll follow up with another smack if you do say it.” Fenris said as he curled up with the bottle and watched his lovers. 

“But-” protested Anders, only to fall silent as Zevran pushed himself upright and raised his right hand threateningly.

“Do not test me, Anders,” Zevran growled. “I have bled for you.”

Anders stared at the elf. Slowly he nodded.

Zevran lay down again and Anders returned to working on Zevran in silence, until his wounds were closed and well on the way to healing.

“Come and sit with me, have some wine while he rests.” Fenris waved the bottle at Anders with a shaky smile.

Anders stayed where he was for a moment. “Do you want me to go right back to sleep then?” he asked with a wry smile. “The way I feel right now, it won’t take much more than half a glass to send me right back to sleep again.”

Zevran sat up slowly, flexing his left arm to test the range of movement. “Stiff, but that will ease,” he said.

“You should take it easy for a day or two,” Anders said as he leaned back against the foot of the bed. “No heavy lifting, things of that sort. Try to avoid sharp twisting motions with your back for a few days; you don’t want to undo our work and tear that wound right open again.”

“My thanks,” said Zevran. He glanced to Fenris. “I would not object to a drop of your wine, _carissimi_.”

“Of course my heart.” Fenris passed the bottle over with a sad smile. “We’ll have to get new stuffing for the pallet already.”

Zevran shrugged. “It would not be the first time I have slept in a pool of my own blood; I doubt it will be the last,” he reflected philosophically. “Do not trouble yourself, _carissimi_.” He sipped the wine slowly, savouring the taste, before passing the bottle back.

Anders slipped Cullen’s coat off, tossing it over the nearby chair, then flopped back on the bed next to Fenris. “I think I shall sleep for a week,” he said, then sighed. “Let me guess. We don’t have a week.”

“I don’t know. Loghain still seeks to speak with you, we have no set plan of attack and I’m sure Zevran would like at least a couple of days to recover before we set off again.” Fenris said as he took the bottle. “I’d also like to ask Meneris about the odd elf I met here in the library.”

“Elf?” asked Anders, curious. “And what does Loghain want?” He groaned.

“To probably make sure you will go with him to chase these renegade wardens.” Fenris said before he took another swig and passed the bottle back. “Yes, bald, seemed far too interested in my markings for my liking.” he added.

Anders intercepted the bottle before Zevran could take it and upended it, tilting his head back to swallow. His adam’s apple bobbed twice then he lowered the bottle and handed it to Zevran before flopping back onto the pillow.

“Marvellous,” said Anders sourly. “I can’t tell you how delighted that makes me. Blood magic, Wardens, and Corypheus rifling through my head just for that special extra fun. Sounds like old times. Where’s Vic, he should be here for this?”

“I don’t know, maybe he went for a second round with Pavus in which case I will kill him.” Fenris said tiredly.

Anders had closed his eyes, but at this they suddenly flew open. He stared at the ceiling. After a few speechless minutes that dragged out long enough for Fenris to turn and look at him, he finally found his voice.

“Then I wasn’t dreaming,” he said quietly. “It... it all happened.”

Zevran rose to his feet and came to sit on the end of the bed by Anders’ feet. He patted Anders’ ankle gently.

“I thought... it was too horrible to be true,” Anders said quietly. “You confronting Dorian. Vic. Dorian stopping him from jumping. It all actually happened.”

“Unfortunately it’s all true. I’m too fucking tired to care right now. I think I need a nap now.” Fenris sounded tired for once as he pulled off everything but his breeches and stretched out on the bed.

Zevran rose to his feet and came around the bed to stretch out beside Fenris, drawing the taller elf into his arms as he murmured softly to him.

Anders stared at the ceiling until sleep finally claimed him once more.


	16. Chapter 16

Invictus woke up with a groan and a curse for how stiff he was. He’d come in to find Fenris and Zevran cuddled with Anders, sound asleep so he took the pallet and dropped off himself almost as soon as he’d hit the thin, blood-stained mattress, too tired to even question where the blood had come from. 

His groan brought the sound of someone stirring upon the bed; presently Zevran sat up and glanced over at him. Unusually for the elf, he seemed groggy as he rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand.

“Friend Hawke. What time is it?” 

“A bit after the eighth bell I believe,” Hawke answered quietly. Even though Anders slept like the dead, Fenris would often wake at the slightest sound.

Zevran blinked slowly. “Ah.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, glancing back at Anders and Fenris. The blond mage was quietly snoring, deep in slumber.

Satisfied that neither man was likely to awaken just yet, the elf rose to his feet. He laced his hands together then stretched them over his head before arching backwards to unkink his spine with a series of cracks. He froze and hissed when the movement caused the healing arrow wound to twinge in warning. Slowly he straightened then glanced over to Invictus.

“So,” he said quietly.

“So what?” Vic said warily.

Zevran walked around the bed towards the mage, then gracefully folded his legs and sat. He leaned his elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers together once more and rested his chin upon them. “So. Tell me. What are you going to do.” He arched one eyebrow.

“What do you mean? What am I going to do? About what?” Vic asked as he leaned back slightly from the elven rogue. He didn’t like the look in Zevran’s eyes one bit.

“Hawke.” Zevran’s golden eyes bored into him, alien and flat. “Do not pretend ignorance. You know what you have done. I am waiting to see if you will pick up the pieces of what you have broken, or whether it will fall to me. And whilst I think that perhaps I would be able to help Fenris, I do not know if I can also help Anders.” His eyes narrowed. “And do you really think you have the right to leave that to me anyway?”

“I’m not leaving anything to you, why do you think I’d do that? I fucked this up, I didn’t expect you to _do_ anything,” Vic replied in anger. He knew he had work to do, if any of them would even forgive his trespass. He didn’t want, or expect Zevran to fix it for him; after all, that’s what had gotten him in trouble before.

“And then are _you_ intending to do something about it, or will you disappear into a pit of self-pity and drunkenness? Again?” asked Zevran, his voice hardening on the final word. “I know you, Hawke. I know what manner of man you are. I have shed my blood for you; you are _sitting upon the stains of my blood_.” His voice had lowered to an almost venomous hiss. “I have held Fenris together before until such time as you have finally pulled yourself together again, and I tire of it, Hawke! How many times must we dance these steps? How many times will we go through this endless cycle?”

The elf straightened and glared at Hawke, then passed a hand over his eyes. “I am weary of this. I do not understand how you can keep doing this, Hawke - not only to Fenris and Anders, but also to yourself. I am exhausted merely watching; and yet I cannot sit by and merely observe. Fenris will look to me for strength and I will give it. But your wallowing galls me beyond measure and _I am so fucking tired of it._ ” He dropped his hand and stared at Invictus.

“So. Tell me. What are you going to do about it?”

“I planned to talk with them once they were actually awake, and not have to argue with you moments after opening my eyes this morning.” Hawke’s voice dropped to a low hiss as he went on. “I came in to see you all asleep, and no room so I took the pallet. I wasn’t drunk last night, I took a very, very long walk to think about what I’ve done and how to talk to them about it. I didn’t need this from you, not before I’d even had a morning piss. You think I don’t know what I’ve done? I know, believe me I know too well what I’ve brought to them, again. I’d like a chance to even try before you get on my case Arainai. I’m fucking sick of myself, but I took Fenris’ warning about wallowing to heart and know he won’t abide it.” Vic leaned back against the wall with a glare for Zevran as he tried to keep his voice down.

Zevran merely raised an eyebrow. “Then start acting like it,” he said very quietly. Bracing himself with one hand, he turned to rise, then caught at the foot of the bed to steady himself with a small hiss. He straightened slowly, not looking at Invictus as he pressed one hand over the site of the arrow wound.

Vic thought about not healing Zevran for a moment, stung as he was by their altercation but he knew he couldn't let the other man suffer. He laid a hand over the wound and let healing magic flow over it. “That should hold you until Anders is awake. If you don’t mind, I’m off to have a bath and breakfast.” 

Zevran had held still and silent as Invictus healed him, merely inhaling sharply at the first touch of his hand. Once the healing was done, he lowered himself to sit on the end of the bed, running his hands slowly over his face. He muttered something inaudible to himself in Antivan, not looking up as the mage passed him. Invictus’ hand was upon the door of the bathing chamber when Zevran’s voice stopped him.

“Invictus. Thank you.”

“Welcome.” Vic gathered his things and slipped from the room quietly, his mind racing and his mood dark to start off the day.

“He’s not going to react well to being cornered, Zev,” Fenris said sleepily from where he’d sat up and seemed half-awake.

“I am sorry, _carissimi_ ,” Zevran said quietly, his voice weary. “I simply do not wish for us all to take yet another journey around this particular circle again. Someone has to make it stop, no?” He shrugged philosophically. “It cannot be me. So.” He sighed.

“It has to be him, and he knows it. My fury is not as hot as it was yesterday. I’m just tired, and maybe I need to realize he’s still got an itch to scratch. He’s younger than us, and Pavus is attractive especially when he’s not speaking.” Fenris held a hand up to stall Zevran’s protest.

“I think this time, he’s worried and feels he’s broken things beyond repair. He was ready to throw himself from the Inquisitor’s balcony. I know Vic, better than you two do. We’ll speak whenever he comes to me but I will not chase him to resolve this. If he wants it to work, he’ll have to make the first move. If he doesn’t, then I know either he is too ashamed or too fearful to approach us. Either way, I want today to be quiet, and not do much.” Fenris stretched out and rested his head in Zevran’s lap with a sigh. “I wonder if I am cut out for this, to share my heart as I do.”

Zevran stroked his hair gently. “You have thus far,” he pointed out quietly in a reasonable tone. “You have love enough for Anders and I. Love is not a finite thing, _carissimi_ ; giving love to one does not empty your heart. But... it does take a certain strength of will, this I will concede; and eventually one must wonder if the bliss outweighs the pain.” He shrugged philosophically again. “Only you can decide when that moment is reached. But I think you will know it when it comes.”

The distant sound of someone pounding on a door and calling for Cullen drifted back, muffled by the thick wooden door of their room. Zevran straightened slightly. “Ah, even the good Commander is not having a restful start to this morning. He is a very busy man.”

“He is at that.” Fenris moved so he could get the most contact from Zevran’s hand in his hair. “I’m glad Anders is sleeping on his own. I want food, but I also want to show you how much I’ve missed you, despite your injury.” 

Zevran put a hand to his back and smiled ruefully. “I am not sure my injury will permit much more than perhaps kissing, _carissimi_. Friend Anders would be most put out with me if he had to put me back together again, and I would not wish to put him to such trouble. Perhaps he might work more upon me later when he has recovered his strength, and then we shall see, hmm?” Zevran smiled, his eyes holding a promise.

“I’ll take that promise,” Fenris said as he sat up, slid his hands into Zevran’s braids for a long, slow kiss. “ _Mi cariadad, te amo_.”

“ _Carissimi,_ ” breathed Zevran as his eyes closed and he returned the kiss, his hands trailing gently up Fenris’ back.

They both froze when Anders shifted in the bed and mumbled something under his breath. His forehead furrowed in a small frown, them he said quite distinctly, “They’re coming. For me.”

“Seems he needs to be woken up from a bad dream.” Fenris sighed as he crawled up the bed and gently touched Anders’ face before he called out to Anders. The mage’s eyes flew open and he stared ahead, unseeing.

“Darkspawn. I hear them.” He stared, sightless for a moment, and then his eyes slipped closed and he turned his face away with a small sigh.

Zevran had risen to his feet and he stared at Fenris, an arched eyebrow the only outward sign of his sudden alarm. “Here? In the fortress? Is that possible?” he breathed.

“I wouldn’t discount it but he could be in the throes of a nightmare,” Fenris replied as he shook Anders harder. “Come to us love, there are no Darkspawn here.”

Anders batted drowsily at Fenris’ hands. “Go ‘way,” he slurred, not opening his eyes. “‘M sleeping.”

“Wake up love, you’re talking about Darkspawn.” Fenris said.

“What?” asked Anders dazedly, finally opening his eyes. “Darkspawn? Are you sure?” 

“Yes, you said they were coming for you. I hope you were only having a nightmare,” Fenris said gently.

Anders frowned then put a hand to his head. He shook his head in irritation, trying to clear the mental fog of sleep, then concentrated. “I feel...huh. Loghain’s nearby.” He turned his head and glanced in the direction of Cullen’s office, as though he could somehow see the other Warden through several doors and feet of stone walls that lay between them.

“You can sense him even with all this brick and wood in the way?” Fenris asked, impressed but also concerned.

Anders nodded. “Yes. Clearer than ever,” he added, frowning still. He shook his head again. “Damned ringing in my ears,” he muttered. “It’s like singing. Almost like....” His voice tailed off and he glanced back at Fenris in alarm. “We’ve been here too long. We have to go.”

He sat up and glanced around, pulling at his ripped shirt briefly before throwing his hands up. “No time,” he muttered. “No time, no time!” He strode to the door and flung it open.

“Dammit Anders!” Fenris ran after the blond mage who had run right into Cullen’s office and stopped as Loghain and Cullen turned to regard him. Cullen looked surprised, but to Fenris’ surprise Loghain seemed almost to have been expecting Anders.

“We have to move out. Now. Get the army moving,” Anders said tersely. 

“You feel it too.” Loghain’s words were a statement, not a question. Anders nodded.

Cullen’s expression mirrored that of Fenris.

“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked warily. “Felt what?”

Anders turned back to him. “Corypheus,” he said, white-lipped. “He’s louder. It’s like the Calling yet... not. Not entirely. Whatever it is, he’s calling all the Wardens to him. I’d know the feel of him anywhere; I’ve had him in my head - but they haven’t. To all the other Wardens, it’ll feel like their Calling.”

“Or an Archdemon rising,” nodded Loghain. “We have to move out now.”

“Someone has to tell the Inquisitor,” said Cullen, his confusion giving way to grim determination. “I’ll give the orders. The last of the supply wagons arrived two days ago. I’ll pass the word; we march on the Inquisitor’s order.”

Fenris’ expression didn’t change though he wanted to question Anders further. He’d seen that look on his lovers face before, when he was all business and it would just irritate him to be questioned further. “I’ll get our things ready; Zevran, can you let Meneris know and we’ll meet in our room. Anders, stay with Loghain and Cullen.”

Zevran didn’t question how Fenris knew he’d followed them; he merely nodded then took off running, light and lithe, still clad only in his leather trousers and barefoot, drawing startled glances from a guard passing in the opposite direction.

Fenris glanced at the others before he headed off for the bath and cursed when he didn’t find Invictus, so he headed for their room and found their mage, confused and worried about finding the place wide open and everyone gone. 

Vic turned to see Fenris half-dressed and breathing hard. “Is Anders safe?” he asked worriedly.

Fenris nodded. “As safe as any Warden can be when Corypheus calls,” he said grimly as he headed for his pack and began to pull out a clean tunic and then turned towards his armour.

“For fucks sake, a man can’t even bathe in peace.” Vic said as he slapped the door shut, grabbed clothes and dressed. 

“It seems old Tevinter magisters will not wait for any man,” remarked Fenris dourly as he began to dress swiftly. “Anders is in Cullen’s office. Zevran has gone to inform the Inquisitor.” His voice was muffled as he tugged on the tunic.

“Fucking void, this time I’m taking his head so we can make sure he stays dead.” Vic snarled as he buckled on his vambraces.

“I am sure Anders would certainly applaud your efforts,” replied Fenris, distracted, as he wrestled with the straps and buckles of his armour. He muttered imprecations in Tevene under his breath as he wrenched at a particularly stubborn buckle.

“Let me do that.” Vic said and helped Fenris finish strapping in without thinking, since they’d done this for each other for years. “I’ll get Anders’ gear.”

Fenris had stiffened as Invictus stepped into his personal space and began manhandling his armour, but he said nothing, merely satisfying himself with a noncommittal grunt as he tugged on his gauntlets. “Anders is wearing only those pants and a ripped shirt. We must find more clothing for him.” He snatched up the Blade of Mercy and slung it on his back before reaching for Cullen’s discarded cloak, then turned to look for Anders’ staff. He frowned as he found it tucked behind a bookcase out of sight. 

“Apologies Fenris, I forgot myself since we’d done that for so long. I’ll ask next time,” Vic apologized as he gathered the rest of his things into a pack. He waited by the door for his lover, expression neutral as he tried not to fidget.

Fenris’ answer was a snort as he turned to pick up Zevran’s gear. He frowned. “How many knives does one man _need_?” he muttered to himself.

Vic said nothing, he’d wanted to talk but the sudden call to arms had thrown a wrench in their plans. He glanced over and saw Anders’ Warden armor that must have been sent while he was away. He grabbed it so Anders could be properly attired. “I have his Warden gear, I’ll take it to him.” 

Fenris nodded as he straightened, Zevran’s gear in his arms. “Lead on,” he said. “Zevran will doubtless look there for us first.” He paused, seeing the look in Invictus’ eyes. “There will be time for talk later on the road, Hawke,” he said quietly. “Anders needs us right now. He is... on edge, unnerved. I think this sudden renewal of the false Calling was unexpected, to both him and Loghain. I think he is afraid, though he will not speak of it.”

“He needs you and Zevran, I know my place after I was reminded this morning. If either of you will hear me when it’s done, I’ll speak. Until then I will mind myself.” Vic headed off to Cullen’s office at a faster clip than needed but he didn’t care. He came in and handed off the bundle of blue and grey to Anders before he slipped in next to Cullen to check over maps.

Fenris paused beside Invictus briefly. “Anders has no need of Zevran,” he said very quietly. “He does not _love_ Zevran.” He moved away, setting Zevran’s gear down on a chair in the corner before unslinging Anders’ staff and leaning it against the wall next to Anders’ pack.

Anders was staring at the Warden armour; after a moment, he glanced at Cullen then turned his back to dress. He tugged off the ripped shirt, his scarred back hunching over tensely as he reached for the blue undertunic. Cullen regarded him wordlessly for a moment then slowly and deliberately turned his back and picked up a document from his desk, seemingly absorbed by it as he stared at it intently and ignored the mage hastily dressing self-consciously in the corner.

Vic stared at the map on Cullen’s desk, unfamiliar with the spots marked on the map.

Anders ran his hands down the front of his hauberk, smoothing non-existent wrinkles, then reached for the quilted cropped jacket before turning to stare at the others. He tugged it on slowly. He seemed to calm slightly at the familiar feel of the uniform.

Fenris gave him a wan smile as he approached to run his fingers over the jacket. “I do love this on you, though I know you are not keen on wearing it.” 

“Maybe one day you’ll bury me in it,” Anders said distantly. “I’d rather that then the Calling itself.” He blinked, as if realising where he was, and stared down at Fenris in horror. “Th-that is... I... Maker, love, I didn’t mean to say that aloud!”

Fenris’ hands had stilled at Anders' words and he looked up at his lover with a scared look. “Don’t say that.”

Both Cullen and Invictus had turned as Anders spoke; Invictus looked as horrified as Anders felt.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where that just came from,” Anders said hastily. “It’s this damned singing in my head; it’s got me rattled, love. You remember how bad I was last time - and I haven’t got Just-” He broke off and glanced at Cullen. “J-just myself to worry about; there’s the other Wardens too,” he said, aware of how close he’d come to blurting out his past as an abomination. He wasn’t sure just how much Cullen knew; he preferred to keep that part of himself unmentioned however.

“Don’t invite that please, I am not ready to lose you my heart,” Fenris said quietly. 

Invictus looked guiltily down at the floor then went over to Anders. “May I?” he asked as he opened his arms to hold his lover.

Anders glanced gratefully to Invictus. “Please,” he breathed.

Vic pulled Anders close and held him close as the other man wanted. He buried his face against the blond’s neck and tried to keep together. He didn’t want to think about losing Anders, not if he could help it.

Anders clung to him as though he were drowning and Invictus were the rock which he clung to for life. “I am so terrified, love,” he breathed softly. “I’m afraid I will lose myself. And I don’t have Justice to help me fight him off this time. Love, I don’t care what’s happened - just - please, don’t leave me. Us. I can’t face this without both of you at my side, or I’m lost.”

“I won’t leave, I won’t. You’ve got my word beloved.” Vic replied quietly as he clung to Anders just as tight as the other man held to him.

Anders held a hand out wordlessly towards Fenris, his face buried against Invictus’ shoulder.

Cullen suddenly found the contents of his report incredibly engrossing and fascinating as he turned his back; Loghain suddenly took an avid interest in the contents of a bookcase in the corner.

Fenris came over and let Anders pull him close. He nuzzled at the taller man and reassured him that he was loved.

“I’m sorry, loves,” Anders husked, his voice rough and hoarse. “I’ll try to be stronger. This... Maker. I can’t describe it. I could turn and point right at _him_ with my eyes closed right now, I swear it!” He laughed shakily. “Maker only knows what it’ll be like when we’re closer. I’m so terrified, I don’t mind telling you I’d rather face _three_ broodmothers than face that. Nathaniel could tell you -”

Anders broke off and straightened, a dumbstruck look on his face. “Nathaniel. Velanna. Sigrun. Oghren. I’m... I have to do this. For _them_.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sweet Andraste. Save us.”

“We’ll save ourselves,” Fenris said shakily.

Anders looked at Fenris, and then coloured. “Love, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean - Maker, of _course_ I’m doing it for you two as well, I - Andraste, I’m just-”

“No, I just don’t believe in the Maker saving us is all,” Fenris replied again. 

Vic wiped his face and stepped away.

Anders drew a shuddering breath then nodded. “Give me a moment. I’ll be OK.”

“Alright, take a few moments for yourself. I’ll just check my gear.” Fenris gave Anders a chaste kiss on the cheek before he suddenly found his pack and sword fascinating.

Vic resumed his place by Cullen to study their route.

Anders dropped into a nearby chair and dropped his head into his hands, concentrating on his breathing. It was all so disorienting; he could hear the singing still, overlaying all the sounds he could hear - Fenris rustling in his pack, the soft whisper of hands on parchment and low voices as Cullen and Invictus conferred.

Awareness of Loghain, silent, watching.

He lifted his head slowly and stared at the other Warden, who walked slowly towards him.

“You feel more than I do,” said the other Warden quietly. Anders nodded. “You have heard Corypheus before. Does he leave such a mark?”

“I can’t explain,” breathed Anders quietly.

“Is this something I need to be aware of?”

“I... don’t know,” Anders confessed. “Can we... talk?”

Loghain glanced to Invictus and Fenris.

Both men shrugged when faced with Loghain’s questioning look. “He is his own man, let him do as you need. It is warden business, as he is so fond of saying,” Fenris replied before he took as seat at Cullen’s table and to work on his sword.

Invictus went to the window, sure that Loghain and Anders wanted some sense of privacy if not actually leaving the room, He didn’t sit with Fenris, he was still too raw from his earlier failings.

Anders and Loghain turned a little away from the rest of the room, the older Warden dropping down to crouch next to Anders’ chair as they conversed in low tones. Occasionally Anders would gesture with his hands; twice he put one hand to his head and closed his eyes, remembering painful things perhaps.

Meneris pushed the door open abruptly, Dorian just behind, Zevran at his side. Meneris’ momentum carried him up to Cullen’s desk; Zevran glanced around the room then made for the corner where Fenris had placed his gear. He began to dress swiftly.

Invictus jumped in surprise and moved to the other side of the desk, the expression on Meneris’ face didn’t seem like he was interested in chat.

Fenris looked around and made a face. “Gentlemen I suggest we go to the war room, as the Commander’s office wasn’t made for this kind of a meeting.”

“Cassandra, Leliana and the Bull will meet us there,” Dorian nodded. “Meneris, I shall go ahead and meet you there, hmm?” he added as he caught sight of the expression on Fenris’ face which was none too friendly. He hesitated a moment, then leaned in and brushed a very brief kiss upon Meneris’ temple before turning and leaving.

The elven warrior scowled at the show of affection for a split second, but caught himself. Much as he wanted to say something it was not the time or place. Whatever had gotten to Anders, and the Darkspawn was his main concern for the moment.

Invictus said nothing either, he just waited until the other mage was gone and waited for Anders to rise so he could accompany him. “I’ll walk you Anders, if you want.” 

Meneris had a slightly soppy grin on his face despite himself. The tiny bit of public affection was a huge thing for them, especially after the row they’d had once they were back in the Inquisitor’s rooms.

Anders glanced back to Loghain who nodded. “We can speak further of this later,” the other Warden said. The blond apostate glanced at his boots for a moment then nodded before reaching for his staff and pack then turned to Invictus.

“Let’s go; this room is too crowded. I need air,” he said quietly.

“As do I.” Invictus murmured. He offered his hand silently, hopeful that Anders would take it.

Fenris kept quiet even as he wanted desperately to go to them. He hated the uncertainty in his heart and wished that they’d had a chance to speak before the call to battle had come so early. He stared at the map instead, curious about the route and what he could make out.

Anders took Invictus’ hand without thinking, his gaze distant and thoughts still on what Loghain and he had discussed. It had been a long time since he’d had cause to think on the events with Corypheus; he’d never told the story to another soul. It had not been easy to put it into words, and even then he’d left out the half of it; he hadn’t mentioned Justice.

When they got to the war room, the Iron Bull gave them a warm smile. The Seeker was bent over the vast map, gesturing to something as she spoke quietly to the redhead next to her, who straightened slowly and then stared at Anders.

“Anders! I had heard - but it really _is_ you!” she exclaimed. She moved around the table and came to take his hands. “It has been so long, and the years have not been kind to you.”

“Just like old times really, isn’t it?” said Anders with a half smile. “Zevran’s here; you, me - we just need Alistair and Morrigan to start sniping and it’ll feel like we’re right back in the middle of the Blight again. I’ve even got a cat again!” His smile turned a little wistful. “Except you were never this friendly before, Leliana. What are you up to?”

Leliana shrugged. “I have read Cullen’s report of what happened to you. It explains much of what my own sources had told me - and what I saw for myself in Kirkwall.”

“If you don’t mind, Leliana?” asked the Seeker pointedly. “We have plans to make. This is not the time for idle chitchat and reunions.” She glared at Anders. “Particularly not with _him_.”

“Hello Seeker, nice to see you too,” Vic said with a grin as he moved next to Anders and just a little in front of him in case Cassandra got any ideas.

Cassandra dismissed him with a faint sneer as she turned to Leliana. “Where is Blackwall? This involves the Wardens; surely he also should be here.”

“There’s another Warden here?” exclaimed Anders, surprised. He glanced at Loghain who seemed also perplexed.

“He said he needed to talk with the stable master to ensure there would be enough suitable mounts for the Champion and his companions,” Leliana shrugged. “We had not anticipated Zevran - _or_ Anders, for that matter - would be coming with us. Apparently some new mounts arrived this morning and he had planned to take them through their paces and pick out the best ones already. Events have... overtaken us a little.” She turned towards the door as a slender dark woman with a pleasant smile slipped in. “Ah, Josie! Good to see you!” 

Josephine allowed Leliana to brush her lips against her cheek and briefly embrace her before both women took up a position at one end of the table.

Invictus didn’t rise to Cassandra’s snub, instead he remained next to Anders while they planned things out. He turned when Fenris and the others joined them, and his heart fell a little at the expression on his warrior’s face. He turned quickly and found the map marker over Redcliffe incredibly fascinating.

Fenris missed the expression but came up besides Vic and brushed his hand idly against his mage to show he wasn’t as furious as before.

Anders was staring fixedly at that part of the map demarking Orlais; his eyes were drawn to a pin set in the area neatly labelled as the Western Approach. “It’s there, isn’t it?” he said hollowly. “That’s where we’re going?”

“Hey, Blondie, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” said Varric as he entered and made for Anders’ side. He glanced at the pin and sighed. “Yep - quite a way, I’m afraid.”

“We’ve gone further, and a least we’ll have horses not have to walk everywhere like we did before. It’s alright lo--Anders.” Vic caught himself, both unsure if Anders wanted him to say that again, and aware of everyone watching them closely.

“We rode farther on our way back from Seheron,” he nodded. “But then we were going home. This time....” He held his tongue, not quite trusting he wouldn’t simply blurt out the fears he could feel rising inside. Would they all be so calm if they could hear the voice whispering inside his head, the singing? He cleared his throat. “How soon do we move out?”

“One hour,” said Cullen from behind them as he strode in through the door. He tossed a sheaf of reports onto the table in front of Josephine and Leliana, who both rolled their eyes at each other then began to gather them up into some semblance of order. Josephine hit him good-naturedly with her bundle as he moved to join them, then Leliana handed another sheaf of reports to Cullen. He groaned, but started leafing through them. 

“Troop movement remits, intelligence from advance scouts in Orlais,” she said. He nodded. 

“Any word of Venatori movements or sightings?”

“Third page,” she answered, leafing through her own stack of reports.

“Venatori? That sounds as if they hail from Tevinter.” Fenris said as he looked up to Cullen and the other advisors.

“That would be because they are,” replied Dorian as he strode in ahead of Meneris. They circled round the table until the Inquisitor stood beside Cassandra, and Dorian stood directly opposite the white-haired elf. “An armed cult of Tevinter nationalist supremecists, to be precise.”

“Unsurprising they would be involved in the world’s end,” Fenris sneered as he stared at the map and tried to figure out what they would have to pass through to get to the Western Approach. 

“They seek to re-establish the old Tevinter Imperium, under the being they call the ‘Elder One’,” Dorian continued. Anders lifted his head.

“Corypheus,” he said simply. Dorian nodded.

“Just so. They’ve been active all through the south, seeking to sow dissent and weaken our alliances, making it easier for their forces to gain a foothold.” Dorian frowned as he tapped a couple of pins. “Thus far we’re holding our own, but we’ve feared for some time that they plan something to tip the balance.”

“And this.... whatever is happening with the Wardens... you believe that Corypheus is making his move?” said Anders slowly. “I see it now.”

“Well, hopefully this Blackwall can give you additional insight to what is happening? I assume he’s been affected Inquisitor?” Invictus asked as he traced the pins in Tevinter to Orlais and further on to Ferelden. 

“Has King Alistair responded to the threat?” he asked suddenly.

Anders glanced from Invictus to the Inquisitor. “Of course - he’s a Warden too!” he exclaimed. 

“He’s sent missives and could be on his way. He’s worried about the safety of Ferelden first and foremost, and seemed unaware of this Calling at least, far away as he is,” Meneris replied with a frown.

“Then why is Blondie hearing it so clearly?” wondered Varric. Anders shrugged.

“Warden mages don’t get as long from the Joining as other Wardens do,” he said diffidently. “Something about the taint interacting with the magic. It varies from Warden to Warden, but it does put me closer to my Calling than Alistair is. And I presume Loghain’s heard it because he was following and tailing the Wardens.”

Loghain nodded. 

“Well like Invictus said, hopefully this warden in your company can give more information. I’m going to stop through the kitchen for something to eat on our way out. If I can find it in this warren you call a fortress,” Fenris said a tad crossly.

Vic raised an eyebrow at Anders but said nothing.

“No need,” said Cullen. “Food is being sent up from the kitchen; it should be here shortly. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll go mount up.” He turned to Meneris. “Inquisitor, if you’ll excuse me - I need to oversee the mustering of the troops. Your mounts will be brought to the courtyard for you shortly.”

They stared at each other after he had gone.

The waiting was over.


	17. Chapter 17

Fenris rode next to Zevran, while Invictus and Anders rode in front of them; the blond warden often drifted closer to Loghain so they could speak during their travel. Fenris was pensive as they went, worried for Anders because of whatever had spurred him to mobilize everyone so quickly. He also worried about Invictus, how introspective and withdrawn he’d become since leaving the Inquisition fortress.

With his anger tamped down to a low simmer, he saw how his lover kept his eyes on the road, didn’t attempt to speak and sat just straight enough to keep from falling from his horse. He wasn’t ready to forgive but he didn’t want to head towards battle with such a thing between them; just in case.

Anders kept turning around in the saddle of his horse, staring over towards a large burly man with a thick black beard and dressed in Warden armour who road in front of one of the regiments of cavalry about two hundred yards behind their advance party. Each time, he would frown, shaking his head before leaning over to speak to Loghain. Loghain himself glanced back once. Neither Warden moved from their position up ahead.

They had been travelling much of the day when there was some kind of commotion ahead; scouts had returned, and they could see them talking to the Inquisitor who stared off towards the south. Anders rode forward to speak to Cullen; a moment later he’d wheeled his chestnut mare around and was heading back to them at a brisk canter. All around them they could hear calls for the army to halt.

“It’s a rift,” Anders said as he pulled up the mare next to Fenris. “Meneris wants us to come with them to investigate.”

“Very well - us as in you, me, Zevran and Invictus?” Fenris asked with a frown. He’d not forgotten how his brands had reacted to the Inquisitor’s mark; he wasn’t eager to revisit that crawling, itching sensation from it.

From the look on Anders’ face, he was none too keen either, but he nodded. They raced forwards to join the Inquisitor, who was snapping out commands. Cullen turned and nodded to them as they arrived.

“You’ve never encountered a rift before, I take it?” he asked quietly.

“Only once, and that was at a distance - not really close enough to see much more than a green glow,” replied Anders.

“No, and I do not want to because of how my ...markings reacted to the thing on the Inquisitor’s hand,” Fenris admitted.

Invictus said nothing, just waited for orders on how to deal with the thing they could see in the distance. He wasn’t keen on it either but he knew they couldn’t ignore them.

The tall bald elf on foot next to Meneris’ horse was staring at Fenris with a speculative look, but glanced away when Fenris glared back. Meneris and Dorian were dismounting, Dorian reaching up to unfasten his staff from the saddle. Iron Bull was striding forward, pushing his way between the horses casually.

“You going to need me and my Chargers, Boss?” he asked. Anders was swinging down out of his saddle and unfastening his own staff.

Invictus followed suit but left his staff in hand, just in case. Fenris dismounted and got his sword quickly but sheathed it due to the size of their group. He didn’t like the feeling crawling down his spine but ignored it for the moment. Zevran darted a glance as he made his way around his own horse, casually checking the fighting knives at his hips before inspecting a set of throwing darts strapped to the inside of his left arm.

“I am fascinated to see one of these rifts,” he mused as he joined Fenris. “Though you, I think are not so willing to inspect it up close, no?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve got a feeling, more like someone is trailing their nails down my spine repeatedly that is making me uneasy. It will only get worse as we get closer. If I...react badly, you need to subdue me. I won’t ask it of them since they won’t do so unless pressed.” Fenris scowled at the green glowing orb as if it offended him by merely existing.

Invictus frowned but didn’t question Fenris’ wishes, instead he whispered to Anders to have a spell at the ready. “If you have to put him to sleep, he won’t kill you for it.” 

Anders gave him a dark look. “If that... _thing_... affects him worse than Meneris’ mark did, I don’t think he’ll notice which of us does it, love,” he said quietly. “I’m frankly worried about what it’s doing to me already. It’s... I can’t describe it; it’s like I’m hearing thousands of spirits, all calling at once. It’s very... distracting. If the Veil is so thin here as to let me hear them, then you can be sure there’ll be demons as well.”

“As you wish, I’ll keep an eye out for him,” Vic said quietly, he glanced at the Rift again, his expression concerned. “Why is it always fucking demons? I had enough of those back in Kirkwall.”

As they moved towards the rift, it seemed to subtly change; one moment it was a pulsing green cloud, the next it seemed almost crystalline. As it did so, Anders winced and put one hand to his head as Fenris shuddered, the itching in his brands briefly intensifying.

As they got closer, they could see that each time the rift pulsed crystalline, demons started to pour out of it before it returned to its cloud-like state. The demons milled around aimlessly then began to disperse out across the countryside. They could see the rift had opened up directly over the centre of a village; as they entered the one street that ran through the middle they began to encounter bodies - many dismembered and ripped apart. Anders toed over the body of a woman then went green as he stared at the chewed-off remains of her face.

“Maker!” he exclaimed, panting as he fought not to vomit. “Bad as darkspawn....”

“Let’s kill these things so he can close...that... _thing_ ,” Fenris ground out as he shook his head to clear it. Being so close to the Rift was doing very bad things to him. He fought off creatures as they tried to circle him but he wasn’t at his best.

Invictus threw a shield spell before Fenris before he had to jump back to avoid being cut by a Fear demon that had appeared before him. “ _Venhedis!_ There’s so many of them,” He cussed before he froze another creature that tried to leap at him.

Anders was striding forwards, hurling fireballs, throwing out fans of ice to immobilise demons and protecting the Inquisition forces with shields. Next to him, Dorian was doing the same; to one side they caught a brief glimpse of Zevran darting in to bury his blades to the hilt in the back of a Pride demon that had been caught in a paralysis glyph, the green glow of the spell almost a reflection of the rift above them.

Meneris was fighting to get closer to the rift, the mark in his hand glowing almost as brightly as the rift; as he got closer, he raised his hand.

“What is he doing?” wondered Anders, staring.

“Never mind Meneris; take down the demons!” called back Dorian. “Meneris will explain later!”

Fenris howled in agony as Meneris let his Mark connect with the Rift, his brands pulsed in counterpoint to the raw Fade energy blazing so close to him. He stumbled backwards, almost in the path of a demon that lingered. He didn’t react fast enough to the clawed hand that came towards him; luckily for him Invictus froze the Fear demon before it could get close to his lover.

The elven warrior shuddered as he tried not to collapse from the mix of pain, heat and tugging sensation on the lyrium in his skin as the Rift was being closed by Meneris. 

Anders flung himself down on his knees beside Fenris as the elf staggered, hands lifting towards him already glowing with blue healing energy to block the pain and dampen the worst of the pull upon Fenris’ brands. Dorian raced to their side, staff raised as he cast a shield to protect them; he slowed to a halt as he lifted a hand to his eyes against the light as the rift pulsed brilliantly bright before drawing closed.

Two small, dark figures tumbled through the rift just as it closed, and then all was dark and silent.

“What in the world...” Dorian murmured, then he turned and headed over towards Meneris at a run. “Meneris! Did you see that? Something came through!”

Anders glanced over to Fenris. “OK now, love?” he asked.

People were moving towards where the rift had been, towards the two figures sprawled upon the ground. They seemed too small for demons; one lay face down, seemingly clad in some kind of armour. The other lay curled upon its side, long hair lying dishevelled upon the ground; dark as blood in the late afternoon sun. Something seemed very familiar about that figure.

Fenris shook his head to answer Anders and immediately regretted it. He remained curled up on the ground, silent as he tried to keep from throwing up.

Invictus came over, cautiously went to the elf’s side and readied a healing cantrip to help. “May I?” he asked softly.

“I don’t understand it,” said Anders, perplexed. “I’ve never had him react like this before. Normally I can at least block the pain from his brands, but... nothing I try seems to work. If anything I’m afraid I’m making it _worse_.” He looked up at Invictus, worried.

Meneris was staring down at the two figures as Cullen carefully rolled the armoured one over. Invictus could make out blue and silver as he glanced back briefly.

“Anders, would you come here please?” he called. He glanced at the other body then muttered an oath. “It’s... one of the Tranquil!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Anders frowned as he pushed himself to his feet. He exchanged a glance with Invictus, then headed towards the group at a trot.

“No...magic,” Fenris gasped as he rolled to his back with a pained grunt. “Head’s spinning, seeing double. Just...give me potion.” 

Invictus handed him a vial, and tipped it into the elf’s mouth when Fenris made no move to take it for himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Stay next to me...love,” Fenris whispered before he closed his eyes and fell silent.

Anders bent over the figure in blue and silver armour then recoiled with alarm. He turned to the other figure and rolled it onto its back, staring down into a pale face as his eyes widened. He leapt to his feet. “Hawke? Hawke!” he cried, his voice rising to a shriek. “Hawke, come quickly - it’s Hal!”

Invictus looked up with an expression of disbelief and swore. “Not fucking possible!” he exclaimed.

Fenris opened his eyes at Anders’ call to Vic. “Hal? He’s dead.” 

Anders was crouched over the fallen redhead, one arm slipped around the shoulders as he gently lifted him. The unconscious man’s head lolled back; even from where he stood, Invictus could see the red brand upon the forehead and the long blood-red hair clearly. Anders stared down at the unconscious man then back at Invictus, his eyes wide.

“He’s dead, we know he’s dead. What the fuck can these Rifts do? Is he…breathing?” Vic asked in surprise.

Anders was gesturing wildly for Invictus to come over. Zevran took a step towards the group clustered around the two unconscious people and the Grey Warden, then glanced at Invictus and Fenris before sprinting over. Meneris was gesturing and giving orders that Invictus couldn’t quite make out; people were milling around.

Zevran reappeared shortly. “The red-head - he is alive,” he panted. “But - friend Hawke, Anders says you should look at the Warden. He would not let me near them; I do not know why. He is... quite frantic.” He dropped to his knees next to Fenris. “Go; I shall stay with Fenris.”

Vic glanced at Fenris before he jogged over to the others. “What in the Void is going on, Anders?”

Anders stared up at him, his eyes wild. “Hawke, it’s Hal. He’s alive, I, I don’t know _how_ but - Maker, the other one. Look at - I, I can’t-” He broke off, gasping as he clutched at his chest and doubled over, still clutching the red-head.

It was undeniably Hal; the face was unmistakeable.

Vic knelt down and turned the figure in warden blue and grey to face him, and raised an eyebrow. They’d never met the warden in Arden’s world, but he backpedaled when he saw her...and realized why Anders reacted as he had. 

Cullen regarded him with a small frown. “Hawke? You know this Warden?”

“It’s either _her_ or someone who looks far too much like the Warden for Anders' comfort or mine,” Vic snarled.

The Warden stirred slightly with a small groan, the eyes beneath the helmet fluttering slightly. As the Warden braced a hand against the ground to sit up, Cullen grasped an elbow to help them up. The Warden pressed a hand against their chest briefly and coughed, then glanced around before staring up at Invictus.

The eyes were unmistakable. Like his own. Like Bethany’s. 

Solona’s eyes.

“ _Venhedis!_ I can’t escape her at all,” Vic snapped as he backed away to stand in front of Anders, just in case.

Cullen helped the Warden to their feet. “You mean - this is _the_ Warden? The Hero of Ferelden?” His face hardened as he slapped a hand hard on the Warden’s shoulder. “Solona Amell, I am hereby arresting you for the murder of Grand Cleric Elthina and the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry,” he said grimly; behind Invictus, Anders gave a low choked cry as he clutched at his throat.

The Warden frowned beneath the silverite helm; reaching up, they tugged it off. “Cullen, what in blazes has gotten into you?” exclaimed a voice far too low for Solona as they turned to face the former Templar. The hair beneath the helm was a dark gold, shorn to jaw length. “Who on earth is Solona?”

The Warden was undeniably a man.

“What in the Void? Who are you?” Vic asked in surprise.

The man turned back to Invictus and frowned. “Belann Amell, Warden and Hero of Ferelden. Who are _you_? And why does Anders appear to be choking behind you?”

“Belann? Um, well, this is weird,” Vic said before he went over to his lover. “Look, not her! Breathe, please breathe love.”

Belann set his helm down and crossed over to crouch on the other side of Anders and Hal. “Anders? Are you alright? Maker, you look a state! Here, let me take Hal.” He reached to take the unconscious man, glancing up at Invictus. “You didn’t say your name,” he said, one eyebrow arched in query.

It really was uncanny. He had a youthful, androgynous face; with the helm it was easy to see how they had mistaken Belann for Solona. But though he spoke with a light tenor, his voice was still pitched too deep, and no-one in the Amell family had ever had hair that shade of gold - at least, not in this world.

Anders clutched at Invictus’ tunic as he tried to bring his breathing under control. “Who... in the Void are you?” he gasped. “You know me but... I’ve never seen you before!”

Belann frowned and glanced to Invictus. “Is he alright? Anders and I were in the Circle together even before I recruited him to the Wardens. He ought to recognise me.”

“It’s who you reminded us of before you took off your helmet. And you’re a mage, why are you in armor anyway?” Vic asked as he tried to get Anders calmed.

Belann cracked a boyish grin. “Same reason I’m carrying a pair of long knives instead of a staff,” he replied. “I’m an Arcane Warrior. A bit handier in hand-to-hand than your average mage - not that Anders was ever a slouch with the staff,” he added, nodding to the blond apostate who was now merely panting heavily and no longer wheezing.

“Wait - you say you were in the Circle at Kinloch with Anders?” said Cullen slowly.

“You should remember, Cullen; I made you blush enough,” grinned Belann with a wicked smile rather reminiscent of Arden at his most flirtatious. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place for Invictus and he knew where this strange Warden had come from.

“I’ve never seen you in my life - and I should think I’d remember every apprentice who ever - I mean, who flirted with me -” spluttered Cullen as he went rather pink. Belann threw his head back and roared with laughter. 

“You’re doing it _now_!” he pointed out. “Oh Maker, Cullen, don’t you ever change.” He grinned, then turned back to Invictus. “You still haven’t told me your name - doesn’t surprise me that Anders has found himself another good-looking boyfriend though.” His smile was warm and friendly.

Invictus glared at the other man, before he looked to Cullen for some signal. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure about telling this Belann anything.

“I’m telling you, I’ve never seen you before in my life!” exclaimed Cullen. Belann’s smile slipped. He gently laid Hal down the straightened slowly.

“Don’t you think the joke’s gone on long enough, Cullen?” he said quietly. “You know me. You were there at my Harrowing. Fair enough, I’m older now - maybe my voice is a bit deeper, but Maker - we’re neither of us getting any younger.” As Cullen shook his head wordlessly, Belann ran a gloved hand through his hair, his smile gone. “Cullen - Uldred’s uprising. I was _there_ for you. I _rescued_ you.” 

As Cullen took a step backwards, Belann held a hand out towards him, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Cullen, you _must_ know me! What’s going on?” He stared down at Anders. “Anders, tell them! Tell them who I am!”

The blond apostate stared up at him. “I have no idea who you are,” he said quietly. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Belann stared down at him in disbelief, his eyes flicking to Invictus, then up to Cullen, then back to Anders.

“What in the Void is going on?” he whispered.

“You don’t belong here, and neither does Hal. Where did you come from?” Vic asked.

Fenris glanced up at Zevran before he closed his eyes. “Can’t I die in peace without all that racket?”

Belann was staring at Invictus in bewilderment and shock. “Word came to us that a rift had opened when I was on my way to warn the Inquisitor about Venatori activity in the Western Approach. Hal was already on his way; Hawke was supposed to meet us at Skyhold. We ran into scouts from the Inquisition who told us the Inquisitor was on her way to close the rift; we joined battle, dealing with the demons whilst she attempted to close the rift. Hal was trying to help her, driving back the demons from the threshold of the rift itself, but one of the demons grabbed him as the rift was closing. I grasped his robes to stop him from falling into the rift. There was a bright flash, and then I woke up here.” He stared around slowly. “This is the same village, but.... I don’t understand. Where’s the Inquisitor?”

Meneris waved feebly at the other man and introduced himself. “I’m here, and you are definitely not where you are supposed to be, serah.” 

Though Belann was naturally pale of skin, he now went white as a sheet. “Where am I then?” he asked quietly. “And who are you? That - that mark in your hand - no, you _can’t_ be!”

“I’m Meneris Lavellan, Inquisitor here.” he looked to Invictus and Anders as if they could explain. “Well, you two seem to know what could have happened, care to enlighten us?” 

“Hawke,” murmured Anders as he straightened slowly, pulling the Champion up with him. “Look at his face. He’s likely to faint when we tell him the truth.”

“Well someone be ready to catch him then. I think you should check on Fenris, I’ll be the bearer of bad news,” Vic said.

Anders nodded and moved away to murmur something in Cullen’s ear; the Commander nodded slowly and made his way over to stand behind and a little to one side of Belann as Anders headed over to where Zevran and Fenris were waiting.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” said Belann, as though holding to that one missing fact and trusting to it to explain everything. “Tell me who you are! You know what’s going on; I can see it in your eyes! _Who are you??_ ” This last was delivered in a parade-ground roar; the voice of a man who was well used to men under his command who obeyed in an instant.

“Invictus Endrin Hawke - and you, serah, are in Thedas; but not the one you know.” Vic told Belann the same tale he’d told before, with only a couple breaks when it seemed that Belann might fall over in shock.

Belann closed his eyes. “Not in my Thedas. This is....impossible,” he breathed. He swayed as he opened his eyes slowly. “And yet... I can see by your eyes that you tell the truth. By your skin, your hair, your garb - everything about you is different to every Amell I have ever known, ever seen a portrait of, here or elsewhere. I cannot believe the blood of your father could make that much difference as to see so little of myself in your face. Your eyes, perhaps....” He closed his eyes again. “I... I cannot take this in, I....”

His knees buckled; Cullen caught him before he could hit the ground.

Vic sighed and laid out a sleeping roll so Cullen could lay him down somewhat comfortably. “Can’t blame him for passing out.”

Anders was slowly helping Fenris back to his feet with assistance from Zevran. “Just take it easy; we’ve got you,” he murmured gently. He glanced up at the sky; it was slowly darkening as the afternoon shaded into evening. “With any luck Cullen will pass the order to make camp soon and you can lie down properly, OK? Let’s just... get over to Hawke, OK?”

“I’m fine for now, I don’t want to deal with any more oddness and the Inquisitor’s mark may make me feel worse,” Fenris muttered as he held on to both his lovers.

“No, it’s OK, look - Meneris is heading off to talk to the rest of his advisors,” said Anders as he watched Dorian put an arm around the elven Inquisitor, who looked exhausted and on the verge of collapse himself.

“Fine, I don’t care… I just need to lie down before I throw up.” Fenris clung to Anders, hating how weak he felt.

“No no no, no throwing up or passing out!” said Anders hurriedly. “Look, just a little further - Hawke, we could really use you over here!” he called.

Vic came over, worried that Fenris had gotten worse. “What is it?”

“He needs to lie down and I can’t carry him - not as far as you could,” Anders said. “And I need to check on Hal and - oh knickerweasels, has that strange Amell chap fainted too? Maker, that’s all I need!” He handed Fenris over to Invictus. “Cullen? Cullen! A word please!” He ran off after the Commander.

Vic picked Fenris up so the elf wouldn’t hit the ground face down as Anders dashed away. “Warn me next time!” 

“Stop yelling,” Fenris muttered as he tried to squirm out of Vic’s arms.

“No, you are about three shades of sick right now and you look green as it is. Let me do this, and Zevran can take care of you once we’ve made camp if you don’t want me touching you,” Vic said sadly.

Cullen was nodding as Anders spoke urgently and made a “calm down” motion with his hands as he strode away towards the rest of the Inquisition forces, bellowing orders. 

Iron Bull came over towards them, two of his mercenary Chargers in tow. “Huh. Hawke. Looks like we’re picking up more stragglers.” He eyed the unconscious Belann. “Another Warden, huh? Bet Blackwall’s going to be pleased about that.” He jerked a thumb at the one standing inn in the village. “Apparently all the Inquisition officers are going to be in there - Cullen tells me that includes you guys and the newcomers. Need a hand shifting your elf in?” He turned to the mercenary at his left. “Krem, go help the blond Warden guy get the sleeping beauties into the inn. Help ‘im set up some sort of infirmary or something.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” said Krem.

“Anyone touches me they lose fingers,” Fenris huffed even as he continued to attempt to get out of Vic’s arms.

“You can let me carry you, or you can pass out on the way,” Vic said as he tried to keep the elven warrior from falling to the ground.

Anders was busy directing Bull’s Chargers as they picked up Belann and Hall and carried them towards the inn. As one of the Inquisition’s ostlers led their horses past towards the inn’s stables which still seemed fairly intact, he sprinted over to grab a satchel from his horse then headed back towards the inn at a run.

“Friend Anders has quite the turn of speed, does he not?” remarked Zevran admiringly. “Come, I shall fetch our bags also whilst you find a room and make Fenris comfortable.”

“Assuming he doesn’t fidget enough to slip out of my arms,” Vic said as he headed towards the inn.

Invictus managed to get the uncooperative elf into the shelter of the inn; he found Anders busy up on the second floor with the two otherworlders. Hal was still unconscious but Belann was starting to stir; Anders was bent over a table with various potions and reagents spread out, busily compounding something with pestle and mortar. He glanced up briefly as Invictus paused outside the door of the room he’d commandeered for an infirmary and gave Invictus a brief, distracted smile before turning back to his work.

Zevran followed them up the stairs; Inquisition soldiers were already busy setting up rooms for the Inquisitor and his advisors.

“Room down the far end’s free - got two beds; I suggest you take it before someone else does,” said Krem as he passed them, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Oi - Blondie! Need anything else?”

“No, I think I have everything I need,” said Anders, not looking up. “Thank you.”

“Thanks Krem,” Vic said as he let Zevran open up the room so he could set Fenris down. “He’s all yours, I’m going to help Anders brew.” 

Anders was busy tipping the powdered herbs into a pot of water he’d set to boil over the small fire in the room.

“Need some help?” Vic asked as he came around the other side of the table and watched Anders work.

“Hmm? Oh, thanks,” said Anders as he straightened, wiping his hands on his hauberk, oblivious to the green smears from the herbs he left upon the quilted blue fabric. “Do you remember that potion I made for shock? Could you give me a hand with the enchanting? I’ll show you what to do - it’s simple enough, it just takes a bit of concentration. Work goes quicker with two though.”

“Yeah, that’s something I can do,” Vic replied as he watched Anders take control. 

Anders checked on the mix of herbs steeping in the pot. “That’ll need a few minutes longer,” he said quietly. He turned to the various bottles and reagents he’d pulled out from the satchel and selected two small bottles; one with an amber-coloured liquid, the other dark green. Turning back to the pot over the fire he smelled it carefully, then scattered in a handful of dried flowers before taking the pot off the fire. Carrying it back to the table, he strained out a little of the tisane into a bowl.

“Cool that for me, would you?” he murmured as he set the pot aside and reached for the dark green bottle. Invictus did as he asked, calling up ice in his hands as he cradled them about the bowl.

“Good,” said Anders. He carefully added a few drops from the dark green bottle as he stirred the potion with a small wooden spoon, noting as the colour changed and the liquid darkened. “Right, now just channel magic into it. Same kind you’d use for healing, only focused on the potion. You don’t need to be great at healing for this stage - just capable of Creation magic at all,” he smiled.

Invictus nodded and concentrated on the potion as Anders recorked the dark green bottle and reached for the amber potion.

“This is the tricky bit,” he said quietly. “I need you to cast heat into the potion at a slow even pace whilst I add a few drops of this to it and cast healing on it at the same time.”

Invictus frowned, but nodded his understanding. He began to channel heat into the liquid as Anders held a hand over its surface, directing blue healing magic into it as he cautiously added the amber liquid a few drops at a time, studying it intently.

“Enough!” he said tersely as the potion changed colour to a pale green; Invictus whipped his hands away as Anders recorked the bottle of amber fluid. Anders carefully sniffed the hot liquid, then nodded in satisfaction. He cradled his hands around the hot bowl and channeled ice until it had chilled enough to decant into glass flasks without shattering the glass. He leaned back, straightening as his spine made a series of painful-sounding cracks. He winced as he pressed his hands against the small of his back.

“If you will let me, I’ll give you a massage later,” Vic offered as he watched Anders move around, cleaning up after their potion making. Anders made an appreciative sound.

“Maker, yes,” he sighed as he stowed the rest of the reagents back in the satchel along with the potion bottles. He picked up the pale green potion and made his way over to where Belann was stirring. He set the flask to the Warden’s lips and watched whilst the man drank without thought; he waited until Belann’s eyes had closed, then he went to check on Hal, who was still unconscious. He frowned, then knelt on the edge of Hal’s bed as he closed his eyes and ran his hands slowly over hal’s still form, his hands enveloped in the blue glow of magic healing. He pulled his hands away with a faint sigh after a few minutes.

He’ll sleep for hours yet - they both should,” he said as he stood. “Maker, I’m about ready to drop. You said something about a massage?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, if you’ll let me and if Fenris won’t take my hands off for touching you,” Vic said quietly. Anders frowned slightly.

“Why would he do that?” he asked tiredly. He leaned against Invictus for a minute, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Is it far?”

“Have you forgotten my trespass? He damn near squirmed out of my arms rather than have me carry him or touch him,” Vic said as he gave a tentative kiss to Anders’ temple.

“How he chooses to behave over being man- sorry, _elf-_ handled, is entirely up to him,” said Anders as he stumbled towards the door. “But he’s not taking _anyone’s_ hands off until well after you’ve given me that massage. I’m going to hold you to that, you know!” He turned to waggle a finger under Invictus’ nose and nearly tripped over, made clumsy by tiredness.

“Says the man not in danger of losing his life for his stupidity,” Vic muttered. “Come on, let’s get you back to the room so I can try to help.”

“He’ll have to go through me first,” argued Anders, grabbing his staff as he headed through the door. He paused in the hall, glancing in both directions before glancing to Invictus.

Vic just sighed and led Anders back to the room waved towards the free bed before he rummaged for oil he thought he’d brought with him. “I might need that spell that makes slick, can’t find the oil I’d put in my pack.”

Zevran glanced up from where he sat at the table, cleaning and polishing his blades. He said nothing, merely reaching into his satchel for a vial of oil which he tossed underhand to the Champion with a small smile. He put a finger to his lips for quiet, glancing meaningfully at the other bed where Fenris was sprawled with his eyes closed, then back at Invictus.

Anders rested his staff against the wall by the spare bed then pulled off the cropped quilted jacket before stripping off his hauberk and tunic. He dropped onto the bed face-first, clad only in grey pants and his boots. A muffled groan emanated from somewhere buried in the comforter.  
Vic caught the vial, before he pulled his gloves off to warm the oil and his hands. “Anywhere in particular I should concentrate on?” he asked quietly.

Anders turned his face a little to the side so his face was no longer buried in cloth. “Lower back’s the worst,” he groaned. “Drawback to being so tall I guess. Nothing’s ever at the right height for me.” As Invictus set to work on his back, accompanied by a series of alarmingly loud cracks, Anders groaned louder in mingled pain and relief as each knot twinged painfully before being worked out by the other mage’s strong fingers.

“Oh, Maker, you’re good love,” he moaned. After a moment, he cleared his throat as Invictus continued to work his way up Anders’ back. “I should have said thank you earlier. When I stared down into that face and thought - and then there was Hal - Maker, I don’t know how I would have handled it if you hadn’t talked me out of choking. I couldn’t breathe.”

“I do what I can, just glad it wasn’t what we thought,” Vic muttered as he continued to work on Anders back with short, deft movements across his lower back. Anders stiffened with a low, pained hiss as Invictus pressed hard on one particular knot embedded beneath a twisted raised scar that wound across Anders’ back then snaked down towards his hip. The blond apostate’s hands tightened on the bedcovers as he groaned.

“Maker, that was a bad one,” he said as Invictus’ hands smoothed over the painful spot. 

“Apologies, I don’t want to cause you any pain Anders.” Vic apologized as he moved on to another spot.

“No, no, it’s ok,” Anders groaned. “Maker, but bending over that table after hours in a saddle did nothing for my back - _oww!_ ” He stiffened again as Invictus’ fingers found another sore spot. “Andraste’s flaming knickers....”

Invictus pulled his hands away and apologized again. “I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Anders shook his head. “No, it’s what I need, love; I hadn’t realised just how bad it was.”

“Hmm. Friend Hawke, if you are reluctant to inflict pain upon Anders, perhaps you would permit me?” suggested Zevran. “I promise I will not hold back until his back is no longer a mass of knots, hmm?”

“If he wants that, fine with me.” Vic sat back reluctantly.

“I’m fine with you love, just... I need you not to hold back,” sighed Anders. “It’s for my own good. I’m sorry if I’m distressing you.”

“Maybe we could gag our blond apostate so that his noises do not upset you so much, Hawke?” suggested Zevran with a wicked grin.

“Do as you wish, I’m going to find something to eat while you do that,” Vic said as he got to his feet and groaned at the loud noises his knees made.

Zevran shrugged and moved over to the bed. He settled himself astride Anders’ hips, then set to work. Anders made a sound akin to a muffled shriek as he buried his face against the down comforter; his back let out a loud crack as Zevran attacked it with strong, merciless fingers.

“Don’t break him, I need him when you are done,” Fenris said before he rolled to his side and pulled a thin pillow over his head.

Anders sank his teeth into the comforter and whimpered as Zevran ruthlessly worked his way across the blond apostate’s back. Occasional indistinct swearing made its way past the folds of cloth, as various clicks and pops were elicited from his back by the elf.

By the time Zevran was finished, Anders was a limp enervated mess capable of only groaning appreciatively.

“Hmm. I do not think I have broken him, but perhaps he will need a moment to recover,” remarked Zevran.

Fenris simply grunted as he pulled the pillow off his head and glared at them. “Someone probably thought he was being killed in here.”

Anders turned his head to the side to stare at him, his eyes half-lidded. “Sorry, love,” he slurred.

Zevran chuckled quietly as he stowed away the oil then took his place at the table once more to sharpen his knives.

“Don’t apologize to me, it sounded as if you really needed that,” Fenris mumbled as he curled on his side and tried to go back to sleep.

“Did you want me try healing you again, love?” Anders asked quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick to my stomach, itchy and feeling as if something is crawling on me,” Fenris replied.

Anders frowned and pushed himself up to a sitting position as he stared at Fenris. “May I... use magic, love?” he asked gently, holding one hand up.

“If you have to, but know I am braced for it to hurt,” Fenris said with a snarl.

Anders hesitated, then shifted over to sit next to Fenris. “I’ll do my best not to hurt you, love,” he said quietly. He tentatively extended a hand towards Fenris then let the merest trickle of power flow, just enough to lightly extend his senses.

“What have you found?” Fenris asked as he relaxed under Anders touch. “Doesn’t hurt by the way, I think the worst has passed.”

“I’m not sure,” mused Anders. “Your markings seem to have become... perhaps more sensitive than usual. I’m guessing something about the rift energy resonates in a dissonant way with the Fade link through your lyrium, and it’s that dissonance that causes the itching and pain. I think I can put in some sort of... dampening, like a buffer. It won’t affect your abilities but hopefully should minimise the worst of the effects of the rift energies on you.” He pulled back and looked down at Fenris; he was not going to do a thing without Fenris’ express consent.

Fenris turned his head to stare at Anders for several long minutes, his expression unreadable. Finally he nodded as he laid his head down again. “Very well. You may proceed.”

Anders released a breath he had not been aware he was holding, and gently set to work.

Finally he drew back. “Done,” he said.

“Is that... it?” asked Fenris, frowning. Anders nodded. “I feel no different,” said the elf slowly as he sat up.

“You shouldn’t,” replied Anders as he moved back to the other bed and stretched out on his back, one hand tucked behind his back. “And you shouldn’t feel anything around Meneris any more either.” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Tired,” he breathed, and within a few minutes he was fast asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic finally gets it, everyone get's a surprise from the Rift and seems a red-headed mage can't keep away from strange happeneings.

Zevran glanced up as Invictus returned. He set a finger to his lips as he indicated the sleeping apostate with a nod of his head.

Invictus nodded and went over to the small table so he could try to split up supplies with healing potions for them, lyrium for him and Anders. He tried to be quiet as he worked, since he knew how little sleep Anders ever got.

Zevran inspected his long fighting knives critically, giving each one a final swipe of the cloth before sliding them back into their sheathes. He unbuckled the bracer from his left forearm and pulled out the three throwing knives, laying them on the table before setting to work to clean them.

“What word from the Inquisitor, friend Hawke?” the elf asked softly. “I believe all the command save the Warden, Blackwall, are barracked here in the inn?”

“He’s perplexed by the appearance of Hal and Belann, and their appearance will likely change what we do. He is worried about Fenris and the way he reacted to the Rift as well,” Vic said quietly.

“As to that, our talented healer believes he may have been able to work some kind of - hmm, what did he call it? A barrier, to shield Fenris’ lyrium from the rift energies? Anders believes that Fenris’ lyrium - the Fade energy it draws from for his abilities - and the energy of the rifts are very similar but just different enough to cause dissonance. We shall see if it works.” The elf shrugged. “I believe the working of it was quite taxing to him; he was most careful that Fenris should not feel pain.”

“Good, I’m glad Anders can help him since I am a terrible fucking healer,” Vic said quietly as he looked over to see Anders sound asleep and Fenris seemed to be stirring, but not really waking yet.

“Yes, his healing skills are truly remarkable; I doubt there are many with his talent and gift,” mused Zevran, eyeing one of his blades with a small frown as he ran a thumb over the edge of the blade.

“No, not at all. We’re lucky to have him with us,” Vic said softly.

“I must ask - I saw marks upon his wrists. Healing, but....” Zevran glanced up at Invictus. “Who chained him, Hawke?”

“Cullen’s men, he was arrested as soon as we set foot in Skyhold and chained for all of a few hours. We broke him free, but the marks are still there,” Vic said sadly.

“He bears the inner scars of his time in the Circle; he does not need an external reminder,” frowned Zevran, his voice dangerously quiet. “I think I must have a quiet word with this Commander Cullen and remind him that it does not do to ill-treat the friend of the Master of the Crows....”

“Do as you wish, but he released Anders to us when he lost himself after just a few hours locked in a cell. We were in danger on the upper level of the fortress, we almost became pincushions for some rogue templars that wanted his hide.” Vic pulled out his own daggers and began to clean them. 

Zevran’s frown deepened. “Hence, then, his state when I arrived?” he asked, tilting his head on one side and lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Vic said as he continued to focus on cleaning his daggers.

Zevran set the throwing knife down and picked up another. “Still, I fear that, poor as his treatment at the hands of the Inquisition has been thus far, his has fared better than he would had he fallen into the hands of a certain Prince Vael,” he observed softly.

“If Vael shows his face, I’ll shred it,” Fenris said as he finally gave up on pretending to sleep and joined them at the table. 

Zevran grinned mirthlessly. “I think Prince Vael will find life in Starkhaven not quite so easy or peaceful soon,” he replied. “I have given orders that no contract from Starkhaven is to be taken or honoured - but contracts _against_ Starkhaven interests are to be given highest priority, no matter the client.”

“I see.” Fenris leaned back to watch both men work. “What is our plan of action once we have found the wardens?” 

“See what Loghain and Anders are planning, I don’t know about that Blackwall fellow. He seems a bit put out by their arrival,” Vic said.

“He seems a most busy fellow, never there when you think you might find him - and yet, it strange: I cannot find precisely what it is he _does_ ,” mused Zevran. “Most odd, is it not?”

“Very, I have not had a chance to ask either Loghain or Anders what it is about him that bothers them so,” Fenris said tiredly.

“I wonder about him, he seems to always find something else to do rather than greet his Warden brothers,” Vic added.

“Indeed. We have now four Wardens - yet one seems not to be interested in the company of his fellow men. One would have thought he would greet them, even if only for formality’s sake, no?” said Zevran, tapping his chin with the blade in his hand thoughtfully.

“I’m sure Loghain will approach him if no one else does,” Fenris replied as he watched Vic carefully start on the bladed end of his staff. He also noted the way he focused on that rather than either elf he sat with.

Zevran slid the knife in his hand back into the sheathe beside the first then took up the third knife to work upon it. “Or perhaps a certain Crow may see what may be seen when other eyes are elsewhere,” he shrugged. “Crows are curious birds, after all.”

“Mind that your curiosity doesn’t get your wings clipped my little bird,” Fenris warned.

Vic glanced up at them but opted to remain silent.

Zevran glanced at Fenris, then nodded his head at the white bandage still bound around his left bicep. “Some might say that has already happened, _carissimi_ ,” he smirked wryly. “But it was useful nonetheless, for we know now that Vael seeks our little ragged sparrow in blue and silver - and also _where_ he hunts for him. And I dare say I led him a merry dance too.”

“Good, and should he pick up the proper trail I’ll end his hunt.” Fenris grinned viciously, more like himself than before the Rift had put him down for the count.

“I’ll take what’s left should that ever come to pass,” Vic added angrily

“It’s good to know if ever I run into Sebastian, I have such a formidable wall to stand between my vital organs and his arrows,” slurred Anders sleepily as he opened his eyes and glanced over in their direction, before rolling over onto his side and closing them again.

“We should go out and let him sleep,” Vic said as he finished polishing his staff.

“Very well...I could do with food and a bath anyway,” Fenris said softly.

“I shall follow shortly,” remarked Zevran as he took up his whetstone and ran it gently along the blade in his hand, frowning at a small nick in the edge.

Vic let Fenris go first before he headed towards the cooking fires, eager for something to eat too.

They found Dorian beside the fires, quietly in discussion with Cullen. Both turned at the approach of the Champion and warrior.

“And that would be my cue to go check on Meneris,” murmured Dorian as he inclined his head towards Invictus in greeting.

Vic glowered at Dorian instead of greeting him. He headed past them to get a bowl of stew instead of starting an argument.

Fenris didn’t bother to hide his anger at the Altus as he watched Dorian make a show of skirting around them. The grey eyes of the mage almost sparkled with quiet amusement as he sketched an elegant bow to Fenris before turning upon his heel and striding back in the direction of the inn.

“Remind me again why I didn’t throw him off the balcony when I had the chance?” Fenris muttered angrily.

“Mind telling me what that was about?” inquired Cullen with a faint frown.

Fenris gave Cullen a terse, brief explanation of why he wanted to rid the Inquisition of one of it’s mages, and was moderately amused at the expression on Cullen’s face. The Commander sighed.

“Fenris, I will admit that Dorian can be a bit of a pompous ass at times, but he’s damned good at what he does. He’s a _useful_ pompous ass, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go around threatening to throw all my best mages off mountain tops or ripping their hearts out, please?” He glanced at Invictus. “And if you could try and avoid falling into bed with any more members of the Inquisition, Hawke, that would help too. I can’t afford to lose anyone to Fenris right now.” 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about already....” He glanced up. “Is Anders alright? He seemed to have quite a nasty turn earlier. I’m sorry, there’s no way I could really avoid saying Solona’s name. I honestly thought it _was_ her. I’d never have thought Belann was a man just by looking at his eyes. That damned helm is very deceptive, and that armour is the same for both male and female Wardens.”

Vic had halted and looked away out of embarrassment before he found a far corner of the mess tent to eat his food in peace. 

Fenris’ expression would have been comical if not for the anger in his eyes. “Anders is sleeping, he’s fine. Anything else Commander or should I expect more dressing down before I get something to eat?” 

Cullen sighed in exasperation. “Fenris, please don’t make this more awkward than it already is. Maker knows it’s bad enough. I can’t afford this kind of dissent between members of the Inquisition. Things like this are bad for morale, and it just drives us apart at a time when we need to be united. Corypheus is our enemy. It shouldn’t be each other.”

“Ser, yes ser. If you will excuse me?” Fenris stepped past Cullen with a snarl, got a bowl and joined Invictus. 

“Tell me again why we joined them?” he asked in a low whisper.

Cullen shook his head. “Maker, and I though _Anders_ was always enough of a brat in his Circle days....” He took his bowl and headed towards the tent exit where he could see Cassandra waiting. She greeted him with a smile and they left the tent together.

“Do you want to leave once we sort this Warden business out?” Invictus asked.

“It would be prudent,” replied Fenris as he turned to observe the rest of the tent. “Particularly if Vael is searching for Anders so actively.” His tone was one of slight distraction.

“What else is wrong? You are not ...yourself fully. Are you still unwell because of the Rift?” Vic asked as he looked for any signs Fenris wasn’t alright.

Fenris glanced sidelong at him. “Were you not listening when Zevran told you that Anders has blocked the effects of the Rift upon my brands?” he asked, the corner of his lip curling in almost a sneer. “Because there could not be any other reason for my feeling ill at ease, Invictus Endrin Hawke?”

Vic glanced down as he gathered his thoughts before he stared into Fenris’ eyes. “You and I both know what else lies between us. Shall we have it out in the open then?”

“Where else would you have it out, Hawke?” asked Fenris, slipping into Tevene.

“That was low, but deserved. Go on, what is it we’re to do? Pretend until this is resolved and I go on with you all remaining together? Am I to be allowed to remain as an unwanted fourth to your happy triad?” 

Fenris frowned. “What I have with Anders and Zevran is not a triad,” he said slowly. “Zevran and Anders feel nothing for each other, and I am under no illusions that he will stay with us - he goes his own way, as you well know.” His frown deepened. “As for this talk of ‘allowing’, it is _you_ who has been distancing yourself from us both, not I - and certainly not Anders. This gulf between us is of your making, Hawke, not mine - and it is you who seeks to drive us further apart. So let me ask you - are you leaving Anders and I? Is that the reason why you seek to drive us further apart by your behaviour? Did you think that by withholding yourself emotionally from us that we would, what - be _glad_ to see you depart?”

“I thought from the way you reacted you would be glad to see me go. You stiffened when I helped with your armor and you tried to squirm from my arms when I carried you from the field. I figured that you no longer wished me to touch you. Anders has been kind but I hurt him as well; we both know he can’t be unkind to anything even me. I don’t know what to do anymore Fenris. I know Zevran hates me for the betrayal, so what am I to do?” Vic asked in Tevene, his gaze finally dropped to his half-finished bowl as he stopped.

Fenris sighed. “I did not wish to be carried as I am no fainting maiden, Invictus! When have I ever tolerated being carried when I could stand upon my own two feet?” He eyed the mage with exasperation. “And I think Anders has made it quite clear that he still desires you near him. It was not I he yelled for in his moment of distress. And I do not think Zevran would have remained and spoken with you if he hated you as much as you have told yourself he does.” He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. “ _Venhedis_ , Invictus - since when did anyone ever repair a gulf between them by _widening_ that chasm??”

Vic stared at the table and thought on Fenris’ words. “You could barely stand, I didn’t try to carry you just because. I didn’t forget how you stiffened when I tried to help you with your armor.” 

“Zevran was with me. I could have walked between you,” argued Fenris. “As for the armour....” He dropped his gaze and stared at the ground a little to Invictus’ right. “I... apologise for that. You startled me, and... my brands have been more sensitive of late. It was instinct - an old instinct at that. I should have been able to control it better.” He lifted a hand and stared at the lines upon his palm, then closed his fingers and let his hand fall. “I should have mentioned it earlier.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m surprised you didn’t shove me away.” Vic glanced up at Fenris then back to the table. “Where does that leave us now?” 

“I did not push you away, Invictus. Does that not tell you anything?” asked Fenris quietly.

“Only that we were too busy worrying about what was going on to say something. Anders has asked me to remain, and if you will let me do that I will. I have hurt you, broken your trust and I don’t expect to be forgiven this time. What would you have me do to make it up to you, if that is possible?” Vic asked.

“Vic. If forgiveness were impossible, what reason would I possibly have to be sitting here right now?” asked Fenris softly.

“I don’t know, I just don’t fucking know. Everything is messed up and I don’t know what else to do with myself…” Invictus looked up as he trailed off. “You called me Vic?”

Fenris nodded silently, his eyes large and dark beneath the unruly white hair, his ears drooping slightly.

“Don’t look like that, whatever you need me to do, it’s yours,” Vic said as he reached out to take Fenris’ hand.

“Do not hold yourself apart from us. From _me_ ,” said Fenris quietly.

“I’m reaching out to you...love,” Vic said tentatively with a slight smile. Fenris’ fingers tightened a little around Invictus’.

“This... was all I asked for, Vic. Simply this,” whispered Fenris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Fenris,” Vic said as he tugged gently on the elf’s hand so he could hold him close. Fenris slipped from his seat into Invictus’ lap willingly and curled up against the mage.

“ _Mi amatus_ ,” he said huskily.

“Love...I’m sorry, forgive me,” Vic said as he wrapped his arms around Fenris and let the tears he’d held back fall. Fenris leaned back a little to stare up into Invictus’ face, then wrapped his arms around the mage’s neck and gently kissed the tears.

“I thought that was what I was doing,” he murmured, as he pressed a gentle kiss to Invictus’ cheek.

“I don’t deserve it, thank you,” Vic said before he leaned down to gently kiss his warrior. 

***

Meneris headed to the room where Hal and Belann had been put up, first room on the second floor. He slipped in to check on their two guests. He felt Dorian next to him as he peered at the sunburst symbol on Hal’s head then over to where Belann still slept.

“How strange,” mused Dorian as he stared down at the red-head. “You see so few Tranquil in Minrathous. It’s reserved for the worst criminals.”

Hal stirred slightly, his eyes slowly opening.

“Meneris!” said Dorian in a low voice.

“That’s my name, as you know from the way you screamed it the other night,” murmured the elf. He tilted his head as he watched Hal come awake and stare at him with..curiosity. “I thought the Tranquil had no emotions?” 

Something flickered across Hal’s face, too fast to catch, as he sat up. “The Tranquil are capable of simple curiosity,” he said in a calm voice. “It is not an emotion. Fulfillment however holds no allure for me.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed then sat there, looking up at Meneris.

“How did you become Tranquil Hal?” Meneris asked.

“I displayed too much curiosity in the fate of one of the Tranquil in the Gallows in Kirkwall,” Hal said evenly. “I was made Tranquil as a lesson and a warning to the other apprentices, one week after my Harrowing.”

“ _Venhedis!_ ” swore Dorian. “I know these southerners do things differently, but even _I_ know that according to their rules, that’s not allowed! The Harrowing’s a barbaric custom but they’re supposed to be safe from the Rite once passed that!”

“Poor bastard, I had no idea that Kirkwall was so terrible,” Meneris said sadly. “Can you tell us if you have a preference for food or drink?” 

Hal blinked; for a moment Meneris thought he saw lines of tension around the Tranquil mage’s eyes, but they were gone as he blinked so that Meneris was not entirely certain he hadn’t imagined them.

“This one will be satisfied with whatever this one is given,” he said quietly.

“You have a name from what I understand, you can stop referring to yourself in that way...it is unnerving. I will have someone get you food and drink.” Meneris shuddered as he slipped away to get their guest something.

Dorian was studying the red-head in something akin to horrified fascination. “This is... astounding. They really did this to you because you were _curious_? What was this other Tranquil’s name?”

Hal regarded him for a moment; he blinked again. “Karl Thekla,” he said quietly.

Dorian nodded slowly; the name meant nothing to him. “And had you known Karl long? Before he was made Tranquil, I mean?”

Hal blinked more rapidly. “He was my... mentor,” he replied after a moment.

“Oh forgive me, I shouldn’t - oh, except of course you can’t be upset because -” Dorian fell silent, his lips thinning. “Damn it to the Void - these wretched barbarians!” he growled. “You stay here. Don’t move. I will be right back.”

He turned on his heel, leaving Hal alone, and ran to catch up with Meneris.

“You left him alone? Why?” said the elven warrior when he heard Dorian calling him.

“Oh, really, Meneris - I may be unfamiliar with his kind but I do know that if you tell him to stay there he’s not going to wander,” said Dorian. “Listen - he said the mage who was made Tranquil was called Karl - Karl Thekla. He was the poor bastard’s mentor. Can’t we have a word with Cullen and find out if there’s anything we can do?”

“When we are on the road perhaps, right now we should be sure he’s fed and taken care of. If he’s a liability then we’ll have to have him escorted back to Skyhold. We don’t know what we’re walking into and we can’t babysit a Tranquil mage.” Meneris handed him a full tankard of ale with a grimace. “Not as if he’ll get drunk off it.”

“His physiology is still human, Meneris,” said Dorian with a frown. “He can still get drunk - he’s just less likely to make a blithering idiot of himself whilst he is.”

“Fine, the man still deserves a decent drink,” Meneris huffed. “Come on then.”

Hal was sitting exactly where they’d left him when they returned; his gaze was turned towards the darkened windows, but he glanced around as they entered.

“Hal, we’ve brought dinner and drink if you like.” Meneris sat the plate down and waited for Dorian to place the ale before he spoke again. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hal stared at the Inquisitor, his eyes widening slightly. “I... that is... this one appreciates your concern, Serah,” his said slowly, then dropped his gaze to the plate of food. “What will... my... duties be?”

“None, you are not bound to serve us. We will do our best to aid you Hal. Eat and someone will be by in a bit to show you where you can rest.” Meneris ducked his head and gave him a wan smile. 

Hal’s hand shook slightly as he reached for the tankard of ale; he steadied it with his other hand and bent to take a swallow.

“This is... ale,” he said, a note of faint surprise in his voice. He glanced up at Meneris.

“Yes, what else would we give you?” Meneris asked quizzically.

“This one would have been satisfied with water,” Hal replied, dropping his gaze once more. “But I will drink this if it pleases you, Serah.”

“Get him water Dorian, please?” Meneris asked before he looked to the red haired Tranquil. “No, I would agree to what you prefer Hal.” 

“Of course, love,” said Dorian. He cast a last, concerned glance at Hal then disappeared.

Hal stared down at the plate of food, then slowly lifted his head to stare at Meneris. “This one would ask who you are and where this is?” he said slowly.

“Say your name…” Meneris said, snapped.

“Hal! My name is Hal,” he replied, staring at Meneris, his eyes’ focus flickering between Meneris’ eyes. 

“Do not choose what I want, choose ...what you would prefer. Excuse me.” Meneris left in a hurry, discomfited by the Tranquil.

Hal drew a shuddering breath, then pushed the plate aside and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t do this,” he murmured to himself. “Not if he’s going to treat me as a real person - Maker. Why did they have to ask about Karl?”

Meneris stopped and turned to find Dorian at the door, surprised by something he must have heard. Dorian stared at the door, then back at Meneris.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

“Hear what?” Meneris whispered back.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “The Tranquil mage - what did you think I meant! Does he not strike you as rather... odd, for one of the Tranquil?” His head snapped around sharply at a sound from the room that sounded almost like a muffled sob, then he stared back at Meneris.

“I think I had best go find Cullen and see if I can find out more about this Thekla chap. Perhaps you should check on our strange guest?” he suggested.

“Very well,” Meneris said as Dorian passed him. He went back into the room just in time to catch Hal wiping his face dry. “I...did not think the Tranquil could cry?” 

“We- we do not, my eyes are-” Hal let his hands drop into his lap. “Oh, what’s the use,” he said quietly. “I’m not fooling you, am I?” He scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“Not anymore, so how is it you wear the brand yet remain whole in mind?” Meneris asked curiously.

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Hal, trying to smile through the threatening tears. “I’m not Tranquil. Not any more, anyway. I _was_ , and I told you the truth - that _was_ why I was branded. I just... didn’t tell you the whole truth.” He smiled wanly.

“Try me, I mean I’ve got a Fade rift in my palm so I’m sure whatever you will say can’t be stranger than that.” Meneris smiled as he passed the half-full mug of ale to Hal.

“You’ve... _what_?” said Hal slowly, the mug half-way to his mouth. His eyes widened as Meneris held his hand out, palm uppermost. He stared at it. “Well now. There’s something you don’t see every day,” he mused, half to himself.

“Nor is a very un-Tranquil, Tranquil mage.” Meneris smiled as he heard the door open behind them. “You’re right love, Hal is very much not a Tranquil.”

Dorian stared at Hal, who glanced up at him, the tracks of tears on his cheeks still wet. Cullen glanced over his shoulder.

“Maker! What in the world... but... _how_?” exclaimed Cullen as he brushed past Dorian and leaned over Hal. He reached out a hand and touched Hal’s brand as the red-head stared at him, nervous.

“The brand is real. He certainly _was_ Tranquil - at least, originally. But... I’ve never heard of the Rite being broken!” exclaimed Cullen.

“I was... touched by... a spirit,” said Hal slowly. “And I found I could feel again. When I woke up here, I had no idea where I was. It seemed safer to pretend I was Tranquil but... I just can’t do that any more. Everything feels... _more_ now, than it did before I was made Tranquil. I still find it hard to control my emotions. And when you asked about - about Karl....” Tears sprang unbidden to Hal’s eyes. “I’m sorry, it still- it still hurts,” he whispered.

“It’s alright Hal, just.. enjoy your dinner and we’ll have something sent when Belann awakens. Do you need healing? We can try to find Anders as well,” Meneris said worriedly.

“No, I’m... I’m a healer,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes. “I’ll be alright in a little while, I’m just a bit disoriented. I have no idea where I am - or who any of you are, apart from Knight-Lieutenant Cullen.”

Cullen stared hard at Hal. “Wait... don’t I remember you? Yes, Thekla’s student. I remember now; Meredith had you put through the Rite only a week after your Harrowing; I argued strenuously against against it. But I thought you died during the Mage Uprising?”

Hal stared at Cullen then slowly shook his head. “I- I managed to get out. There were a lot of bodies. Easy to pretend you were dead.” There was a haunted look in his eyes suggesting there was far more to it; Cullen frowned, but shook his head.

“No matter; it grieved me terribly that so many of the Tranquil were senselessly slaughtered that day. You have no idea how glad I am that even one escaped - much less that the Rite was somehow reversed.” He shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Inquisitor, I should like to talk further with Hal when he is recovered - if you’re willing, that is, Hal?” he added.

“Perhaps later,” whispered Hal.

“Let’s leave him be for now everyone, I’ll go check on Anders, as well as Fenris since he was affected by my mark earlier.” Meneris not so subtly moved the others towards the doorway.

Hal watched them go, then glanced over at Belann, who was still out cold. After a few minutes, he drew a deep breath, then reached for the mug of ale.

Anders was sitting up groggily when Meneris knocked lightly at the door. “It’s not locked,” he called, as he rubbed his hands slowly down his face. “At least, I don’t think it is,” he mumbled to himself.

Meneris entered and gave him a bow. “I came to check on all of you, especially after Fenris was so affected by my brands.” 

“Oh,” Anders managed eloquently. He glanced at Zevran, who was sleeping on the other bed, then looked around the room. “Fenris shouldn’t be bothered by your mark any more - where _is_ he, anyway? Huh. He and Hawke were here earlier; I guess they went off to get something to eat and let me sleep.” He ran his hands over his face again. “Maker, I’m _still_ tired.”

“I didn’t see them on the way here. We’ve...got an interesting situation with our red-headed mage friend. Once he is up to visitors, would you mind checking him out?” Meneris said as he looked over to Zevran.

“Interesting? In what way?” asked Anders as he got to his feet and reached for his shirt. He tugged it on then straightened it before turning back to Meneris, rubbing one wrist absently.

“Seems our Tranquil mage is anything but.” Meneris looked away as Anders dressed, conscious of his lover’s trespass against the other men.

“Ah. Yes,” said Anders slowly. “I was... aware of that.”

“I beg your pardon… how were you aware of his...lack of a condition?” Meneris asked.

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “It’s... a very long story. And one that’s... not easy to believe,” he added. “Maker, I think I need a drink.”

“Let’s go to the room then, it might be be better than giving people something to gossip about if we wind up in the common area,” Meneris said softly as he glanced at Zevran again. “Perhaps leave a note for them before we go?”

“No need, I’m sure Zevran will tell them, won’t you, Zev?” asked Anders. The elf sighed, then raised a hand in acknowledgement.

“Let’s go see Hal then,” said Anders as he picked up his tunic, shrugging it on but not fastening it.

“He’s ...never mind let us go,” Meneris sighed as he let Anders out first and waved at Zevran. 

Anders made his way along to the other end of the corridor and stuck his head round the door of the room he’d commandeered hours earlier as an infirmary.

Hal glanced up and smiled at him wanly as Anders entered. Anders dropped onto the edge of the cot next to Hal.

“Hello Anders,” said Hal.

“Hal. You’re not supposed to be here,” said Anders quietly. “Where’s Arden?”

“Ah. Then... he’s not here?” asked Hal slowly. Anders shook his head.

“Wrong side of the mirror,” he said with a shrug. “It’s Invictus over here.”

Hal’s face fell. “...oh.”

“Who’s Arden? Why does he look like you kicked his mabari puppy?” Meneris asked.

Anders sighed. “Arden is the Hawke in... another version of our world. A kind of... mirror-world, if you like. Invictus got dragged there by accident first. Then Arden ended up in _our_ world a few months later. I... ended up sort of riding his coat-tail back there and... some things happened.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. “It’s... stuff that’s hard to explain. Anyway, Arden managed to find a way to get me back, using the Eluvian in the Black Emporium in Kirkwall. And then there was this stuff with demons - again - and the Black Chantry, and... well, somewhere in all that, poor Hal comes along and the spirit of yet another Hawke from _another_ Kirkwall - a dead one - Hawke that is, not Kirkwall I mean, and I’m messing this up and... and don’t look at me like that!” Anders stared at Meneris, exasperated, as the elf’s eyebrows rose higher and higher. 

“Maker - he was possessed by the spirit of a dead Hawke from a different reality and now he’s not Tranquil anymore, and no, I _don’t_ know how and ... and will you _please_ stop looking at me like that??”

“Well you have to admit it all sounds like something out of Varric’s stories,” Meneris said.

“Oh, it gets even more unbelievable,” Anders laughed self-consciously as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was... well... possessed by a spirit of Justice when I went to Arden’s Kirkwall. I wasn’t when I came back.” 

“How are you alive then? I thought possession was pretty ...permanent?” Meneris asked in surprise.

“So did I,” said Anders. “Technically only the death of the host will allow the spirit to leave. In my case I... sort of was. Briefly. Turns out Arden is a pretty good healer, plus there was my mirror counterpart. Somehow they managed to bring me back - but I think I was dead for maybe a minute or two. Technically.” Anders’ expression indicated he didn’t expect Meneris to believe him. “You can go ahead and test if I’m still possessed if you like,” he offered.

“I don’t know how to to do that, perhaps Dorian could?” Meneris hedged, unsure what exactly he’d gotten himself into with the blond warden. “Where did the ...spirit go then?”

“Dorian could do what?” asked the Tevinter mage as he stuck his head around the door.

“Check Anders for signs of possession or something? His story is too incredible...I don’t see how he’s still got all his faculties or is living to be honest,” Meneris replied, relieved his lover had come in.

“Oh, that’s simple,” said Dorian breezily as he gestured at Anders and a small bolt of pinkish-white light flew from his fingers to strike Anders directly in the sternum.

“Ow!” cried Anders and doubled over, clutching his chest. “Maker, that hurt....”

“Not possessed,” shrugged Dorian. He glanced to Meneris. “Just a modified small spirit bolt. For future reference.” He glanced back at the blond mage who was straightening, still rubbing his chest. “If he were possessed, that would have prompted his spirit to come out and attack.”

“Justice would have,” nodded Anders. “If I were still possessed. Which I’m obviously not. He was... absorbed by the Justice possessing the mirror-Anders in the other Kirkwall. But both Fenris and Hawke can confirm I _was_ possessed.”

“As can I,” replied Hal quietly. “All the Anders are, save him. Well, the ones in the realities I know of -” He broke off, and put a hand to his forehead. “No... the ones that Endrin knows of. I’m sorry, sometimes I still have trouble telling the difference between his memories and my own.”

“Wait - _you’re_ possessed too?” exclaimed Dorian. “This gets more and more fantastic by the minute.”

“That’s how he remains...un-Tranquil, right?” Meneris asked in utter confusion.

“I would presume so,” said Dorian slowly. “I honestly don’t know; this has all been in the realm of theory until now, as far as I’m aware. But I presume a spirit inhabiting the body of one who is Tranquil would restore that connection to the Fade that is severed during the Rite.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Intriguing.”

“Don’t get any ideas about confirming your theory on me,” Hal said; his eyes flashed briefly gold for a second.

“No-one is doing anything to anyone else. I’m going to go have a drink, this is all too strange for me. Come along Dorian, before Hal or Anders gets more worked up.”

“Maker, I think _I_ need a drink,” said Anders, shaking his head. One hand was still rubbing slowly over his sternum. Hal glanced at the sleeping Belann.

“Oh, he’ll sleep for hours yet,” Anders assured him. “I gave him a potion for the shock - it also acts as a sedative, so he’ll be out until morning.”

“Come with us then, my guess is we’re not moving out until tomorrow afternoon at least,” Meneris said as he walked out, still shocked at the tall tale from both mages.

Anders and Hal got to their feet and followed the Inquisitor and his Tevinter companion towards the stairs down to the common room.

“Are you alright?” asked Hal in a low voice.

“I’ll be fine,” Anders murmured in reply. “Just forgot how much that spirit bolt trick bloody hurts. Works though. If I’d still had Justice he’d have killed Dorian for that, and we’d all be in a lot of trouble.”

Meneris ignored their banter as they found a long, empty table to take over. Having Fenris scare the piss out of his lover once was enough, he didn’t want to have to execute anyone for attempting to kill the former Altus. Dorian leaned over and kissed Meneris on the cheek.

“I’ll fetch a couple of flagons of wine then, shall I?” he suggested as Anders and Hal took seats beside each other, the formerly-Tranquil mage glancing around curiously.

“Sure, thanks _amatus_ ,” Meneris said as he tried to keep a sappy grin off his face and failed. Dorian smiled then headed off to find wine.

Anders glanced around, then at Hal, and quietly swore. “Hal, pull up your hood and hide that brand - it’s going to draw attention,” he murmured. Hal’s eyes widened, then he swiftly tugged up the cowl of his dark red robe until it hid his forehead.

“Yes...the Tranquil were not really treated well when everything went tits up around here or in Tevinter. Perhaps we can find a way to heal that mark?” Meneris asked.

“It’s branded into the skin. It’s like a scar,” said Hal quietly. “Short of carving it off with a knife then using magic to heal the skin as seamlessly as possible, then it can’t be removed. I’m a pretty decent healer, but nothing on Anders’ level.”

“And I think I’d be hard pressed to heal that without leaving at least some slight trace,” added Anders. “Maybe if I spent long enough on it... but it wouldn’t be painless.”

“Ah well, it was a hope then.” Meneris took his mug of ale with a slight grin, which widened when he felt Dorian’s hand on his leg. “I don’t suppose you know how Belann got here then?”

“I think he got dragged through with me,” replied Hal. “I have this vague memory of finding myself being dragged into the rift and feeling him grasp the back of my robe as I fell through. My memory of being inside the rift itself is very hazy. Then I remember a feeling of falling. The next thing I remember is waking in that room as you two were talking.” he shrugged, then reached for one of the flagons of wine.

“Much like me when I came around in a cell with Cassandra ready to tear my head off for what happened at the Conclave,” Meneris said.

“Where did you originally come from, Inquisitor?” asked Anders. “If you don’t mind me asking?” he added hastily. “I can see you’re Dalish, but apart from that....”

“Clan Lavellan, we were settled in the upper reaches of Thedas,” was all Meneris said, he was still grieving the loss of his clan thanks to people who didn’t take kindly to his refusal to use his clan name for their benefit.

Anders realised the subject was a touchy one from the way the elven Inquisitor’s face seemed to shift, becoming mask-like. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to pry. I... know what it’s like to lose people you love, and to be taken away from your family.” He dropped his gaze to his hands, then reached for the wine.

“It’s...fine, just fine Anders.” Meneris finished his drink with a morose stare into the flagon. “I’ll be back, I need a refill.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Of course, that wretched Circle system,” he said slowly. “Do you mind if I ask how old you were when you were taken?”

“Twelve,” said Anders morosely. “Most kids are usually picked up sooner; guess I was a late bloomer.” He glanced up suddenly with a boyish grin. “They couldn’t keep me in though. Made my first escape only six months after they brought me in. I ran away seven times in total - the last time for good.”

“I have to admire your persistence,” smiled Dorian.

“Swam Lake Calenhad once,” Anders went on. “Maker’s balls, but that was cold. Nearly drowned thanks to those ridiculous robes they make apprentices wear. Made it to the far shore too. Of course, they picked me up on the other side, but still.”

Dorian recalled the vast lake where they’d found Anders and Loghain, and regarded Anders with a newfound respect. “How old were you, if I may ask?”

“Fifteen. My fourth escape,” Anders grinned as he reached for the wine again and topped up his cup. “Nearly caught pneumonia and spent a week in the infirmary but it was worth it.”

“What, being caught?”

“No, catching out the templars. They never thought any of us would attempt _that_. But then, I never liked to be predictable.” Still grinning, Anders took a sip of his wine.

“I say again, how are you not dead?” Meneris asked as he rejoined them.

“Sheer bloody luck, I think,” shrugged Anders. “Besides, you think you’re immortal when you’re a kid. And freedom’s worth dying for.”

“I suppose.” Meneris stood suddenly from the table, took his mug and glanced towards the stairs. “Apologies, this talk has turned my mood and I’m not going to be good company. I’ll take my leave of you gentlemen, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“I’ll be up shortly, love,” said Dorian as he passed. Anders raised his cup of wine in silent farewell.

“Take your time, I need… a little time.” Meneris headed off quickly so the others wouldn’t see him break.

They watched him go. Conversation was very quiet after that, and after one glass of wine Dorian made his excuses, leaving the two mages to their thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cypher) I really, really hate how you can't react to the War Table mission about the Dalish Inquisitor's clan getting wiped out so I hoped to address it in this story a bit. 
> 
> Also a quick glossary of who's who:
> 
> Invictus Hawke is cypher's canon Hawke  
> Arden Hawke is Arkady's canon Hawke  
> Belann Amell is Arkady's canon Warden  
> Hal is Arkady's own OC  
> Solona Amell is default warden you can start the game with  
> Meneris Lavellan is cypher's canon Inquisitor


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal is a terrible actor, Fenris is in a mood and Vic is eager to kiss and make up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter NSFW like whoa!

Fenris crept into the room with Invictus behind him to find Anders asleep but Zevran still awake and reading on the other bed. Fenris arched a dark brow in query, unsure how deeply asleep their mage was. 

The other elf glanced up as he entered, then glanced at Anders. “It is alright, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “He was very tired before he retired to bed, and I think he had been drinking.”

“As did we, when we finally had dinner.” Fenris yawned before he crawled into the bed with Zevran and curled around him. 

Invictus smiled indulgently at Fenris, before he stretched out alongside Anders and found himself suddenly held down while the other mage mumbled something half in Trade, half in Ander. “Must be having a bad dream.”

Anders flailed one arm as he threw his head back and made a sound that was half annoyance, half fearful. Zevran frowned.

“His dream seems quite unpleasant,” he remarked quietly as Anders murmured something inarticulate.

“Anders… wake up love, you’re safe with us.” Vic said as he straddled his lover mostly to be sure the other mage didn’t crack his skull with all of his flailing about. Far from calming him however, Invictus’ efforts seemed to drive the unconscious mage into a frenzy as he thrashed wildly, his breathing become a panicked panting before he began to scream wordlessly.

“Dammit, get off him Vic.” Fenris said as he lit his brands, placed his hands on Anders face and spoke in low, soothing tones. “You are safe, come back to us beloved.”

“No, no don’t, I haven’t done anything - I didn’t do anything!” Anders cried as he tried to jerk his head back. “Karl - don’t let them take me!”

“Anders!” Fenris barked as he tried to keep the other mage from screaming down the roof. “Hear us, wake up.”

Anders’ eyes flew open as he screamed again, eyes glazed still from dreaming until the brilliant light from Fenris’ brands finally drew him back to waking and he blinked, disoriented and confused as he stared around, his chest still heaving. “F-Fenris?”

“Yes, it’s me. You were having a hell of a nightmare, and Vic tried to help but you were too deep into it to realize you were dreaming. Can I let go now?” Fenris asked quietly.

“I’ll get water, or wine. Maker, my heart is still pounding.” Vic rasped.

Anders stared at Fenris then slowly nodded, not moving. “S-sorry... sorry,” he breathed.

“It’s alright love, I’m going to move slowly away. Just sit up with me.” Fenris replied shakily.

Vic had opened the door to quite the scene, including Cullen in just a pair of leggings wielding his sword, Cassandra in a shirt and likewise armed, Leliana somehow completely dressed despite the hour - and Dorian naked save for his staff.

“Put it away, Dorian, no-one needs to see that,” said Leliana.

“That’s not what Meneris said,” quipped the Tevinter mage. From somewhere behind them came the Inquisitor’s voice as he yelled “DORIAN!!” in an outraged tone.

“GO Put on PANTS RIGHT NOW!” Meneris yelled loud enough to have a few heads poking out and some wolf whistles given in appreciation.

The Tevinter mage rolled his eyes then sauntered back past Cullen and Cassandra. Cullen averted his eyes whilst Cassandra shook her head at Dorian. There was the sound of a slap on bare flesh and a muffled yelp as he walked past Leliana and straightened abruptly before ducking back into the room he’d been sharing with the Inquisitor.

“Uhh...why are you, oh oh dammit.” Vic said as he slowly put two and two together. “We’re fine, Anders was just, um he had a nightmare. All is well now, sorry for waking anyone.” Vic stuttered.

Cullen exhaled with a sigh. “Is that all? Maker, I thought we were under attack,” he said. “Is he alright?”

“I think so?” Vic said as he glanced back at his lovers. “Anders?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Anders himself appeared in the doorway, his hair dishevelled and a sheepish expression upon his face. “I’m sorry. Did I wake the whole inn? Maker, I....” He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Sorry. Something that goes with the whole Warden territory. The nightmares have been getting worse lately.”

“How bad?” asked Cullen quietly.

“Pretty bad,” Anders admitted with a shudder.

“You disturbed us for a _bad dream_?” said Cassandra in disbelief. “Pfaugh!” She turned on her heel and stalked back to her bedroom, passing Varric who looked like he’d dressed hastily.

“Love you too, Seeker,” Anders muttered sourly.

“She doesn’t understand, it’s not that simple.” Fenris said quietly.

“No. It’s all too easy to understand,” said Anders quietly. “She thinks I deserve this. For Kirkwall. She doesn’t know I dream of it every night - amongst other things.” He turned away.

“Pardon us Cullen, apologies again for waking you all.” Vic said as he shut the door and latched it.

Anders stumbled back to the bed, rubbing his face tiredly. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he dropped back down on the bed and rolled onto his back. “I disturbed everybody. Ugh.” He threw his arm up over his eyes. “One night without dreaming... just one night,” he whispered.

“Will that potion help? The one you brewed for me before?” Fenris asked as he sat with Zevran and watched Vic curl up with Anders next to him.

“Maybe. Or the sleeping draught,” Anders replied dully. “I never dreamed whilst I was taking that.”

“I might have some in my pack, let me check.” Fenris rummaged around in his pack until he found a dark, squarish vial with a grey ribbon. “This is it, I believe?”

Anders lowered his arm and glanced over, then sat up and stared at the vial. “Where did you get that?” he asked in surprise. “I haven’t brewed that since that time I near poisoned myself with it on our journey to Seheron!” He reached out his hand for the vial.

“I’ve carried it...just in case I’ve needed it. I hope it’s still alright to use.” Fenris said before he crawled back into bed with Zevran and pulled the other elf’s arms around him. “You need it more I think.”

Anders shook the vial briskly then carefully uncorked it and smelled it. “It _smells_ alright,” he said cautiously. He reached for his pack and pulled out a small cup. Measuring out a bare finger of the dark green liquid, he tucked the vial safely inside the pack then sat back. “Well, bottoms up,” he said, and downed it. He stared at the dregs and blinked, then lay down again. “Dizzy,” he murmured as his eyes drifted closed.

“Sleep well, I’m right here.” Vic said as he rested his arm over the blond apostate before he closed his eyes and started to drift off. 

Fenris however wasn’t really tired, and he hoped that Zevran wasn’t either. The Crow had laid back upon the bed and lay on his side just behind Fenris, his eyes closed and one hand still flung around Fenris’ waist.

He turned in Zevran’s embrace and kissed the Antivan elf gently. “Asleep already _carissimi_? I’d hoped you were still awake.” Fenris said softly.

Zevran smiled without opening his eyes. “You know full well that I am not,” he replied quietly. He opened golden eyes to stare at Fenris.

“I’d hoped at a chance to show you I missed you my heart. But I fear I might not be ...quiet.” Fenris said with a smirk. Zevran’s gaze flicked to Invictus and Anders, then back to Fenris, and he arched one eyebrow.

“I’ve missed you… a lot.” Fenris replied huskily.

“Indeed?” purred Zevran. “Hmmm... tell me more.” He smiled encouragingly, slipping easily into Tevene.

“I’ve missed your tongue on my skin, the way only you can turn me out and have me begging for your cock.” Fenris replied.

Zevran grinned wider. “You flatter me, _carissimi_. It is quite a splendid cock, no?” He licked his lips slowly, enjoying the way the other elf’s green eyes seemed fixed upon his mouth.

“Yes, yes it is. I want it. I want you very, very much.” Fenris leaned in for another kiss but found himself pressed back to the bed. “It’s like that is it? You wish to lead?”

Zevran shrugged. “It is all the same to me; top or bottom, I am... flexible.” He grinned as he shifted back down Fenris’ body like a cat, pausing over the other elf’s groin. His grin growing devilish, he lowered his head and mouthed Fenris’ growing erection through his pants.

“You know what you do to me, I like it when you top me. But that’s no surprise.” Fenris panted.

Zevran’s grin only widened. He nipped lightly at Fenris’ skin just above the waistband of his pants, then took the lacing cord in his teeth and began to tug it loose.

“Damned tease, always so eager to get me worked up.” Fenris hissed as he watched Zevran slowly, deliberately pull the laces loose. Zevran’s reply was a low, throaty chuckle as he took the edge of the waistband of Fenris’ pants in his teeth and began to tug them down.

“Please hurry?” Fenris breathed as his pants were tugged down just enough to let his cock free. Zevran leaned up on his hands and merely grinned at the other elf. Just as Fenris opened his mouth to protest, Zevran’s head dipped down and he swallowed down Fenris’ cock in one smooth motion, right down to the base.

“Venhedis!” Fenris swore then clapped his hand over his mouth. Zevran drew his lips slowly up Fenris’ cock, his tongue pressing firmly to the underside, then swirling about the tip as he pulled away. He reached being himself for something on the table, then lowered himself again to lick a wet stripe down Fenris’ cock a gain before lifting up just enough to swallow Fenris down again.

“Maker...Maker...fuck.” Fenris swore softly as he arched his back and looked over to where Anders and Invictus were curled around each other. “I’m gonna wake them up, fuck…”

Zevran merely hummed around Fenris’ cock, then deliberately swallowed, his throat tightening in a delicious ripple around Fenris’ sensitive flesh.

That made the elven fighter whimper and reach down to curl his fingers in Zevran’s hair. “Are you trying to make me come already?” Fenris gasped. As he spoke, Zevran’s hands were busy; a moment later, as Zevran’s head drew back slightly before swallowing Fenris down again, an oil-slicked finger gently circled Fenris’ perineum before probing very gently at his entrance.

“Ca...carissimi, please!” Fenris moaned before his eyes closed and he bucked slightly into Zevran’s mouth. Zevran slowly thrust a single finger into Fenris’ willing body before beginning to work it in and out in time with the movements of his head. As Fenris felt himself cresting too close, Zevran drew back, wrapping his hand firmly around the base of Fenris’ cock, his hand tightening until Fenris felt the feeling of imminent release recede a little. A second finger slipped in beside the first, and the blond elf drew them back together in a “come hither” motion until Fenris arched off the bed with a low cry that was only barely muffled by the hand he hastily thrust into his mouth.

He bit down on his fist as Zevran opened his fingers in a scissor-like motion, opening him up further, and then Zevran smiled as he release Fenris’ cock to oil his own hard member. He gave Fenris a wink as he withdrew his fingers, and then his cock pressed against Fenris’ entrance. He began to slide very slowly into Fenris’ hot, tight body.

The taller elf cussed Zevran as he felt the other elf go slow, either on purpose or not but he felt like he was going to explode from need if the blond elf didn’t hurry. Zevran’s only answer was another chuckle, and then his hips bucked hard against Fenris as he leaned further forward, his hands splayed either side of Fenris’ body.

“Now now, _carissimi_ ,” he panted quietly. “Is that any way to talk to the person loving you so... very...thoroughly?” He punctuated his last few words with hard thrusts, angling them just right to hit Fenris’ sweet spot.

“S...sorry, forgive me.” Fenris moaned as he tried to keep from slapping the wall behind his head. “Any...thing, I’m sorry, more please.” 

Zevran chuckled as he sped up his thrusts, lifting one hand to curl it about Fenris’ neglected and weeping cock, starting to work it with his hand in time to his thrusts, bracing himself with one arm.

“Yes...please Zev...please!” Fenris gasped as he braced one hand against the wall so his head wouldn’t smack the wood with each thrust from his lover. The other wound up in his own hair, tugging at the snowy locks as he tried, and failed to remain somewhat quiet.

Zevran bit his lip and closed his eyes, his left arm trembling slightly under the strain of bracing himself even as his strokes became faster. He angled his hips more so that his cock grazed Fenris’ sweet spot with every thrust now, pounding harder into Fenris as his right hand worked faster, the thumb flicking across the slit on every upstroke.

The hand that had been in Fenris’ hair went to his mouth so he didn’t let out the scream building in his throat. He knew it would bring everyone running again and wake up Vic, if the other mage was still asleep. He whined and begged for Zevran to let him find release by arching his back, wrapping his legs around the other elf’s back, anything as his eyes closed and he felt himself getting closer to climax.

Zevran’s answer was a soft grunt as his strokes increased, driving deeper as he rolled his hips between each thrust, fingers working on Fenris’ cock, now alternating upstrokes with his hand between each thrust. “Come for me, _carissimi_ ,” he panted.

The other elf curled his fingers against the wall as he let Zevran’s strokes take him over. He had to bite down on the edge of his hand so he wouldn’t scream the place down as he came. He slumped back as he let the last tiny tremors after his orgasm go through him. Zevran’s thrusts became erratic as he chased his own climax until he came with a low, breathless groan. His hips slowed, and his head dropped, his arm now trembling with the effort of holding himself up rather than collapse on top of the other elf as he drew ragged breaths, sweat rolling slowly down his tawny skin.

He finally lifted his head and gave Fenris a grin. “I missed you too, _carissimi_ ,” he chuckled.

Fenris pulled him down for a long, slow kiss as he caught his breath. He pushed some of the other elf’s long hair from his face, a sappy grin on his as he told him how much he’d missed Zevran between kisses. “ _Mi amatus, amore_.” 

Zevran’s answer was a soft, huffed laugh. He kissed Fenris’ nose before finally allowing himself to drop to the mattress at Fenris’ side as his arm gave way. “ _Carissimi,_ ” he breathed.

Fenris grinned as he rolled to his side to continue kissing his elven lover, and pretend he couldn’t hear the rustle and slide of flesh on flesh as Vic seemed to take care of himself. He nipped at the other elf’s lip before he asked if he should help their mage out.

Zevran was quiet for a moment as he sought to calm his still-racing heart. “Is he, then, _our_ mage, _carissimi_?” he smiled, brushing his hair back from his face with one hand.

“Yeah...we...made up earlier, eagerly and he knows that he is loved. Despite his earlier protestations to the opposite.” Fenris said before he rolled over and called Vic. “Come here.”

Zevran tried to rise on his left arm then cursed in Antivan as it gave out underneath him. “Friend Anders will not be best pleased,” he murmured, eyeing a spot of blood on the white bandage about his wounded arm.

“I am displeased, I did not mean for that to happen.” Fenris said in worry.

Vic had rolled over and stared at the two men hungrily. “I didn’t ...want to get between you.” he whispered.

“And what if we want you between us?” asked Zevran, with a wicked grin and a wink.

“Very well, who am I to argue with such a compelling argument from a handsome man?” Vic replied as he kicked his pants off and came over to them.

“Zev, roll on your back, while I get comfortable.” Fenris said as he started to straddle Zev. “Is this alright?” he asked while he felt Vic settle behind them both.

Zevran pondered for a moment. “It should be fair turn and turn about, _carissimi_ ,” he pointed out. “You have received, so perhaps you should now give? Whereas Hawke has neither given nor received. He should go in the middle and do both, no?” He grinned. “And I, who have done all the work thus far, shall lie here and receive.”

“As you wish my heart.” Fenris let Vic settle over Zevran while he reached for the oil so he could let Vic start and he’d finish. “I may want more of you when we’re done...all of this has me in a mood, my heart.” Fenris whispered in Vic’s ear. Zevran settled himself a little more comfortably, then drew up his knees slightly and spread his legs, eyeing Invictus expectantly.

Vic leaned in for a brief kiss while he slipped two oiled fingers around Zev’s opening then slid one into the Antivan. “I want...Maker you two got to me. I want you to sound like that for me.” he whispered in Zevran’s ear. Zevran canted his hips to allow Invictus’ fingers to stroke deeper, and then he shivered as the mage’s fingers brushed his sensitive spot inside. He arched his back, mouth in a perfect O, voiceless.

Vic stiffened as he felt Fenris take the oil from him to slick his own fingers and his cock. He moaned into Zevran’s mouth as he felt his lover’s fingers slide into him easily. Zevran pulled away from Invictus’ mouth to purr, “You’ll have to do more than that, my friend.” He smiled.

“I… know...just held still for Fen.” Vic moaned before he pulled his fingers free, slicked himself up and pressed the head of his cock against the Antivan elf’s hole. “Tell me if I go too fast...a little excited.” 

“I can take all that you can give, friend Hawke,” Zevran assured him with a sly smile. “I do not break easily - though you are welcome to try.”

Vic grinned at that and slid into Zevran with a few short thrusts and gasps as he felt Fenris’ fingers slipping in and out of him with each thrust into the Antivan elf under him. Zevran threw his head back with a gasp, eyes wide, as he felt the burn of Invictus’ cock thrusting into him without much preparation, unprepared to be filled quite so full so swiftly. He breathed deeply through his nose as his body adjusted, then grinned, determined not to be the first to scream.

“Want me in you Hawke? Ask for it.” Fenris snarled in his lovers ear. 

“Yes...I want you, need you love!” Vic begged as he felt Zevran squeeze him when he held still.

“Hawke, you are a tease,” murmured the Antivan elf with a half-smirk, his fingers curling into the mattress beneath him as he stared at the human from beneath long golden eyelashes. He deliberately rocked his hips and tightened his muscles again, clamping down on Invictus inside him.

“Fuck… fuck you tease.” Vic gasped as he slowly started to pump his hips. “Maker yes, so fucking good....”

Zevran’s head fell back against the pillow and he gave a soft moan, canting his hips and thrusting up to meet each of Invictus’ strokes, his feet braced against the mattress giving him leverage. He opened his eyes to stare at Fenris over Invictus’ shoulder and deliberately winked at him.

Fenris returned his stare as he slid his fingers free and held Vic still for a moment so he could use the other man’s movement to guide him in. “Go on, keep fucking him… while I take you.”

Zevran writhed slowly beneath Invictus, groaning wantonly as he stared up at Invictus through half-lidded eyes. He lifted a hand and licked it, watching Invictus’ face to be sure the human’s attention was on him, then he slowly trailed the wet finger down his throat and down his chest before swirling it about one nipple before he pinched it, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger as it pebbled. He threw his head back with a low moan that went right to Invictus’ cock, buried deep in his body.

Fenris grinned against Vic’s back as he found a counter rhythm to his lover’s so he was sliding into Vic as he pulled free of Zevran. “So tight...even after I had you earlier. I know you were touching yourself as he fucked me Vic. So dirty…”

“He’s a very dirty boy,” purred Zevran. “A naughty, dirty boy....” He clenched down upon Invictus’ cock and laughed at the groan it elicited from Invictus.

“He is… caught between us as he his. It’s what he probably wanted when he heard us. isn’t it Vic?” Fenris rumbled as he slowed his strokes just enough to keep Vic full when he did slide in very, very slow. 

“Yes...filthy, dirty...yes!” Vic agreed as he tried not to come too quickly from both of them giving him a slow, hard fuck like he liked and both men feeding his needs.

Zevran grinned deviously; on Invictus’ next down stroke he pulled away, suddenly snapping his hips hard up to meet the human mage’s stroke at the last moment as he threw his head back with a loud gasp. He rocked his hips, feeling Invictus deep within him; as Invictus drew back, Zevran rotated his hips and then cried out as Invictus’ next stroke swept over his sweet spot. He shuddered, eyelids fluttering, as he did it again, as much fucking himself on the mage’s cock as the mage was fucking him.

“Fuck! Zev, be careful…” Vic moaned as he tried to figure out what the man under him wanted. “Maker...should I stop or go faster? I can’t...tell.” Vic panted as he felt Fenris speed up his thrusts. 

“Beg for it Vic, like earlier. Call my name, maybe one of us will come and let you find release or maybe...you have to wait until Anders wakes up and he’ll have to let you come for being so dirty,” Fenris growled.

“Faster... yes, faster is good,” Zevran purred as he pinched and tweaked his nipple hard again whilst raking his own nails down his chest towards his groin, red welts raising to mark the path of his fingers. He curled his fist about his own cock and began to tug, staring at Invictus all the while as he bit his lip and moaned sensuously.

“Faster, I think I can do that… if I don’t come from what you’re doing.” Vic panted as he leaned forward to brace himself and snap his hips faster against the blond elf.

“Not so fast...you need to beg us to come.” Fenris said as he tugged at Vic’s hair, glad it was long and shaggy from their travels. “So dirty, full and giving it to Zev like a good boy.”

“And Zev is a _very_ good boy,” purred the Antivan elf as he reached up and tweaked Invictus’ left nipple.

“Please… let me come, please Fen...Fenris, I'll be good too.” Vic moaned loudly as he felt Zevran tighten against him. “Fuck… no fair, Zev… Zev please oh Maker… please.”

Zevran only grinned and lifted his other hand from his cock to roll and tweak both Invictus’ nipples, twitching an eyebrow as they pebbled beneath his fingers. “Then make me stop,” he purred.

“That’s… playing dirty.” Vic moaned as he tried to swat Zev’s hands off him without losing his balance and found it difficult.

“I want him to play with you while you come for us...he’s the one full of your nice thick cock, he decides when you can come.” Fenris wrapped an arm around Vic’s waist as he slowed his strokes again while he waited for Zevran to allow their mage to come.

Zevran licked his lips slowly as he played with Invictus’ nipples, clenching on Invictus’ cock as he rose to meet every downstroke, groaning appreciatively as he regarded Invictus with sultry eyes. “Such a _naughty_ mage... whatever is to be done with you?” he murmured.

“Whatever you want, both of you...anything.” Vic moaned as he gave up trying to coax the elf under him to allow him to come, he leaned down to kiss Zev instead as he continued to stroke as fast as he could while Fenris kept up his own short, hard strokes. 

“Harder,” whispered Zevran in his ear. “I want you to fuck me so hard I cannot walk straight come morning.” He bared his teeth then bit Invictus’ ear, worrying the flesh with his teeth before letting him go.

“Yes...ser.” Vic whimpered before he did as Zevran had asked, hard enough that Fenris had to pull away rather than risk hurting either of them with the pace Vic had taken. 

Zevran’s hands fell away from Invictus’ chest as he curled them into the mattress and threw his head back, gasping with every thrust. Half-articulated words began to tumble from his lips between gasps; Invictus thought he heard the word ‘please’ and ‘now’ and ‘mercy’ amongst fragments of Tevene, Antivan and what he thought might be Orlesian.

Vic’s hips slapped against Zevran hard and fast as he tried to hold back but started to whimper. “Please….ser.” he begged raggedly.

Zevran’s breaths were coming as hard and fast pants; finally he threw his head back as his spine arched beneath Invictus as the elf finally came with a low cry, his body spasming and clenching hard on Invictus’ cock until Zevran slumped beneath him, eyes rolled back.

“Come Vic… go on love.” Fenris said as he slipped back into Vic and started to take him hard and fast again. Zevran writhed slowly beneath Invictus, little tremors still running through his limbs as he sprawled beneath the human mage, eyes half-lidded as he panted.

Vic’s eyes rolled back as he finally let himself find release and relief while Fenris took him hard, and slow, he moaned wantonly when he felt that first flex of the other man’s cock in him before he let his head rest on Zev’s chest while he was moved by Fenris’ slowing thrusts against him.

“I’m gonna sleep for a week now.” he mumbled. Beneath him, Zevran rolled his head and made a faint, weak groaning sound in the back of his throat.

Over in the other bed, Anders slept on, oblivious; as though he were dead yet somehow breathing.

Fenris fell on his back and laughed huskily. “Definitely a better end to the day than we started.” He said as he glanced up to see the sky lightening. “Damn.”

Invictus stared down at Zevran as he levered himself up onto one elbow. “Zev?” he said, nudging the elf. There was no answer. “I don’t believe it - I think he’s passed out!” 

Fenris began to laugh harder. Invictus groaned, shaking his head; he slowly pulled out of the sleeping elf, and swore to himself. He rose from the bed, limping a little as he made his way to the wash bowl. It took him a moment to pull his thoughts together enough to channel a little heat into the bowl to warm the water before he could return to the bed to carefully clean Zevran up, before he and Fenris then cleaned each other, the elf still chuckling to himself.

The first light of dawn was kissing the sky in shades of gold and pink when finally Invictus sprawled next to Anders once more, whilst Fenris curled himself around the sleeping Antivan elf. The last thing Invictus heard before sleep claimed him too was the peaceful sounds of three sleeping men. He buried his face in Anders’ golden hair and slipped away to join them in peaceful slumber.


	20. Chapter 20

Fenris grumbled when he heard movement near him and felt the cold bedside next to him. “Zev, Vic?” he mumbled as he sat up and regretted the movement. “Ow...that was a bad idea.”

“I’m here. Zevran went to get breakfast for us. I’m trying to wake Anders up,” replied Invictus.

Fenris raised himself up on one elbow and stared over at the other bed. Invictus sat straddling Anders’ hips; the blond mage still lay exactly as he’d fallen asleep, hands folded upon his breast. As Fenris watched, Invictus leaned forward and kissed Anders, but the apostate did not so much as stir.

“Come on love,” said Invictus as he gently patted Anders’ cheek. There was no response for a moment; then a small crease furrowed his brow as he frowned slightly, turning his face away a little.

“Anders! Come on, wake up, sleepy-head!” said Invictus, a little louder as he patted Anders’ cheek a little harder.

Anders’ eyes slowly drifted open, and he blinked drowsily. “Hmm?”

“Morning,” smiled Fenris as Anders sleepily attempted to focus his eyes on the elf.

Still leaning over Anders on hands and knees, Invictus reached back with one hand to palm the blond mage through the blankets. “Morning from me too,” he grinned. Anders looked up at him, sleepily bemused.

“What are you doing?” he slurred, voice still thick from sleep as he lifted a hand to rub his eyes.

“What do you _think_ I’m doing?” asked Invictus with fond exasperation.

“I believe he wants to make up for you sleeping like the dead last night and missing out on the fun.” Fenris said as he got to his feet with a groan. “I’m getting too old to have nights like that.” 

“I was trying to avoid waking everyone up again,” said Anders, still rubbing his eyes. He squirmed a little as a certain part of him woke up. “What - Maker, Vic! - what time is it?”   
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Vic purred in his ear.

“I’ll leave you to it while I get a bath, and bring Zevran, along food for you. Well for those of you actually hungry for a meal.” Fenris grinned as he leaned in to give them both a kiss before he got himself together.

Anders was still groggily trying to pull himself together, rather distracted by what Invictus was doing with his hand. He made a noise that was half frustration, half mild alarm as he writhed beneath the other mage, effectively pinned down. “Hawke.... nngh!”

“Have fun, don’t break our mage since Zevran will need healing when he gets back with our food.” Fenris laughed as he left them to hopefully have fun while he took a long, hot soak.

He left the room only to encounter Dorian sauntering back to the room he shared with Meneris. The Tevinter mage was clad only in a towel, his raven hair damp. He paused with the hand on the handle of the door, and looked Fenris up and down with a smirk before giving him a thumbs up. Grinning, he pushed the door open.

Fenris thought about giving him a scare but decided it wasn’t worth it and he was far too sore to fight anyone. Later though, if the damned mage gave him another toothy grin like that. 

As the door swung closed behind Dorian, Fenris caught a brief snatch of conversation.

“...must have been good; I swear Fenris is limping this morning....”

“It was amazing, too bad you’ll never make Invictus feel that way!” Fenris said as he passed by their doorway with a wicked grin.

He encountered Zevran at the end of the hallway, leaning against the frame of the door to the room Anders had claimed for an infirmary, talking quietly to someone inside. He had a tray balanced on his right hand; he glanced up as Fenris drew closer, and smiled.

“I trust you slept well, _carissimi_?”

“Yes, better than I have in a while. Vic was trying to start something this morning so you might want to find somewhere else to dine if they are occupied.” Fenris gave him a slow kiss before he snagged a sweet bread from the tray.

“Ah, then perhaps Hal here will be able to ease that stiffness in your walk this morning, hmm?” winked the other elf as he inclined his head towards the formerly Tranquil mage, who was standing by the table, his hands busy as he compounded some sort of ointment. Hal glanced up and smiled, and Fenris noted he wore a scarf to hide the brand upon his forehead.

“Sleep well then?” Fenris asked as he waved at the mage. 

“Indeed, though I was aware of Anders having a nightmare,” he replied as he laid down the small scoop he’d been using to measure powdered elfroot. “...that _was_ Anders, wasn’t it?” he added, cautiously.

“Yes, it was. He slept well after his potion. I’ll be back after a much needed bath.” Fenris snagged a piece of sausage and headed off. The bathing chamber was downstairs, just off the common room, near the kitchen, and Fenris had it to himself.

By the time he got back their shared room, Zevran was chuckling, whilst Invictus was sitting on Fenris’ bed looking disgruntled and Anders was sitting on his own bed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair and still looking half asleep.

“Friend Hawke has forgotten just how long it takes Anders to wake properly after he has taken his sleeping draught,” Zevran managed to explain. Anders glanced up at Fenris, still looking a little dreamily confused.

“Don’t be so cranky love, you’ll have a chance to make it up to him later.” Fenris said as he sat at the table to dig into a late breakfast. Zevran was polishing off a piece of fruit; as Anders glanced over, he tossed an apple to the blond mage who caught it one-handed.

There was a rap at the door and Hal poked his head around, glancing around the room until he spotted Anders.

“Forgive me for intruding,” he said quietly. “Anders, several people have been sent to see you for healing. I’ve been taking care of them but there’s rather more than I can handle alone, and Cullen was expecting you instead of me?”

Anders had been about to take a bite of his apple, but sighed. “No rest for the wicked,” he mused. “Go on, I’ll be there in a moment.” He rose to his feet and reached for his tunic.

Hawke grumbled under his breath as he watched Anders dressing. 

“You could always go again with Zev if you are so intent on continuing our fun from earlier love.” Fenris said with a grin. Zevran sat back with his hands raised.

“No, not I!” he said hastily. “We have a long ride ahead in the saddle, and I fear we might _all_ come to regret further such fun!” 

“Terrible isn’t it? Maybe whenever we break for the evening I can take care of you Vic?” Fenris winked at his lover before he wandered over to find his things and repack.

They had finished breakfast and packed all their gear, and Anders had still not returned from his healing duties.

“Hmm, perhaps we should go rescue our missing apostate?” suggested Zevran.

“I’ll go, might as well get out of this damned room.” Invictus huffed as he headed down to find Anders.

He found the apostate busy down in the common room, surrounded by walking wounded and a few that had obviously been carried there by their companions. Anders was bent over one such patient who had been laid out on one of the common room tables and was working on him with single-minded determination. Hal was off to one side, dealing with another patient who had a nasty gash along his arm from shoulder to wrist, the leather armour ripped and torn as though by wild animals.

Cullen was talking to one of the army officers; he glanced up as Invictus paused at the bottom of the stairs to stare around the room. Cullen nodded to the officer who saluted then left the inn as the Commander made his way over to Invictus.

“Bit of a mess,” the former Templar remarked. “One of our patrols ran into a group of demons that somehow escaped us yesterday when Meneris closed the rift; no telling how long that thing was open before we got there. We’re fortunate to have several healers with us, though none quite of Anders’ calibre. He’s been handling the worst cases with Hal assisting; the other healers are taking care of the more minor cases outside.”

Anders straightened wearily; as he turned, Hal turned and tossed a vial of lyrium to the other mage. Anders caught it, downing it in one motion before staring down at the next patient on the table before him. Hal had already dealt with man with the arm wound and had moved on to a man who was leaning on his companion, his right ankle twisted at an unnatural angle.

“I can heal a bit, or give some aid for those with minor wounds.” Vic said as he started to roll up his sleeves and look around for who needed the least amount of help.

Hal glanced up from where he was crouched by the soldier with the broken ankle. “Hawke! I could use some help here,” he called. “This ankle needs setting.”

“Sure, give me a moment to grab a healing potion.” 

“No need - I just need your strength,” said Hal as he shifted around to lay his hands upon the man’s leg. He glanced up at the soldier’s companion. “I need you to hold him steady,” he said quietly; the man nodded. Hal turned back to Invictus.

 

“I need you to pull on his foot so I can reset it and heal it,” said Hal, glancing at Invictus expectantly.

“Very well, I’m sorry but this will hurt quite a bit serah.” Vic held the young soldier’s foot steady and on Hal’s word he began to pull.

Hal’s hands began to glow with a cool blue light even before he nodded to Invictus; the soldier stiffened, then stared down at Hal in surprise. The sound of realigning bones, cracking and snapping with a wet sound through broken wounded flesh was stomach churning to hear, but the soldier merely watched in dull surprised without a sound. 

Hal kept one hand on the soldier’s calf as he laid the other hand over the ankle, and as Invictus watched the broken skin knitted itself together over healing bones. Presently the mage nodded to Invictus. “You can let go now,” he said as he straightened and then staggered slightly.

Vic caught him and helped the red headed mage to a chair, and without asking handed him lyrium. “That’s impressive.”

Hal downed the lyrium then shrugged. “Nerve block to stop the pain before you start healing. It takes more effort to maintain, but the patient heals faster without the pain. I’m just tired; it’s been a bit hectic.” He waved at Anders. “I think he could use some help - he’s been handling all the really bad cases, including two that needed surgery.”

“I’ll do what I can, I’m better at potions and basic things. Fenris is better with stitching people up if you want to get him please?” Vic said as he headed over to his lover with lyrium at the ready.

Anders glanced up, distracted; his eyes had the unfocused look that Invictus had long ago learned meant the blond mage’s senses were within the body of his patient rather than the external world. “Yes... Fenris... Fenris would be good.” He turned back towards the body before him, one hand inside the gaping wound in the abdomen. “And lyrium,” he added absently over his shoulder. “Hal?”

“Here,” said the red-headed mage as he swiftly made his way to the other side of the table. He glanced down at what Anders was doing and gulped, then looked up at Invictus, alarmed, his own hands already glowing blue. “Get Fenris!” he mouthed.

“Alright, be back in moment.” Vic dashed out to get Fenris, nearly crashing into Dorian and Meneris as he skirted them. “Sorry!” he called out before he skidded into the room.

“Anders, needs you. He’s been healing all this time.” Vic panted.

“ _Venhedis_!” swore Fenris as he leapt to his feet and raced back down the hall, barely even registering the presence of the Inquisitor and his Tevinter companion. Invictus was left to follow.

“My word, what on earth-” began Dorian, then stepped back as Invictus followed close behind his elven lover. He glanced at the elven Inquisitor. “Meneris, something’s up.” 

Fenris hurried into the room and swore as he watched Anders step back from the wounded man he’d helped and nearly fall into Hal’s arms. “How long has he been healing without lyrium?”

“He’s already had three vials!” exclaimed Hal. 

Anders held a hand out as he struggled upright. “More lyrium,” he said, breathing hard. “Hal, this bleeding needs to be stemmed. Fenris - something stuck in his lungs, can’t get it out - feels like metal....” He blinked, then glanced around. “I need lyrium, dammit!”

“Move” Fenris phased his hand into the young man’s chest… and frowned. “Guide me.” 

Anders laid a hand lightly on Fenris’ arm and closed his eyes. He gently guided the elf, then paused. “There... do you feel it? A piece of blade perhaps....”

“Yes, it’s wedged in and you’d not be able to get it without breaking his ribs.” Fenris gave the young man an apologetic look before he closed his eyes, concentrated and pulled the bit of blade free. Anders immediately laid his hands over the wound, working swiftly to contain the bleeding then begin the work of rebuilding the man’s lungs, weaving together sinew, muscle and flesh and slowly drawing fresh skin over the wound. 

Hal swiftly uncorked another vial of lyrium and set it to Anders’ lips when he faltered; Anders drank without opening his eyes. Hal added his magic to Anders’, letting the more experienced healer guide him.

Finally both mages lowered their hands. “It’s done,” said Anders wearily. “He’ll live, though Maker, that was close.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a bloody hand, unheeding of the dark smear he left upon his face. He staggered.

“Sit down right now, and rest. No more damned lyrium either before you poison yourself...again.” Vic snapped. 

“What?... oh,” said Anders, wearily, sagging in Invictus’ arms. He didn’t argue as the other mage manhandled him into a chair.

“I think that was the last of-” began Cullen as he strode back in, then paused, taking in the room. “Right. Yes. Anders is done, and I can see you’re not much better, Hal. Just give me two minutes.” He strode back out of the room, and a moment later three Chantry sisters and several soldiers came in. They checked over the remaining patients and herded them outside as Cullen returned.

“Excellent job of triage there; the other healers can take care of those and keep an eye on your patients in here,” Cullen said as he came over to crouch down by Anders. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. “The truth, mind.”

“Exhausted, but I’ll be fine if I can have a chance to rest and eat,” said Anders. Cullen nodded.

“After that demon attack, we won’t be moving off from here now until tomorrow morning at the latest. The Inquisitor won’t be happy, but these things can’t be helped. How soon will the men you operated on be fit to travel back to Skyhold?”

“Two or three days,” replied Anders. He glanced up as Fenris brought him a cup of wine and managed to muster a tired smile. “Thank you love,” he murmured.

“Wait there,” said the elf in a low voice.

“Not going anywhere,” Anders assured him with a wry grin as Invictus squeezed his shoulder gently.

“WIll they need further attention from you?” asked Cullen. Anders shook his head.

“No; just rest, regular nursing; the Chantry sisters can manage _that_ much, at least,” he said, his lip curling slightly in derision.

Cullen let it go. “In that case, I suggest Hawke gets you back upstairs to your room. I’ll have food sent, and you can sleep it off.”

Anders nodded as the Commander turned away. He paused by the foot of the stairs and glanced back.

“Anders? The Inquisition thanks you for what you’ve done today.”

“Was I supposed to just stand around whilst men bled to death, Cullen?” exclaimed Anders. “I’m a healer. Of course I healed them.” He waved the former Templar off. “Maker, I am so tired,” he murmured as Cullen headed upstairs to report to the Inquisitor.

“Love...” began Invictus.

“No, I’ll be alright,” said Anders. “I just need to actually eat and then rest a little while.”

“Come on, let’s get you back upstairs love,” said Invictus. Anders nodded, and let the other mage pull him to his feet. He glanced over his shoulder. “Hal?”

“I’ll be there in a moment,” said the formerly Tranquil mage. “Let me just tidy up here and I’ll be right there.”

“Let the Chantry sisters deal with it,” growled Fenris. “You have both done more than enough.” He took the startled mage by the elbow and steered him towards the stairs after Invictus and Anders. 

“No arguing either, both you and Anders are two nugs in a damned pot. Give, give, give till nothing is left. I’ll have food sent to your room, along with your warden.” Fenris said as he led Hal up the stairs and towards the infirmary.

“...demons, Vic - Maker, they just walked into them with no warning, there could be others out there still roaming the countryside,” Anders was saying as Invictus pushed him back down onto the bed. “Hawke, we need to get out there, they don’t know what they’re facing -”

“No we do not. Do not start that Anders, you are a vial short of being poisoned and you can’t even stand up on your own right now. Remember that drive to heal? It’s what pulled us through to Arden’s Kirkwall, we are not repeating that, in any sense. Do you understand me?” Vic asked in a low hiss.

Anders fell back against the pillow. “But -” He broke off when he saw the look on Invictus’ face. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. I think a kitten could probably best me right now.” He glanced to the doorway where Fenris had just appeared with Hal, who didn’t look much better than he felt.

“Belann is still sleeping, though I suspect he will stir soon,” said Hal as he dropped down onto the nearest chair. He rubbed his face slowly, then glanced up at Fenris with a thankful look. “Thanks, love,” he said tiredly, then froze. “I’m... I’m sorry, I forgot which Thedas I was in for a moment,” he said hastily as he blushed.

“It’s alright it must be confusing for you, I know I fainted dead away when I realized where I was that first time.” Vic said with a smile. 

“All of you rest, I will check with Cullen and the Inquisitor about our next moves.” Fenris said as he made for the door. Hal unnerved him in a way he couldn’t put his finger on and he wanted to be away. Hal watched him go with a stricken look, then turned away, dropping his head into his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “He just looks....” He closed his eyes then sighed. “I’m sorry. Back in... _our_ Thedas... Fenris and I are... very close.”

“So I gathered during our short visit, the other...me was rather distraught by the idea of your demise.” Fenris said quietly.

Hal’s head jerked up. “Maker, I know - I... I felt so guilty, I had no idea. That explains a great deal though... you must have all thought me dead?” He glanced over at Anders and Invictus.

“I certainly did,” said Anders quietly. “Though Maker knows, I was glad to be proven wrong.”

“None of us thought you’d survived the dragon. I am sure your Fenris was relieved to see you return to him.” Fenris said quietly.

Vic took his lover’s hand and squeezed gently. “It’s alright love, that whole year was a nightmare.”

Anders shuddered. “Not entirely sure this year isn’t,” he replied. “Maker, so much seems like a bad dream right now.”

Hal was staring at his hands. “I don’t suppose there are many mages who can claim to have been restored from Tranquility and to have taken down an archdemon,” he said quietly, trying to smile. He glanced back up at Fenris. “Strangely, I don’t feel very lucky. If there truly is a Maker, I feel like His plaything.”

“Join the club.” Fenris gave him a sad smile before he pulled from them and went in search of Cullen. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart about that year.

The Commander was standing at the doorway of the Inquisitor’s room, running through a list of items. “And three wounded that need to be returned to Skyhold; Anders assures me that in about three days they should be fit to travel, with adequate nursing, but no sooner,” concluded the former Templar. “We have four patrols out searching for sign of any other demon incursions, but I suspect that was the only significant one, Inquisitor.”

Fenris leaned against the other side of the door and waited for Cullen to finish. “What do you need of us Commander? Hal and Anders are resting but Invictus, Zevran and I can be of use until we depart.” 

Cullen started, then glanced at Fenris. “We should be ready to move tomorrow morning, but if you’re looking for a job, I’m sure you would be of great assistance to one of our patrols,” he remarked. “You certainly have proven you know how to handle demons on more than one occasion - saving the Inquisitor and maybe a handful of others, you’re perhaps what we could consider experts on the subject,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you could advise my patrol leaders?”

“I...if you wish Commander.” Fenris glanced down as he pondered Cullen’s request. He didn’t think they would follow his word but if it was asked of him, he’d try his best.

“I don’t expect you to accompany them, Fenris,” said Cullen quietly. “Just give them some idea of what to expect. You’ve seen what happens when a patrol blunders upon one unawares, but... your insight could save lives.”

“I’d rather accompany, that is easier than speaking to men that don’t know me and may not accept what I have to say. “ Fenris replied. 

Cullen nodded. “I’ll call the patrols together in the morning; perhaps if you, Invictus and Zevran accompany a patrol each?” suggested Cullen. “Anders and Hal should be adequately recovered by then to accompany you.”

“If you wish, and if they need a primer on what to expect in terms of facing demons I will still try to prepare them for it.” Fenris said. 

Cullen glanced at Meneris, then sighed as he ran a hand through his short golden curls.

“We should be better - I’ll admit that,” agreed the former Templar. “We’ve been effectively making this up as we went along. The march to the Adamant Fortress is probably not the best time to institute a wholesale training program, but this has definitely highlighted a shortcoming in our training structures. I think at this point, a primer and then adequate healing backup is the best we can hope for.” He shook his head. “I cannot ask you to go with every patrol, and I cannot expect Anders to put back together every patrol that gets it wrong.”

“Very well, let me know where to meet your men and I will do as best as I can.” Fenris gave a nod of his head and gave Meneris a slight nod. “Unless you need anything of me, Inquisitor?” 

“Actually yes, if you don’t mind coming in for a moment?” Meneris asked with a glance toward Dorian who suddenly seemed to find the floor fascinating.

Fenris frowned as he glanced to Cullen, who excused himself then headed back downstairs. Fenris glanced to the Inquisitor. “As you wish,” he finally said, stepping over the threshold.

Dorian turned away, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket as though disinterested in proceedings. Fenris glared at him, then turned to Meneris. “Inquisitor?”

“I would like to clear the air between us three. We are going into a bad situation at Adamant, and I don’t need you ready to rip his head off though he might deserve it for ...infringing on your quadra...your lovers. I don’t want to worry about any of you or what could happen on the field.” Meneris held a hand up to silence the other elf’s protest before he got angry. 

“You are all formidable and I need you as allies, I won’t lie and say I like the idea of begging pardon but Dorian did you wrong and I knew of his transgression and said nothing at first.”

Fenris glanced aside at the floor. He could feel his wrath mounting but held it in check as he curled his hand into a fist. “Go on,” he said coldly, his voice flat.

“I would ask your forgiveness, both for my lie of omission and not being a better friend to you upon meeting. I have wronged you twice now and I would ask you to forgive me. I will let Dorian speak for himself.” Meneris finished.

Dorian glanced over, and gave Fenris a sad smile. “What can I say? I suspect that anything would sound like a weak excuse.” He shrugged. “Very well... yes, I found Hawke attractive. We flirted; I propositioned, he accepted. We were grown men.”

“Yes. You were,” said Fenris slowly. “Grown men - and he should have known to refuse.”

“Then am I to blame for the fact he did not?” said Dorian, arching one eyebrow. “We both heard you all the other night. It seems you both have appetite - and to spare. Will you then hold it against me that I offered and he accepted? It was his choice, after all.”

Fenris turned away. He wanted to lash out at the Tevinter mage - and yet, he was right. Dorian had offered - but still, it was Invictus who had chosen to accept when he could have refused. 

The elf turned and paced a few steps then halted his hand curling into a clenched fist. He wanted to rip Dorian’s heart out of his chest - but why? Because he had slept with Invictus?

Or merely because he had been born in privilege in that land where Fenris himself had been enslaved?

He turned upon Dorian. “You are a slave owner,” he growled.

“And show me anyone who is not, in Minrathous?” exclaimed Dorian, stepping back with hands raised. “Yes, my family owned slaves; I will freely admit that. I bought none myself.” He stared at Fenris. “It is own or be owned, in Tevinter. You know this.” His eyes narrowed. “But there is more to your question than this.”

Fenris turned away. “You are like Danarius, twisting everything!” he growled.

Dorian stared at him. “Am I?” he asked quietly.

“Yes!” growled Fenris. “A slave owner, blood mage-”

“I have never used blood magic,” said Dorian quietly. “Ask Menerius.”

“That is true, though we differ on his opinion about slavery still.” The Dalish Inquisitor shrugged and let his lover and fellow elf to their own argument. It seemed that Fenris had more of a bone to pick with Dorian than just sleeping with Invictus.

Dorian stripped off his sleeves and held out his arms. “See for yourself - no scars,” he said, glaring at Fenris as though in challenge.

The white-haired elf grasped Dorian’s wrist and wrenched it closer, inspecting it carefully. “I see no scars, but that means nothing,” he sneered. “You might have sacrificed slaves in your stead.”

“You think Meneris would have permitted me to slaughter captives?” said Dorian quietly. “You think I would have killed others for the sake of a meagre scrap of power?” He shook his head. “You think so little of the Inquisitor that he would permit a blood mage to lay hands upon him as I have done? He would sleep with such as I?” He shook his head as he wrenched his arm free from Fenris, turning away. “You listen to the Reverend Mother too much,” he said quietly.

“I listen to no Chantry bitch!” growled Fenris.

“Alright you two, I asked to speak so we could clear the air, not fight more between us.” Meneris got between them, hands out to keep them apart, sure to keep his Mark away from the other elf.

“What is it Fenris? This is more than anger over him having a tumble with your lover; and Dorian you’re worked up about this. Why are you so angry?” Meneris asked in annoyance at them both.

Dorian smiled lopsidedly. “Meneris, my love; ever so perceptive, and yet so blind at the same time,” he said sadly as he turned back towards the Inquisitor. “In the Empire, slaves such as Fenris are common. Free elves are almost unheard of. They are property, and treated as such.” He glanced at Fenris almost apologetically. “You may as well ask a chair if it minds being sat on.”

“This _chair_ would rip your heart out!” snarled Fenris. Dorian nodded slowly.

“I daresay it would at that,” he concurred. “Meneris, you have never lived in a world where you were not treated as a person. Yes, I know - you were looked down upon for being an elf, but never as though you were an _object_.” Dorian turned to face Fenris. “But Fenris has been the possession of a magister. And I remind him too much of those times; of the people who treated him as an object. And I... I suppose, in a way, I took something from him, briefly.”

“You... Invictus is not an _object_ to be stolen!” spat Fenris.

“Quite,” said Dorian, his eyes hardening slightly. “And I stole no-one. Hawke came to me of his own accord. Maybe I should not have flirted; maybe I should not have agreed when he responded.” Dorian took a step closer to Fenris. “But he _did_ respond. And I did not deny him. We were grown men, and Hawke was no-one’s slave.”

Fenris felt like he couldn’t breathe at Dorian’s words and he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the other man’s smug face. “Inquisitor, your ...lover has said his piece and it’s clear he has no intention of apologizing or being sorry for what he’s done. If you are done with your apology, I will take my leave before I do something that cannot be undone.”

“Fenris,” said Dorian quietly. “I did nothing wrong. I merely indicated an interest; it was Hawke’s choice to pursue that. Am I to blame for his choice? That was not blood magic. That was merely... human failing.”

“Dorian...perhaps your choice of words was not the best way to get your point across?” Meneris said gently.

Dorian inclined his head in acknowledgement, “Perhaps. But Fenris is an intelligent man; one who would, I presume, know his lover well. And maybe it is not my place to speak - but when he bedded me, Invictus Hawke did not behave like a man unused to such liaisons. He reacted like one who is used to casual affairs of the flesh. Had I known that was not the case....” He shrugged. “Perhaps you are not the only one who has been mislead and used, Fenris.”

Meneris glanced at Fenris to see if the other elf was going to explode at the intimation about Invictus or simply storm out as he expected.

Fenris was staring at Dorian, his expression unreadable. “Explain.”

“What is there to explain?” said Dorian as he made his way over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine. He sank back into a seat then glanced back at Fenris. “Your boyfriend is not the first to scratch his itch with me then turn their back. I doubt it’s the last time it’ll happen to me either. It happened all the time back home.” He raised the glass in a vague toast then downed it swiftly. “Meneris is the only one who ever wanted anything to do with me afterwards. For some reason he seems to think I’m worth it.” He glanced back at the elven Inquisitor with a fond glance. “He’s the first who saw more than a pretty face and a witty tongue.”

“Maker above man.” Meneris covered his face with his hand and groaned softly. He turned to face Fenris in an attempt to get something out of a reaction from him. “Fenris, do you even care for our apologies? Poor as his is, and as simple as mine was?” 

Fenris stared at Dorian silently, then slowly turned back to the Inquisitor. “He... truly believes that it meant nothing to Hawke?” He seemed to be mentally wrestling inwardly with the idea. He glanced back at Dorian. “That Hawke... cared nothing for you?”

Dorian frowned. “Why would he? It was sex, nothing more.” He gave Fenris a wry smile, “I am under no illusions that Hawke gives a damn about me otherwise.”

Fenris glanced away. “I... see. And... you seek nothing further?”

“Why would I?” asked Dorian. “I’m not one to push where I’m not wanted. Hawke’s behaviour since then has made that abundantly clear.”

“You got him in bed once love, you don’t think Fenris has a right to be worried?” Meneris asked quietly.

“I think Hawke has made it quite clear he feels I was... a _mistake_ ,” said Dorian bitterly as he glanced away. “I suppose I should be thankful that here, at least, he can’t threaten to go running to my father or seem likely to try blackmailing me.” As he lowered his glance, Fenris caught a glimpse of genuine hurt in the Altus’ grey eyes before their gaze dropped to the floor.

“Dorian...that’s not what he’d do even if this was different. He was guilty as far as I could tell, right Fenris?” Meneris asked as he sat in front of his lover and tried to get his attention.

Fenris stared at the two men. “Hawke knew how Anders and I would feel about his... indiscretion,” he said slowly.

Dorian barked a brief laugh. “An indiscretion! Yes, I suppose I was,” he mused, not meeting Meneris’ eyes. “You needn’t worry. I won’t be an _indiscretion_ again. He can barely stand to even look at me anyway.”

Fenris’ frown deepened. “That is not what I meant,” he said with a flare of irritation. “Hawke’s weakness was his own. That he took advantage... that is something he will have to answer for. But you offered him a temptation. Do you deny it?”

“Yes, I flirted with him, dammit!” exclaimed Dorian, finally glaring up at the white-haired elf with something like his usual spirit. “Can you blame me? He certainly returned it readily enough!”

Fenris glared at the Altus, then surprisingly relented a little as he glanced aside. “No. I... cannot say that I can. Invictus is... charismatic. You would not be the first to become... enamoured of him.” He rubbed the back of one foot against the calf of the other leg and looked discomforted.

“But the first time he has given in to the temptation I take it?” Meneris asked over his shoulder. 

Fenris looked, if anything, even more uncomfortable. “No.”

“The first time he didn’t tell you about it or you weren’t there I meant.” Meneris said as he rose and went over to the warrior. “What is it?”

Fenris was actually blushing, the tips of his ears going almost crimson. “Hawke has... formed attachments before. Usually I was... aware of it. This is the first time he kept it from me, though he should have known I would realise.” He glanced back at Meneris. “I was angry enough upon my own account, but it was the effect upon Anders I could not forgive.”

Dorian looked genuinely regretful. “Then I apologise,” he said. “I hadn’t realised the dynamic between you all. It seemed that the Champion was used to... scratching his itches where he would, and I had heard that Ferelden’s Circles were pretty liberal in that regard. I should have realised that I should not have presumed.” He looked at the empty glass in his hand, then set it down. “Would it help if I spoke to your Anders?”

“I cannot speak for him, you may ask and if he agrees then so be it.” Fenris said dejectedly.

Dorian nodded understanding. “Fenris... I truly am sorry. I honestly thought- no, I don’t think it really matters what I thought.” He shifted round until he was facing the elf, looking up at the white-haired warrior. “Fenris, I am not like Danarius. I am not a magister. I have left Minrathous behind. Perhaps it is hard for you to see past that, and given what I know of your past, I can understand that. But we are not in Minrathous. Here, you and I are equals, as is Hawke. As is Anders. Can we not both put this behind us, for the sake of what we must deal with now? If Anders will permit, I will apologise to him.”

“I don’t own him, ask yourself. Forgiveness will be slow in coming.” Fenris said slowly.

Dorian nodded. “No more than I expected,” he said quietly with a shrug. “Or, I suppose, than I deserve.” He sat back and waved a hand at Fenris. “I must say, Hawke is a lucky man. I hope he appreciates that.” He grinned suddenly, a slight twinkle in his eye.

“He’s lucky he yet breathes after he betrayed my trust.” Fenris said angrily.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Meneris asked.

Fenris blinked. “For me?” he said slowly. “No. I... do not think you can. Except....” He glanced back at Meneris, his expression sharp. “Grant Anders a full pardon. He feels beholden, that he must do whatever the Inquisition demands of him. He still fears imprisonment. He would work himself to death for you out of fear. Tell him he is a free man. I ask nothing for myself - only this.”

“It will be done, before we leave tomorrow and I will send word back to Skyhold so it can be known through Thedas. I know he was not himself in Kirkwall, and I would not see him condemned for someone else’s actions.” Meneris gave him a slight bow before he stepped back in front of Dorian.

“Then... I am satisfied,” said Fenris with a nod. He cast Dorian a last glance, holding Dorian’s eyes for a long moment, his own eyes narrowed thoughtfully before he nodded again and turned back to Meneris. “By your leave?” 

“You do not need my permission Fenris, I’ve no sway over you or your companions. I would have you at my side as an equal, not someone who answers to me. Thank you for hearing me...us.” Menris gave him a nod of the head and waited for the other elf to go. 

“An equal... that is good to know,” replied Fenris. He turned on his heel without a backwards glance and departed in search of Anders and the others.

“That... went almost too well,” observed Dorian quietly.


	21. Chapter 21

It wasn’t until after lunch the following day that the Inquisition forces were able to assemble, ready for orders and to head out. However, there was one thing to do before they set out. Meneris stepped out, his armor bright after being polished, and the leather creaked as he walked out to stand with Cullen. He gave the former templar a nod so he’d be at the ready for any protest that broke out.

“Before we depart, there is one thing I must do. Warden Anders, step forward.”

Anders’ head snapped up and he stared around, startled. He looked to Invictus and Fenris fearfully, then swung down out of his horse’s saddle and approached the Inquisitor, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders as he walked. He paused before the Inquisitor, then dropped to one knee, waiting.

“Get up, there’s no need for all that Anders.” Meneris held out his hand to help him up. Anders stared at the proffered hand then up at Meneris before taking it and rising to his feet, self-conscious at how he towered over the elf. His expression bespoke of his bewilderment as his glance flicked to Cullen then back to the Inquisitor.

“You’re alright, I just need you not to faint when I make this announcement,” Meneris said quietly before he reached back for the pardon, neatly penned on lambskin parchment and ready to be read.

Anders stared at the parchment, then back at the Inquisitor, barely beginning to take in what was happening, faint hope flickering in his eyes. He swallowed hard and tried to remember how to breathe.

Meneris glanced over to Fenris then back to the parchment he’d unrolled. “It is the official decree of The Inquisition that Warden Anders, formerly of Ferelden, most current known residence being the city of Kirkwall and now a member of the Inquisition; be fully pardoned for his actions in Kirkwall. It has been proven that he was under the influence of a maleficar, and did not provoke the actions that led to the Chantry’s destruction of his own free will. He is considered a member of our forces and is not to be harmed, hunted, or have grievous action taken upon him in vengeance.

“Anyone ignoring the will of the Inquisition will submit themselves to Serah Fenris, Invictus Hawke or Zevran Arainai, Crow Master of Antiva for judgement. It is so ordered. Do all gathered understand and accept this pardon?”

Anders’ eyes had widened at the words “fully pardoned”, and as Meneris continued, he closed his eyes and swayed, trying to take in what was happening. Cullen stepped forward to catch his arm.

“Pull yourself together, man!” the Commander muttered.

As Meneris finished his pronouncement, an uproar broke out. From somewhere behind Meneris he could hear Cassandra loudly declaiming the pardon.

“No, he _cannot_! I do not accept!” she yelled. From the crowd of soldiers, some were yelling similar sentiments; there were scattered cries of “hang him!” and “The Rite! Make him Tranquil!” whilst a small yet very vocal group on the other hand were equally loudly cheering; Fenris thought he recognised some of the soldiers who had been present in the common room the previous day as Anders healed their comrades.

“Silence!” roared Cullen, and slowly the shouting died away as they waited to see what the Inquisitor would say to the naysayers and dissenters. Anders had turned very pale, though he had opened his eyes and had them fixed upon Meneris.

Fenris dismounted to stand with Anders, just in case something happened.

“Seeker, do you have something to say? Despite the evidence showing he was enthralled? Confirmed by our own Commander?” Meneris asked.

“I have seen no evidence,” she replied as she stalked forward. “If there is such evidence, it should have been presented to a duly appointed court. There should have been a trial. There has been none of these things. What proof do we have that he has not enthralled the Commander himself? It is known that there is a past history between them. If this apostate truly is innocent of the charges laid against him, then let him prove it in court.”

There were shouts of agreement from the crowd; they died away only slowly as Cullen turned and glared.

Fenris glared at Cassandra as he stepped forward. “Seeker, you actually think I would remain with a maleficar? Knowing me as you do, knowing what I have suffered at the hands of Tevinter? Would you think he could enthrall all of us so easily? Did you not know Cullen before we came along? Do you think he could control me, Invictus, Meneris, Pavus, Cullen, all of us to this degree? You must be a fool if you think one man could control all of us and not be found out.” Fenris had gotten in Cassandra’s face as he spoke, his voice rose just enough to carry but not enough to turn into a shouting match.

“Seeker, would you gainsay your friend and Commander like this because we didn’t follow some arbitrary protocol that we have no time for in the field?” Meneris asked.

“There’s an easy way to counter your claim and set this matter straight once and for all,” declared Dorian as he stepped forward. He gestured at Cullen and a small ball of light flew from his hand to strike the Commander full in the chest. Cullen doubled over, clutching at his chest plate with a grunt of pain.

Several soldiers ran forward towards Dorian, but Cullen waved them back. “Stand down!” he ordered them breathlessly. “I am unharmed.”

“If the Commander had been enthralled, I could not have done that without Cullen attacking me. He is not possessed; he acts of his own free will. Further more, there is one last test. If Anders is the maleficar you claim, then Cullen - as one who was once a Templar - will not be able to act against Anders.” He turned and stared at the blond apostate.

“I’m rather sorry about this,” he said quietly, then he raised his voice. “Cullen, please lay a smite upon Anders and block his magic.”

Anders swallowed hard, then stared at Cullen. “Go ahead, do it,” he said quietly.

Cullen nodded, and raised a hand. Anders suddenly staggered back as he felt his connection to the Fade suddenly severed; he would have fallen if Fenris had not caught him.

“And there you have it,” said Dorian diffidently. “Cullen is not possessed; he is not enthralled to Anders and has rendered him helpless. Your claims are proven baseless and without merit.” He turned back to Meneris. “As you were, Inquisitor.” He stepped back, a small smirk upon his lips as he gave Fenris a small wink.

“Do you need me to carry you, love?” Fenris whispered in his ear.

“Just... just give me a moment,” panted Anders. “I just need a moment.” He glanced at Meneris.

Cassandra glared with hate at Dorian and then Anders. “I... withdraw my accusation,” she said grudgingly.

“There was nothing for you to accuse--” Fenris stopped when he heard Anders’ quiet plea to drop it. 

“It’s alright, Fenris,” he said quietly. “It’s done.” He nodded to Meneris as he slowly straightened. “Inquisitor.”

“Anders,” Meneris gave them all a final, long glance before he called for everyone to mount up and be ready to leave. “Ten minutes, we are on the road. Anyone not ready gets left here and can make their way back to Skyhold.” He held out the parchment to Anders, who took it gratefully before Meneris dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“Anders, I really am sorry about that,” said Cullen quietly as they turned away. Anders shook his head.

“No, it was a smart idea of Dorian’s. Not much fun to be on the receiving end of, but the effects will fade soon enough,” Anders shrugged.

“Yes, well, I shall be having words with Dorian later anyhow,” Cullen shrugged, then winced. “I swear he enjoyed hitting me with that - that spirit bolt, or whatever it was.” He waved them off as he headed towards his own horse.

Anders was grateful for Fenris’ assistance as he mounted his mare; he tucked the precious pardon away safely in his saddlebag as the elf mounted up on his own horse. The blond apostate still had a faintly thunderstruck look about him as he guided his horse over next to Invictus.

“I honestly thought for a few minutes there that I was about to be executed in front of everyone,” he confessed quietly. “Or that the Seeker was going to insist on holding a trial right there and then in public.”

“I’d have taken her head if she’d insisted on that.” Fenris said as he joined them. 

“I don’t think that would have gone well for anyone if she’d tried it love. Well you have the official pardon and Meneris will likely send word out so you can travel safely again,” Vic said as he glowered at the Seeker from time to time.

“I should be careful however, friend Anders,” said Zevran quietly. “You have made an enemy in the Seeker, and I do not think this will be the end of it. I also do not think a certain Prince of Stakhaven will respect pieces of parchment should he find you in his sights.”

“I doubt he would either,” confessed Anders, and sighed. “Just as long as he doesn’t try to turn me into a pincushion in the next couple of hours or so - because right now I couldn’t so much as light a candle, much less throw a fireball, and a child could probably best me in a fight.”

“You have us with you, and believe me if we should run into Sebastian? He won’t know what hit him by the time I am done with him. Between attempting to aerate Zevran and the looming threat he poses to you, I owe him more than his due,” Fenris snarled.

“How _is_ that arm, Zevran?” asked Anders. “I noticed you somewhat favouring it yesterday.”

“Ah, it was nothing. A little stiffness,” Zevran shrugged. “It is fine today. And if it troubles me, I shall have Hal look at it; it is no matter.”

Anders frowned but let it go.

A little ahead of them, Hal rode next to Belann. The Warden seemed mostly recovered from his faint and enforced prolonged rest; he had been quite quiet and withdrawn on finally awakening, no doubt still coming to terms with being in the wrong reality. Hal, on the other hand, seemed to have adapted quite swiftly. He wore a thin red scarf over his brand, and it seemed no-one else had so much as given it a second glance, accepting him as yet one more refugee mage who had thrown his lot in with the Inquisition.

Fenris was on alert as they rode, concerned that some among them might try for a shot at Anders, easily disguised as an accident on the road. Invictus scowled as he watched Meneris and Dorian chatting amiably as they rode ahead of them. While he was glad the other mage had thought of showing how Anders wasn’t possessed, he was still sore about their dalliance.

Anders seemed unaware of Fenris’ concern, or the way Zevran kept casting his eyes around thoughtfully as though sizing up possible trouble or would-be attackers; as the smite slowly wore off and he felt his magic returned, he sat straighter in the saddle, his riding becoming more relaxed as he guided the chestnut mare with knees and a single light hand on the reins. He grinned at a joke from Zevran, and then a casual remark from Invictus had him burst out into genuine laughter. It seemed to have finally sunk in that he was, indeed, a free man.

“Seems freedom suits you love, you look… _happy_ ,” Fenris remarked as he remained vigilant as they rode, worried about his lovers safety even if Anders seemed to be unconcerned.

“And why not?” Anders grinned. “I don’t think there’s ever been a time when I wasn’t on the run from one thing or another; never a time when I was actually, _truly_ free. Even on my escapes from the Circle, I always knew they’d catch me eventually. In Kirkwall it seemed I was always only one jump ahead of the Templars, right up to the end; and when we arrived in Skyhold I think part of me just assumed that eventually it would all be over - there’d be a trial, sentence pronounced, and then either Tranquility or the hangman’s noose. To be given my freedom... even though I still have the Calling over my head, I’m actually _free_ now. It’s....” He grinned, then laughed, unable to fully put it into words.

“I’m grateful for the pardon, and to see you so light hearted,” Invictus said with a grin for his lovers. 

“I’m still dreading what we’ll find when we reach the Adamant Fortress, but that’s still some ways off yet,” said Anders. “Speaking of which, I should speak with Loghain at some point - and Belann and that Blackwood fellow as well, if I can figure out where he’s got to,” he added as he glanced around. “That’s weird, actually,” he went on slowly. “I can feel Belann up ahead, and Loghain’s about a hundred yards behind us. But I can’t feel any other Wardens around us.”

“Is it possible he had not yet taken the Joining when the Inquisition brought him on?” Fenris asked as they went.

Anders frowned. “As I understand it, he wears the Warden uniform - the full one at that. Recruits not yet past the Joining don’t get issued that. And the way Cullen was speaking of him, they all seem to accept him as a full Warden. I just don’t understand why I can’t feel him, unless he’s hiding right at the back of the luggage train behind the army. But why would he be back there? Makes no sense.”

“Half the things we do don’t make sense,” Vic muttered. “I am getting the sense he might have pulled a fast one on the Inquisition. With no other Wardens present, he wouldn’t be caught out.” 

“Then perhaps it is no surprise that he has avoided you all,” said Zevran. He smiled enigmatically. “Hmm, I think perhaps my fine stallion is feeling restless and needs to stretch his legs. If I should happen to have a good look for this strange Warden, well....” He grinned; suddenly his black stallion reared, pawing the air with a shrill whinny, and then Zevran was off.

“This will be an embarrassment to the Inquisition if this Blackwall is found out to have fooled them the whole time,” Fenris said as he cantered closer to his lovers. 

“Better to find him out now than to let the deception continue, if that is the case,” Vic agreed.

“I’m going to have a word with Belann,” Anders said. “Maybe I’m mistaken. With this wretched false Calling I can’t be fully certain of anything right now where the Warden taint is concerned.” He spurred his mare forwards to ride alongside the Warden.

“He is not concerned for his safety at all. That pardon isn’t a damn shield,” Fenris muttered as he watched Anders dart ahead.

“Let him enjoy the moment love, he’s got something he didn’t expect. Actually none of us seemed surprised except you. Why’s that, hmm?” Vic asked.

Fenris arched an eyebrow at Invictus. “It seemed inevitable once the Inquisitor had seen the evidence for himself. Cullen was satisfied, and he seemed to be the one we most needed to persuade. It was only a matter of time, and it was a good opportunity for such an announcement, with the whole army gathered there.” Fenris shrugged. “I was concerned Anders might faint, however. He seemed to have convinced himself that the stay of execution was only temporary, despite Cullen’s reassurances to the contrary.”

“Umm hmm, the way you’ve been acting since last night tells me you are withholding something, but I am the last person to talk so I’ll leave it be. Whatever you did, thank you love,” Vic replied.

Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps you should ask the Inquisitor; it was his decision,” replied Fenris. He stared up ahead at Anders and Belann; the two seemed deep in discussion. As he watched, Dorian dropped back from his position further forward and leaned over in the saddle to speak to Anders, who glanced back over his shoulder at Fenris and Invictus before turning back to Dorian.

“Hmm. Interesting,” said Fenris, narrowing his eyes as Hal and Belann spurred their horses forward a little leaving Anders and Dorian to talk.

“I don’t like this, whatever they are up to,” Vic said.

“I doubt I’ll have to worry about him seducing Anders from us,” Fenris said as he glared at the back of Dorian’s head, wishing he could set the other man on fire.

Dorian leaned over and clasped a hand on Anders’ shoulder, tilting his head on one side. Anders lowered his head for a moment before glancing back and nodding. Dorian grinned at him and patted his shoulder briefly before guiding his horse closer and leaning over, laying a hand on Anders’ thigh as he inclined his head closer to confide something.

“He is trying to make me kill him, in front of everyone isn’t he?” Fenris said as he started to urge his horse up without realizing it.

At that moment, Dorian straightened, reaching inside his tunic to hand something to Anders. The blond mage shook his head but Dorian pressed the unseen item into his hand then waved him off. The Tevinter mage glanced back over his shoulder then gave Anders a courtly half-bow before spurring his horse on ahead. Anders glanced down at whatever it was in his hand, then tucked it away inside his Warden tunic. He rode by himself, guiding his horse absently with his knees as he stared out across the fields, lost in thought, his chestnut mare obediently following the road.

Fenris cantered next to him and glanced at Anders with worry. “What was that about? Why did he feel the need to touch you?” 

Anders blinked, then smiled. “Hello love,” he said quietly. “Hmm? Oh. I think he was apologising. I wasn’t really bothered about the smiting - not when I might have been swinging by the neck from a rope. But it bothered him. The touching... Fenris, I think that’s maybe just his way of being sincere. His way of showing that he’s... really.. sincere about something.” He looked a little sad. “Do they really not touch that much in Tevinter?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m not an Altus,” Fenris said tightly. “No matter, I ...I am still, Invictus’ indiscretion has brought back some old fears,” the elf admitted as they rode.

Anders glanced at Fenris, then guided his horse closer with a practiced nudge of his knees as he reached for Fenris’ hand. “Love... you don’t need to feel jealous of him. There’s only one Tevinter lover I want by my side, and that has always been you. You know me better even than Invictus. Dorian has nothing I want or need.” His eyes locked with Fenris’. “Only you.”

Fenris squeezed Anders’ hand and glanced away for a moment before he wiped at his eyes. “Damn dirt from the road, must have got in my eyes.” 

Anders nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment before glancing up at the elf once more. “I don’t care about Altuses, love. Only about the elf riding at my side right now.” He smiled gently.

“I...alright,” Fenris said as he kept his fingers laced with Anders as they rode, his gaze on the road even as he tried not to show how much his lover’s words had affected him. 

Anders guided his mare to keep by the side of Fenris’ gelding, their flanks brushing, as Anders kept his eyes on the elven warrior. His gaze wandered from their hands laced together to the emerald eyes of the elf then back to their laced fingers. “You have nothing to fear from Dorian, love,” he said softly. “I’m yours. I always was. I always shall be.”

“Good… that’s...good. Thank you,” Fenris said roughly with another squeeze to Anders’ fingers before he took his reins again. “I can’t quite ride without holding on to them. You’re an excellent rider.” 

Anders shrugged, his cheeks flushing a dull pink. “Just a matter of practice and what you’re used to,” he muttered self-consciously. “My father raised horses; I was riding almost before I could walk. I just... don’t get that much chance to be around horses that much these days.”

“At this rate, you’ll have all the time you can stand,” Fenris mumbled.

Vic said nothing, he just rode close enough to be on hand should they want him to join in on the conversation. He felt guilty, just a bit when he heard the elf’s confession of worry. He vowed to make sure Fenris knew how much he was loved and that he’d make it up to him in more than physical pleasure.

They rode on through the day, through the afternoon until the early evening. Even Anders was looking tired, weary and sore by the time the order was passed to make camp. As they guided their horses off the main road over to the shallow dell where the Inquisition command was to make camp for the evening, they were heartily looking forward to a few hours’ rest out of the saddle.

Anders slid easily out of the saddle then had to clutch at his horse’s reins and saddle for a moment as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He held still for a few minutes then straightened, glancing round to realise that Invictus and Fenris were faring far worse. He allowed an ostler to lead his horse away once he’d retrieved pack and staff, and headed over to where Fenris was clinging to his horse’s stirrup and looking uncomfortable.

“I’ve got you, love,” he said quietly as he slipped an arm around Fenris’ waist and reached for the elf’s sword.

“I hate horseback riding, you know that right? That time ...before, why didn’t I just double with you or Vic?” Fenris mumbled.

“Because you wanted to be in control?” suggested Anders quietly. “You can double up with me tomorrow if you’d rather, though?” He glanced over at Invictus, and winced slightly as the Champion dismounted then began to curse fluently in several different languages.

“It will make it difficult if we need to take off in a hurry. I’ll be fine after a bath and perhaps some of the liniment you made for me?” Fenris said as he let Anders lead him towards the camp. 

Invictus came behind, limping a bit and still cussing under his breath as aches and pains from the road made themselves known.

“The liniment, my hands and my healing are all yours, love,” Anders promised as he guided them towards the tent that had been set up for them close to the command tent. “Just a little farther now.”

“I hate horses, I hate riding them and I hate the soreness once you’re done for the day,” Fenris said, with agreement from Invictus as he fell in step with them until they had got into the tent and he fell face first into a bedroll.

“I regret not taking lessons when father offered them,” he mumbled.

Anders dropped onto his own bedroll and shrugged off his Warden tunic with a low sigh before pressing his hands to the small of his back and easing the dull ache in his muscles with a brief burst of healing energy.

Zevran ducked under the entrance flap, taking a few steps inside before throwing down his bedroll then sprawling upon it face down silently, face buried in his arms.

Fenris didn’t move when he heard the ‘flump’ of a bedroll next to him and heard Invictus’ own groans of complaint.

“I don’t suppose it’s much comfort to any of you if I remind you that after a couple of days of this you’ll start to get used to it and you won’t ache so much?” said Anders as he reached his arms up over his head to stretch, then leaned back on his hands to regard the others. 

“No...not at all,” Fenris mumbled as he turned to stare, then winced at the sounds from his lover’s stretch. “Can you do anything about this now? I feel like someone tried to press my head into my shoulders.”

Anders scooted over to sit behind Fenris, his long legs stretched out either side of the elf. He tugged at the spiky leather armour and hard leather cuirass. “Off,” he ordered. “I can’t get to those muscles with you all buckled up like that.” He started to unbuckle the cuirass.

Fenris helped him get his armor off and soon as he was free of it, he flopped back against Anders. “I’m going to make soup out of that horse,” he said out of spite.

“Then you’ll be walking tomorrow and you’ll get left behind,” said Anders in a perfectly reasonable tone. “Lean forward; I can’t get to your back whilst you use me as a back rest.” He nudged Fenris upright then flexed his fingers against the small of Fenris’ back.

He did as asked but continued his grumbling until Anders hitting a bad spot on his back made Fenris move away and cuss Anders. 

“He’s helping you, stop hissing like a wet cat love,” Vic muttered.

Anders had lifted his hands away as Fenris flinched; as he leaned forwards and reached for Fenris again, the soft blue of healing magic began to glow from his fingertips as he slowly smoothed his hands over the sore area then began to work his way up Fenris’ back once more, his strong, sure fingers finding all the knots and kinked muscles, a pulse of healing energy rippling into the sore inflamed flesh as he teased free the painful spots with soft cracks and pops. As his hands curled gently over Fenris’ shoulders, the elf slowly relaxed back against the blond apostate once more, until he found himself lying back against Anders, the former Warden’s arms gently cuddling him as Anders pressed a kiss against the side of his neck.

“Better, love?” he murmured.

“Um hmm,” Fenris replied sleepily as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the attention from his apostate.

Anders quietly chuckled. “I think you might fall asleep on me, and Hawke will be quite put out,” he teased. “He needs my hands as well, love.”

A light snore was the answer Fenris gave. 

Vic sat up and tugged his tunic off gently and gave Anders a hopeful stare. “He’s out like a light, what did you do?”

Anders glanced down at the sleeping elf and shrugged. “I guess once his back was no longer hurting he realised just how tired he was. Help me lay him down?”

“Sure,” Vic got Fenris settled on his back with a light kiss to the elf’s forehead and a sappy look before he turned back to Anders. 

Anders spread his legs open again and beckoned to Invictus to sit between them as he flexed his fingers, channeling healing energy into them once more. “Are you going to fall asleep on me too?” he joked.

“I don’t think so, I’m too hungry to just nod out like a certain white haired elf.” Vic joked.

Anders laughed as he set to work on Invictus’ back, his fingers unerringly hunting out and homing in on the most painful spots, his fingertips digging in to release the trapped muscles and nerves as he let waves of soothing healing magic ease the discomfort. He worked steadily up the broad strong back from lower spine to Invictus’ neck as the other mage slowly relaxed by degrees, until he leaned back against Anders with a smile.

“Better?” smiled Anders as he wrapped his arms around the Champion, resting his chin on Invictus’ shoulder.

“Much...not sure if Zev needs help but you need a break and I guess you could do with a back rub yourself too love?” Vic said with a fond look despite Anders being unable to see him.

“Mmm,” agreed Anders. “But I think I need food more.” He pressed a kiss to Invictus’ cheek then patted his shoulders as he leaned back. “Come on, up,” he said.

“Alright, and I’ll do what I can for Zev when we get back unless he’s already asleep too?” Vic said as he looked over the two elves, both still.

Zevran shifted slightly on his bedroll and turned his head to regard them both with golden eyes. “Not asleep,” he said quietly. “Merely thinking.”

“Do you need anything from us? Or you want to be left alone for a while?” Vic asked. Zevran rolled over onto his side and seemed to ponder the question for a moment, then straightened.

“I am hungry,” he said, stretching slowly until his shoulders cracked. “Come, let us find food.” He sprang to his feet and ducked out of the tent. Invictus and Anders exchanged a glance.

“Odd behaviour, even for him,” Vic said as they hopped up to follow him. 

“I wonder what he found whilst he was off riding around,” mused Anders. He picked up his Warden tunic and pulled it on, leaving it open as he stood. He reached for his staff. “I should think whatever it is, he’ll tell us in his own time.”

“I hope so, it worries me when he gets odd on us.” Vic replied. Anders nodded as he pulled open the tent flap and stepped out. He straightened as he glanced around.

The encampment was busy, tents still going up around the command encampment, soldiers calling to each other, the smells of cooking food wafting across from the mess area. A large pavilion had been erected near the centre of the command camp, and as Invictus emerged and glanced round, Cullen and Meneris emerged from the pavilion and walked towards the large fire that had been lit in the centre of the camp, Dorian a few paces behind, talking to a tall elegant woman in Orlesian enchanter’s robes.

“I’m surprised to see so many mages with the Inquisition. Especially Solas and Enchanter Vivienne,” Vic said as he took Anders’ hand as they walked. Anders shrugged. 

“It’s probably the safest place to be a mage right now,” he pointed out.

“Probably...just seems odd. Except for Kirkwall and being around Bethy, I was used to being one of a few or the only mage around for a long time,” Vic said sadly. Anders snorted.

“And except for the Circle and Kirkwall, I’m used to being the only one and having to keep my head down as well. Trust me, there are probably dozens of apostates here to whom this feels even stranger - and I imagine it’s all a bit weird and scary to many of the Circle mages as well,” he pointed out. “Some of them will have been brought to a Circle when they were tiny and they’ve spent their whole lives there until their Circle was dissolved, and now they’re having to get used to walking around in the open without Templars to dog their footsteps, and they’re meeting other mages who have never even been in a Circle.” His face turned pensive. “Poor bastards.” He shook his head. “I wonder how they’re coping with having their whole world turned on its head?” A guilty look crossed his face and he dropped his gaze to the ground.

“If they are with the Inquisition, probably better than most. Don’t think too hard on it love or else you will fall down into that dark place. Let’s find Zev and eat something, probably get something for Fenris or wake him up to eat,” Vic said.

Anders nodded, his expression still sombre as he followed the Champion. “I feel as though I should be doing something for them,” he said quietly. “It’s my fault as much as anything that they’re here.” He stared at a group of mages clustered loosely around one of the Inquisition officers.

One of the mages was staring at them, and then he turned to one of his companions and said something; other heads were turning, their gazes none too friendly.

“Ah. I think maybe we should move faster,” said Anders, his grip tightening on his staff.

“You were pardoned and if anyone wants to fight, well I haven’t had a good knock down, drag out brawl in a while,” Vic said as he let flames dance over his free hand as he turned to glare at those staring at them.

“Hawke, no, please! I don’t want trouble. It’s understandable that they should be angry. Let’s just go. I doubt Cullen wants a full pitched battle between mages right in the middle of camp, and it would just give further ammunition to the Templars to claim that mages need to be locked up for their own good.” Anders tugged at Invictus’ arm. “Please, love. A fight isn’t going to help.”

“I’m not going to ignore a threat to you, Anders,” Vic said with a snarl.

“Love, please. Just - please, don’t,” said Anders, his voice low and urgent as several mages broke away from the group and started to head towards them. As Anders glanced around, he saw several groups of Templars starting to take interest. “Maker, no - go, go, please, let’s get away from here!” he hissed.

Fenris had emerged from their tent, rubbing his eyes blearily; as he took in at a glance the mages descending upon Anders and Invictus, he blinked the sleep from his eyes and made his way straight towards them, his path converging with that of the Inquisitor. He strode over with Meneris at his side, his expression furious. “What is going on here?” 

The group of mages halted a few paces away from Invictus and Anders. The blond apostate glanced away, clearly on edge. Several Templars had wandered over to within earshot, some looking at the mages speculatively whilst a couple were staring at Anders with open hostility.

“Dammit,” muttered Anders. “I didn’t want this.”

“Is there a problem, especially _after_ you’ve been granted a full pardon by the Inquisition? Or do I need to remind some of you that he is part of this group, and not to be harassed?” Fenris asked.

Meneris casually pulled his sword free and grinned at those gathered. “Do you really want to keep strife going in our ranks? If so, step up and we can have words about it.”

“There won’t be any strife, Inquisitor,” said one of the Templars, eyeing the mages. “We’ll see to that.” Several of the mages bristled.

“We’re not in the Circle now. You’re not our jail-keepers any more!” spat one woman, glaring at the Templar.

“I believe we were just trying to get something to eat and this happened. We will not be run off, we will not cower and hide from anyone who wants to keep up a fight with us. If you are so brave, especially in a group come out and face me, or Fenris. Anders is a healer, a good man and fights only when forced to. Us on the other hand....” Vic grinned and unsnapped his staff and waited.

One of the mages stared at Anders as he fingered his own staff. “Perhaps we only wanted to... _congratulate_ him on his pardon,” he suggested, not taking his eyes off the blond apostate.

“Right, and I’m the King of the Nugs. I know the look you were giving and it wasn’t congratulatory,” Vic said

Fenris let his brands light, and stood in front of Anders. “So congratulate him then and be on your way.”

Anders was staring steadily at the ground, his face flushed red with embarrassment, his knuckles whitening on the haft of his staff.

The mage who had spoken merely smirked at Fenris. “Of course, serah,” he said mockingly. “Thank you for making our lives a living hell. Congratulations on turning Thedas on its head. We salute the way you caused so many Circles to be disbanded and even annulled. Fine work indeed.” He spat on the ground near Fenris’ feet then turned on his heel and strode away.

“That wasn’t necessary. I bet they wouldn’t speak to me like that,” Vic snarled as he let lightning dance over his fingers instead of flame.

“Inquisitor Lavellan, I request that mage be dealt with. You pardoned Anders, yet some members of your group don’t seem to understand what that means.” Fenris glowered at the retreating mage, his brands glowing brighter with his anger.

“No,” said Anders lifting his head. “Don’t punish him for speaking his mind. He and the others have every right to be upset over what’s happened. My being pardoned for Kirkwall doesn’t change what happened to their Circle or dozens of others like theirs. You can’t arrest every mage or Templar who says something in anger to or about me.” He pushed past Invictus and headed back towards their tent. “I’m not hungry any more,” he said over his shoulder.

Fenris glared a final time at the mages gathered to the side before he let his markings dim. “Invictus go with him, I don't’ trust he’s safe even with a pardon. I will get us food and return to the tent. Anyone thinking of getting in my way, I suggest you don’t unless you want to see your innards as you die.”

The other mages glanced at the Inquisitor, then at the Templars, then turned away, muttering to themselves. Several of the Templars smirked until Cullen came storming over.

“You men! What do you think you’re doing here? Your mess tent is in the south quadrant of the encampment. You! Who’s your commanding officer?” he bellowed, pointing at the one who had spoken earlier. “Send him to my tent immediately! As for the rest of you, you’re all on latrine duty. Get out of my sight! You haven’t heard the last of this, mark my words.” He glared until the Templars had hurried out of sight, then turned back to the others.

“My apologies, Inquisitor, gentlemen; that shouldn’t have happened. I’ll have those men disciplined. I’m also not sure just what that group of mages were doing here either; I’ve given orders that the mages and Templars are to be kept separate just in case of situations like this,” he sighed.

Vic nodded and hurried after Anders; Fenris simply turned and headed into the mess tent to get them something. He wasn’t about to let his Warden go hungry even if he had to sit on him and make him eat.

When Invictus reached their tent, Anders had already thrown himself down on his bedroll and lay face down, his forehead resting upon his folded arms and his hair tumbling half loose from its tie, hiding his face. His staff lay beside him. He lay still as Invictus entered, not looking up.

“I know you are not asleep Anders, come on...talk to me love.” Vic said as he sat next to his lover and carded his fingers through the long blond strands slowly. Anders was silent, merely turning his face away a little. He shifted slightly on the bedroll.

After a moment, he gave a faint sigh. “It’s going to be like this whenever I encounter Circle mages. It’s... not easy knowing that so many people hate me. Just one more thing to live with.”

“What can we do love? I can’t say I know what it’s like but I want to do what I can for you.” Vic said as he continued to pull his fingers through his lover’s hair.

Anders rolled slowly over onto his back and stared up at Invictus. “You can’t protect me from every angry ex-Circle mage, love,” he smiled sadly. “It’s just something I have to deal with I guess. And being one of just four Wardens travelling with the Inquisition... well, I guess I just stand out.”

“Is it actually four Wardens? I remember you saying that you couldn’t sense Blackwall,” Vic said, hoping to distract him.

Anders sat up. “That’s... a very good point,” he said slowly. “Hmm.” He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them as he rested his chin on his knees and closed his eyes, concentrating. “I can feel Loghain - over there,” he said, gesturing with one arm back in the direction of the pavilion. “Belann... he’s over _there_.” He gestured to one side of their tent. “It’s weird, he feels almost - but not _quite_ \- like S-” He checked himself. “Like _her_ ,” he finished, opening his eyes. “But I can’t feel any other source of the taint - Warden or otherwise.” He frowned. “I don’t know of any way short of perhaps blood magic that you could mask the feel of taint from a Warden. And I’ve been one long enough that I can tell individual Wardens apart. I don’t know about Loghain, but I’d wager Belann’s even better at it than I am.”

“Should we bring this to Loghain and Meneris’ attention?” Vic asked. Anders considered it for a moment.

“Let’s talk to Belann first. If _he_ can’t feel a fourth Warden....”

“Alright, after we eat. Fenris went to get food for all of us,” Vic said as he curled around Anders and rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “I love you...I’m sorry too for what I did. We haven’t had a chance to talk about it really.”

“We haven’t really had much chance to talk about much since Kirkwall,” said Anders, his gaze distant. “It feels as though we’ve just been constantly on the move. First running away, then Skyhold, now this - and Maker knows what we’re going to face in Orlais. And so much happened in Skyhold even though we were there for only a few days, I’ve barely had time to think, it feels.” He ran a hand over his face slowly. “I’m not even entirely sure of everything that happened in Skyhold; it just seems to blur into this whole... _thing_... nightmare, whatever, I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I meant more my dalliance with the Altus, but yes Kirkwall too. It has been a bit much, hasn’t it, love?” Vic kissed his cheek and squeezed his lover a bit around the middle. 

Anders’ amber eyes darkened a little at mention of Dorian, and he glanced down. He didn’t respond to Invictus’ kiss, though he lowered one hand to lay it over that of the Champion as it rested upon his side, and he pressed Invictus’ hand lightly.

Vic pulled back when his affection wasn’t returned and apologized once more. “I ...I’m sorry, I will mind myself and not be so familiar until you forgive me, if you do,” Vic said as he got his lover’s reaction entirely wrong. 

Anders turned and stared at Invictus, a look of faint bewilderment on his face. “Vic?” he said, perplexed. “Sorry, love, I was -” He turned towards the other mage as he lowered his legs and twisted round. “Love, no, I wasn’t -” He fell silent, then reached up one hand to brush Invictus’ cheek before sliding his fingers into the dark hair as he leaned forward to kiss Invictus, his amber eyes drifting closed.

Vic didn’t return the kiss at first but finally relented; even when Anders pulled back he wouldn’t look at the other man in case there was pity in his eyes.

“Vic... please... look at me,” Anders said softly. “Or... am I...” He dropped his gaze and looked away. “I have been too much of a nuisance. I’ve caused you no end of trouble. No wonder you keep pulling away from me,” he said miserably as he dropped his head into his hands; he rubbed his temples slowly. 

“I thought you pitied me, and don’t want me after I was with Dorian. Fenris is hurt, I hurt you and I’m sorry.” Vic finally looked up at Anders, his expression pathetic.

Anders closed his eyes as he continued to massage his temples with his fingers; after a moment he glanced up.

“I don’t pity you, Vic. You just confuse me right now. I’m getting mixed signals from you, and I’m already pretty rattled and off-kilter from everything that’s happened over the past week. Yes, I’m... bothered about the Dorian thing, but that’s not enough to make me turn my back on you.” He straightened a little. “It actually hurts more that you think I would,” he confessed. “Didn’t I already forgive you for Dorian? What’s actually going on, Vic - why do you seem to think you need my forgiveness again? It’s yours, you don’t need to beg for it.”

“I don’t know, I’m scared someone is going to hurt you, and I made it worse with my posturing out there. I’m scared that we’re going to die and when you didn’t kiss me back I just felt like I did something wrong and you didn’t care, or...something. I’m just confused too.” Vic wrapped his arms around Anders, put head against the other mage’s shoulder and tried to control his feelings.

“I’m a target, Vic,” said Anders with a small shrug. “The pardon’s not going to change that. They’ll just be careful to try and catch me on my own now, I guess.” He gently pressed a kiss to the side of Vic’s neck. “I think we’re both just confused and tired and....” He sighed, his voice tailing off.

"I'm sorry, I was supposed to be comforting you." Vic held tighter to his lover and resumed running his fingers through the other man's hair.

“Shh,” said Anders softly as he ran a hand comfortingly up Invictus’ spine, curling around a little further until they were pressed against each other. He laid his head on the Champion’s shoulder, his hand rubbing small circles against Invictus’ shoulderblade.

"No love, let me take care of you, I was worried they were going to hurt you. And I am not going to be coddled while you are the one that needs comfort. Not again." Vic said as he twisted so they were both on their side, facing each other.

Anders stared sombrely at Invictus, lifting one hand to gently draw a forefinger along the line of Invictus’ jaw then brushing lightly across his lips before Anders leaned in tentatively for another kiss. 

Vic leaned in this time, and managed to roll them so he was on his back and Anders was on top. Anders clutched at Invictus’ shoulders as he felt himself being lifted up; he drew his legs up to sit straddled across the other mage’s hips.

“Vic?” he gasped.

"Yeah? If you don't want to, I can wait," Vic said quietly as he took Anders’ hands in his and stared up at the other man.

“I-I don’t... I don’t know what I want,” Anders confessed as he stared down at Invictus. His seemed almost to plead with Invictus, though for what, it was impossible to tell.

"Do you...will you let me make love to you now, or do you want to wait for later?" Vic asked.

Anders stared down at him wordlessly, and then he reached to the collar of his Warden tunic, tugging it open. He swung his leg back over Invictus’ body and knelt beside him as he stripped off the tunic, then pulled his shirt off over his head.

"Thanks for this love," Vic said as he watched Anders undress, then tugged his own tunic off before he motioned for Anders to lie down. "Let me take care of you."

Anders finished kicking off his boots and pants then stretched out upon the bedroll. He reached back behind his head and tugged out the leather tie before shaking his hair loose; as he lay back, it lay scattered across the pillow like dark gold. As Invictus shed his own clothing, Anders watched him silently.

Fenris slipped in for a moment but dipped back out when he saw them together; he decided he'd bring them something later when he came to bed.

Vic summoned slick to his fingers and warmed them before he started to rub Anders, massage him slow and easy to take _his_ aches and pains away for once.

Anders let his eyes fall closed and he groaned softly before rolling over onto his stomach, sweeping his hair clear of his shoulders with one hand and then groaning as Invictus’ fingers found an old, familiar knot of muscle in the small of his back and began to work it free. 

The blond apostate swore softly under his breath. “No, don’t stop,” he murmured when Invictus paused. “Please.”

"As you wish love." Vic warmed his hands again and went back to that one spot, his expression tense as he focused on helping his lover feel better. "Anywhere else I should work on?"

“My neck,” said Anders quietly. As he felt Invictus’ hands gently encircle his neck from behind, the other mage’s thumbs pressing and digging into painful knots, he suppressed a small shiver. “Ohhhh... yes. More,” he breathed.

Vic paused only to get more oil before he began to work each part of Anders neck from the base of his skull to the slope of his shoulders. He sat back to get a moment's rest for his hands. "Give me a moment love, not as used to this as you are."

Anders rolled back over onto his back and stared up at Invictus. His breath was coming a little faster, his amber eyes dark. “Do... do that again... only... to the front,” he whispered.

"Anywhere in particular love?" Vic asked coyly.

"My chest and throat," Anders said softly, resting his hands either side of his head upon the tousled blond hair. "I want to feel your weight over me as you do it."

"Is that so?" Vic said as he straddled his lover and leaned down to do as requested. He began with a slow stroke along Anders jaw, then over his ears before he moved on to his throat, careful to be firm but still having some of his weight behind it.

Anders arched his neck beneath Invictus’ hands with a low moan that went straight to Invictus’ cock. “Yes,” he sighed. “Like this....” He opened his eyes slowly as he felt Invictus’ fingers flex slowly around his throat. “I want you to take me like this,” he whispered.

"Alright, give me time to open you...if I can do both at once." Vic let go just enough to position himself so he could slip his fingers into Anders while keeping a hold on his lover's neck. "That ok?"

Anders parted his legs, canting his hips so that Invictus’ fingers could reach deeper.

“Yes, yes that’s -” He broke off with a gasp as Invictus’ fingers hooked and drew back over his sweet spot and he shuddered. “More,” he gasped.

"Greedy..." Vic rasped as he slid a third finger in and he went faster, sure to slick his human lover as much as he could. Anders’ hands curled into fists as he cried out, his spine arching beneath Invictus as he shuddered. 

“Please... want you in me,” the blond apostate managed shakily then cried out again as Invictus’ fingers worked him faster.

Vic leaned forward and slicked himself up further before he started to nudge Anders open. "How bad do you want it?"

“Oh Maker, Vic, please!” begged Anders. “Don’t tease me, just... _please_!”

"Good boy." Vic purred as he slid into Anders in one smooth stroke. Anders cried out as he felt Invictus’ cock filling and stretching him, thrusting deep inside him as the other mage buried his length inside Anders. Anders closed his eyes, willing his body to relax and accept this intrusion into his body; and then he slowly rolled his hips, shuddering as the movement pressed Invictus’ cock against his sweet spot.

“Move... please,” he begged. 

"As the man wishes," Vic said as sped his thrusts with rolls of his hips against his lover. "Like that?"

Anders responded with small breathless cries at each thrust, his hips grinding back to meet each one. He reached out with a trembling hand for Invictus’ fingers, then guided the Champion’s hand to his throat. “Please,” he managed to beg, almost a whimper.

"Please what?" Vic asked as he pressed his fingers around Anders throat, squeezing just enough to put pressure on his lover.

Anders coughed slightly, his eyes opening to mere slits. “F-fuck me... hard,” he panted.

Vic went harder, each thrust accompanied by a squeeze to Anders’ throat, letting up slightly between thrusts so he didn't choke him too much. "Come for me."

Anders’ chest heaved for breath as his heart raced, body twitching as he writhed beneath Invictus, whimpering with need as he rocked back into each thrust, his whimpers becoming a faint keen that was interrupted each time Invictus’ fingers tightened upon his throat. His eyes drifted half open, rolled back so far that all Invictus could see was a shiver of white beneath long dark lashes as Anders’ body shuddered beneath him until the blond apostate came with a hoarse, ragged cry, his back arching as he threw his head back before collapsing back onto the bedroll, panting raggedly as his body twitched slightly, ennervated and helpless beneath Invictus as he chased his own climax.

Vic moaned as he finally came, each moment of filling his lover caused him to slow his thrusts and pull his hand away from Anders neck as he laid to the side. "Fuck...missed that."

His only answer was a faint moan from the blond apostate. Anders lay with his eyes half-lidded, chest still labouring for breath.

“Love?” asked Invictus as he rose on one elbow, frowning with concern at Anders.

“’m... ok,” the blond apostate managed to gasp. “H-hold me? Please?”

“Of course, love,” said Invictus gently as he slipped free of Anders’ body then stretched out behind him, wrapping an arm around the blond apostate’s waist.

Anders’ ragged breathing gradually slowed and deepened until Invictus felt him relax bonelessly against him and he knew the other mage was deeply asleep. He gently brushed the long silky hair away from Anders’ sleeping face and bestowed a chaste kiss upon his pale cheek, then lay down beside him, following him down into dreams.

Neither man stirred when Fenris returned later, not even when he drew a blanket over their entwined bodies. They slept on, exhausted and oblivious.


	22. Chapter 22

Hal found the bustle of the busy camp the next morning disorienting. He was unused to so many people in one place; Kirkwall had seemed overwhelming enough in those last few hours after the Chantry’s destruction. He was still coming to terms with the events of the past couple of days; being in the midst of an army - even a small one of only a few hundred as this one was - was confusing and daunting.

Belann seemed unfazed - but then he was the Hero of Ferelden; he had been there at Ostagar, after all, and camp life in an army must be familiar to him.

The Warden was off by the mess fires right now, fetching them breakfast; Hal had remained behind in their tent. Hiding, if truth be told, though he would not have admitted it if asked.

Hal turned away from the entrance of the tent and moved back over to his bedroll to roll it up and pack it away. He and Belann had precious little by way of belongings; the clothes they stood up in, Belann’s blades, and not much else. Hal had been given a staff by the quartermaster, who seemed to have assumed the red-haired mage was but one more former Circle refugee picked up by the Inquisition.

Hal moved back to the entrance of the tent and glanced out once more, watching the ordered fashion in which the camp was slowly being dismantled. The camp fires were already being doused; Hal had woken late after sleeping poorly, and he wondered if Belann would have any luck fetching breakfast for them both. The Warden had woken with the dawn but had held off on breakfast until Hal finally had woken.

“You should have woken me sooner, or at least not waited upon me,” Hal had protested as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Belann had merely shrugged.

“You seemed to need the rest,” he replied. “Wait here and I’ll fetch us something.” He was already fully clad in his Warden armour. He gave Hal a brief grin then ducked under the tent flap and headed towards the cook fires.

As Hal now watched, horses were being brought through the camp by the ostlers. One of the grooms headed towards their tent leading the grey gelding and dun mare that Belann and Hal had ridden the previous day. Hal snatched up his staff and both his and Belann’s bedrolls.

He had stowed their bedrolls away in the horses’ saddlebags and was fastening his staff to the saddlehorn of the dun mare as Belann returned. The Warden nodded to the groom as he turned to Hal.

“They’d doused the fires but still had some hot bacon; I hope you don’t mind eating in the saddle,” smiled Belann as he held up large bread roll. “Mount up and I’ll pass it to you.”

Hal nodded; he hitched his robes up then set a foot into the stirrup as the groom came to his side to help boost him up into the saddle. He scrabbled for the reins as he managed to drag his leg up and over, then he hunted for the other stirrup with his free foot.

Belann mounted easily with the grace of long practice then nudged his gelding over next to Hal and held out the bacon roll. Hal took it, eyeing his horse nervously.

“She won’t bite, Hal,” Belann grinned. “Still nervous, even after riding all day yesterday?”

“Circle mages don’t generally get much chance to ride horses,” Hal said, trying not to look down. 

“Want me to lead you whilst you eat?” offered the Warden, then laughed at Hal’s grateful look. “Alright, just remember - firm grip with your knees and sit straight, not like a sack of potatoes in the saddle.”

“I’m sure a sack of potatoes would have fewer bruises,” muttered Hal. Mage’s robes were not designed for riding, he mused - or at least _his_ certainly weren’t. The fabric was bunched up around his knees as he sat astride the leather saddle; his inner thighs and calves were still chapped and sore from the previous day’s ride. He made a mental note to speak to the quartermaster at his earliest opportunity about riding breeches or something.

As Belann guided them over to where the Champion’s tent was being dismantled, he noticed Hawke and his companions were already mounted up. Hal took a little small comfort in noting that Fenris seemed as uncomfortable in the saddle as he was. Anders, on the other hand, sat his horse as though he’d been born to it. From what Hal had read of the people of the Anderfels and their hardy little mountain ponies, perhaps he had.

Zevran was leaning forward, patting the neck of his fine black stallion courser; he straightened as they approached, with a welcoming grin.

“Ah, Belann,” said Anders as he guided his chestnut mare closer with his knees, still fiddling with the cords fastening his staff to the horn of his saddle. “I was wondering if you’d had a chance to look into what we discussed?”

The smile slipped from Belann’s face and he looked grave. “There are only three Wardens in this camp, Anders,” he said. “I’m one, Loghain’s another - and I’m talking to the third. Whoever this Blackwall fellow is, he’s not one of us.”

“Damn,” said Anders. “I’d hoped I was wrong.”

“Something to deal with when we next make camp then?” Fenris asked as he tried to keep his mount steady. Anders nodded.

“How long do you suppose we’ll be riding today?” asked Hal.

“Not long as yesterday, everything hurt by the time we stopped.” Fenris sniped.

“You’ll get used to it love.” Vic said with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” replied Hal as he pulled a face. He tugged futilely at the skirts of his robes, trying to pull them a little lower over his legs.

“Get riding pants, or just pants in general. I’ve always hated robes.” Vic said.

Hal winced. “I’m beginning to see why,” he admitted. “I’ve never worn anything else though.”

Anders nudged his horse over beside Hal. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly. Hal’s answer was a grimace. The blond mage rolled his eyes. “Come on, over here with you,” he said.

“What?” Hal stared at him uncomprehending.

“Look, I know you can heal yourself, but that won’t stop you rubbing raw again. Too late to hunt up the quartermaster; we’ll be riding out any minute. You can’t ride side-saddle on that saddle, which leaves riding side with someone else. May as well be me.” He glanced around at the others. “Unless anyone has any objections?”

“If it keeps him from suffering as we did? Go for it.” Fenris said as he tried to get his horse under control. “Damn beast, hold still.”

Anders helped Hal shift across so he was sat just in front of the Warden as he shifted back in the saddle. Hal’s legs dangled down the opposite side of the saddle to Anders’ staff; after a little shifting around to find the most comfortable position the red-haired mage looked a little more relaxed, freed from worrying over what to do with the reins and able to heal his chafed skin with a little touch of magic.

Anders seemed fairly laid back about the arrangement himself, one hand light on the reins whilst he kept a reassuring arm around Hal’s waist. Belann tied the reins of Hal’s horse to his saddle horn.

There was a sudden blast from a horn that had Fenris’ gelding dancing sideways nervously, to the elf’s consternation. Zevran reached over and put a steadying hand on the grey’s bridle as it rolled its eyes.

“Perhaps you might like to ride with me like a blushing maiden, _carissimi_ , eh?” suggested Zevran with a wink.

“You’d get far too much enjoyment out of that. I’ll be fine.” Fenris groused as he got back in place.

“Just be careful, I don’t want to have to save you if that horse decides to dump you to the ground.” Vic said.

“That was Cullen giving the signal to form up and move out,” said Anders. “Come on, or we’ll hold everyone up and I’ll be even more popular with everyone,” he added tersely as he kicked his horse into a trot, Hal clutching at his arm in sudden alarm as he clung on. Anders guided his horse over next to Belann and the two Wardens led the way over to the command group.

Loghain nodded greetings to the other two Wardens and swung his horse round to line up on Anders’ other side.

“What is this?” said Anders quietly.

“Belann and I agreed yesterday evening - time to make it plain to everyone that you’re a Warden,” replied Loghain. “They want to get to you, they have to go through the Wardens.” He grinned.

“I don’t care for that at all.” Fenris said as he watched them trot ahead of them.

“Nor do I but they have a point love.” Vic said as he kicked his horse into a trot. Zevran swung his horse into line just behind them as he glanced around thoughtfully, one hand resting on the reins whilst the other rested upon the hilt of his knife.

Cullen trotted back along the line; he nodded to them as he headed past. The front of the column began to move off, and they were on the road once more.

They rode for much of the day, the country around them changing from mountain foothills to grasslands and the occasional farm. They kept to the main road, passing through the odd village where the inhabitants ventured out of their houses to watch curiously as several hundred armed men rode by.

They’d put perhaps fifty miles behind them when the horn blast sounded again; it was late afternoon. The order was passed to strike camp and as before, the command group rode to what would be the centre of the camp.

Fenris and Invictus felt a little less sore than they had the previous day; they were still glad to be off their horses. The three Wardens dismounted and handed their mounts to the ostlers; Anders leaned over to speak with Hal, and then the red-haired mage headed over to join Invictus and Fenris as the Wardens headed in the direction of the Inquisitor’s party.

“I dislike being separated as we rode,” Fenris said as he glanced to Vic. “I know, I know it’s fine and he’s safe with them. I don’t have to like it though.” 

“They’re going to speak to the Inquisitor about Blackwall,” said Hal as he joined them. He pressed a hand against the small of his back and channelled a little healing into his spine with a low groan. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to riding.”

Fenris snickered before he caught himself. “Sorry, I’m really tired.” he said as he tried to suppress the laughing fit.

Hal paused and turned to look at him, an expression of bewildered hurt in his eyes. He stared at Fenris for a moment before dropping his gaze and turning away. “I should go find the quartermaster,” he said distractedly.

“No, I’m sorry Hal don’t go.” Fenris got in front of him and tilted his chin up. “I’m not having you on, I was laughing at...us.” he said motioning to his lovers and himself. “I really wasn’t picking on you.”

Hal came to a halt, his eyes meeting those of Fenris slowly. “I’m... sorry, I thought -” He jerked his head away from Fenris’ fingers as he dropped his gaze to the ground. “Of course you weren’t. I’m just... tired and foolish. I... I should go find the quartermaster,” he repeated, though he didn’t move.

“Hal, what’s wrong? Is it because I’m not _your Fenris?_ ” asked the warrior as he kept Hal’s attention on him.

Hal ran a hand slowly over his face, a sigh upon his lips. “No, it- well, yes. A little. It’s just... everything is so similar here and yet... not. Back there, Belann and I were on our way _back_ to Skyhold; there was no army. I’m not used to so many people. We were going to meet Hawke and - and my Fenris. This all feels wrong; as if I’m going the wrong way, further and further away from them. And seeing Anders here, well, whole, when -” He broke off, going still.

“When what?” Vic asked.

Hal turned slowly to stare back at the Champion. “We... had a hard fight to make it out of Kirkwall. Anders... stayed behind, to give us a chance to escape.”

“He did what?” Fenris and Invictus asked in unison.

Hal sighed, not lifting his gaze from the ground. “He stayed behind.”

“No...he, why would he do that?” Fenris asked in shock.

Hal finally lifted his eyes. “Because... Fenris was badly hurt. Dying, perhaps. We needed time to get him to Isabela’s ship. So... he gave us time.” 

Fenris stumbled back and into Vic’s arms. “Do I want to know?” 

“Fenris survived. He’s waiting for me at Skyhold with Arden. We... don’t know if Anders made it.” Hal turned away slowly.

“Love, listen to me, that’s in their world. We’re ok. We have to believe that their Anders is fine, he still has Justice, he’ll be ok.” Vic said. as he turned Fenris’ face to stare at him.

“I’m sorry,” said Hal quietly, eyes still on the ground. “You did ask. I....” He lifted his gaze to stare at Fenris. “Your Anders is well, healthy, whole. You have him, and you have your Hawke.” He smiled bleakly. “You’ll be alright.” He blinked, then turned away, taking a few short steps before halting in indecision.

Zevran was watching wordlessly; he had both Hal’s staff and that of Anders in his hands. He walked slowly over to Hal and pushed his staff into his hands. “Thank you,” the red-haired mage said quietly.

Fenris slumped down and stared at the ground. “He...me, us?” he muttered.

“Andraste’s knickerweasels!” There was the sound of running feet and then Anders was flinging himself carelessly down upon his knees and reaching for Fenris. “Love? What’s wrong - where are you hurt?” He glanced up at Invictus. “Hawke, what happened? He seemed fine not long ago!” He took Fenris’ hand whilst with the other he brushed the hair back from Fenris’ forehead to stare into the elf’s eyes, worried.

“We found out what happened in Hal’s Kirkwall. I think it was a bit much for him, especially with all we’ve dealt with here. You know he can be...delicate when it comes to such things. I think he’ll be ok once I get him on his feet.” Vic said.

“I’m not sure I care to ask,” said Anders. “Maker, but you nearly frightened the life out of me when I saw you go down, love,” he added, still staring anxiously into Fenris’ eyes.

“You’re ok?” Fenris said as he clung to his blond mage. “Sorry, I just..it was a bit much on top of a hard day of travel.” he said as he got up and brushed himself off. “I’m ...fine, I’m fine, no need to fuss over me.” 

“I’m fine,” said Anders, a faint puzzled note in his voice. “Well, Vivienne gave me the filthiest look, and if looks could kill then I’m sure the Seeker would have laid me out dead on the spot, but I’m not exactly going to be losing sleep over either of them, I can assure you. But you’re sure you’re alright?” He got to his feet, dusting off the knees of his pants. 

“Later, I’ll talk about it later.” Fenris said gruffly. “What are you wardens planning?” he asked to distract Anders.

“Oh, that,” said Anders. “We went to talk to Meneris. I don’t think he was too happy about it, but he said to leave it to him and Cullen. He didn’t seem keen on continuing the discussion much though, so Maker knows what’s going to happen now. I rather get the feeling we just made things about ten times more awkward for him and Cullen.” He frowned.

“Well they weren’t the best before all this.” Fenris said tiredly.

“True,” shrugged Anders. “Come on, they’ve got a tent up for us.” He glanced over towards Hal. “Hey, Hal - the quartermaster’s over by the cook fires,” he called. 

The red-haired mage lifted a hand in vague acknowledgement as he headed off in that direction.

“Wonder what’s gotten into him?” the blond apostate wondered. “Ah well - come on, let’s get settled; no doubt you could use another backrub, love?” He smiled gently at Fenris.

“No, I want a drink and something to eat.” Fenris said shakily.

“A drink does sound good, now you mention it,” concurred Anders. “Let’s drop off our bags then see what the mess tent has to offer.” He slung an arm around Fenris’ shoulders as they started to walk towards the tents.

“This whole parallel world thing has always gotten to him the worst for some reason.” Vic said as he watched them head to their tent.

“It must be disconcerting to find yourself face to face with yourself I think,” shrugged Zevran. He grinned. “I think one Zevran Arainai is quite enough for the world, no?”

“None of us would walk straight again if there were two of you, especially with how you can make us howl for you.” Vic said before he gave Zev a swat on the ass and dashed off to catch his other lovers. 

He’d barely taken a handful of strides before there was a hand at his shoulder and then another dealing a stinging slap to his rump, and then the Crow Master was sprinting silently past him, glancing back over his shoulder to give Invictus a flash of teeth in a grin before he darted between the tents and vanished.

“What in the name of Andraste’s tits has gotten into him?” Anders wondered.

“Nothing...yet.” Vic mumbled as he rubbed his ass. Anders snorted.

“That sounds like both a threat _and_ a promise,” he observed.

They reached their tent and ducked inside. Their bedrolls had already been laid out, and Anders’ staff leaned against the rear of the tent. Anders patted Fenris’ back gently as he moved over to his bedroll and he sat down to unbuckle the cropped jacket he wore over the tunic before undoing the tunic, letting it hang open.

They could hear the murmur of voices outside - soldiers erecting tents, guards reporting to their duties, others coming off duty and idly chatting. Belann and Loghain could be heard, muffled, talking in low voices outside the tent next to theirs, and then Hal’s soft voice for a moment.

Anders threw the cropped jacket aside then pulled the hair tie from his hair. “I don’t know what sort of drink they’ll have here - beer for the soldiers, most likely, though there might be wine for the officers,” he mused. He fiddled with the hair tie for a moment then ran a hand through his long hair, shaking it loose. He paused as he realised Fenris was staring at him. “Love?”

“Huh? What?” Fenris asked as he realized what he had been doing.

“Love, you’re staring at me as though I were a ghost or something - or as if you’re afraid I’ll somehow vanish if you turn your back,” said Anders slowly.

Fenris stared at him and tried to will away the images that had flashed into his eyes: Anders hanging from a noose; Anders sprawled dead in a pool of his own blood, amber eyes staring lifelessly back at him. He blinked, and Anders’ amber eyes were filled with warmth and concern for him.

“Love... do you want to talk about it?” Anders asked gently.  
“Maybe, yes, no… I don’t know.” Fenris said distractedly as he reached out towards his lover.

Anders responded automatically, shrugging off the jacket and tunic and slipping easily into Fenris’ arms. “I’m here for you love, just... tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly.

“Hal told me what happened to you… might have happened to the other you when their Kirkwall went up. What happened to the other me. It’s… just hard to deal with and then see you here. The whole thing, the different Kirkwall’s has always affected me more.” Fenris said as he held Anders close.

“Maker, now I really _am_ afraid to ask,” murmured Anders, staring into Fenris’ eyes with concern. “What....” He cleared his throat. “What happened?”

“No… I don’t want to say.” Fenris looked away in shame.

“Fenris.... whatever happened to them, I’m here right now. I’m fine. We both are.” He gently touched Fenris’ chin with a finger and nudged until the elf looked back at him. “Hey,” he smiled softly. “You’re OK. So am I. Don’t think about it, love.”

Anders kept to the tent that evening; Zevran and Invictus joined the blond Warden and Fenris later on, bringing back with them food and several bottles of wine that Zevran had mysteriously acquired somewhere. It was a decidedly superior vintage to what they would have expected in an army camp, and Invictus found himself wondering if the Antivan elf had somehow found a way perhaps into Dorian’s private stash. He shared his suspicions with Fenris quietly, and the two took a smug delight at the thought.

When camp broke the next morning, Hal had changed his mage robes for a far more practical outfit of breeches and jerkin with a warm woollen cloak, all in soft muted shades of blue and green. By the end of that day’s riding, he seemed to be picking up some confidence in his riding now he was no longer distracted by the discomfort of chafed legs against worn leather.

There were a number of minor incidents during their travels; a mishap with an out-of-control supply wagon, the horses stampeding, nearly ploughing into Anders and Hal as the two mages rode side by side deep in discussion of healing techniques. Had Belann not shouted a warning at the last moment, things could have gone ill; as it was, Hal took a nasty fall from his dun mare. 

There was the shooting incident, when Anders had ridden a little aside from the main convoy with Loghain and Belann to check out a Warden waystation; as they emerged after finding it empty and deserted, an arrow struck the wooden doorframe beside Anders’ head, drawing blood from his neck as it passed. Though Cullen and Leliana made extensive investigation, the culprit was never identified. 

A brawl between two groups of soldiers that broke out as Anders and Invictus were leaving the mess tent one evening, the two mages inadvertently being overtaken by the melee; as they tried to extricate themselves, Anders’ shirt sleeve was sliced open by a dagger though when Cullen and Cassandra waded in to break up the fight, none of the brawlers would confess to owning the knife found trampled into the mud.

The Champion and his companions were moved to a tent near the Inquisitor’s pavilion and dined at Meneris’ table for the remainder of the journey and their place in the convoy was moved up to directly behind the Inquisitor’s companions with Iron Bull’s Chargers directly behind. Still, small little mishaps seemed to dog Anders’ footsteps, keeping Invictus and Fenris on their toes.

It took the army three weeks to reach the Western Approach. They slowed as they drew closer to Adamant; there were clashes with the Venatori. Cullen split the army up into smaller divisions; the Inquisition had already had some forces in the area, and he distributed the various divisions to reinforce them. The small division of thirty men he retained for the Inquisitor’s protection consisted of soldiers he, Leliana and Cassandra had hand-selected personally. Many of the men Anders and Hal had treated were amongst them, some of which were Templars. Tellingly, there were no mages in this force apart from Invictus, Anders, Hal, Vivienne and Dorian.

Leliana, Blackwall and Cassandra had taken command of three of the divisions, leaving Cullen to command the Inquisitor’s division, backed with Iron Bull and his Chargers. The elf rogue, Sera, roamed in advance of their party along with other scouts; often Zevran, Belann and Loghain went with them, Anders remaining beside Meneris to warn of darkspawn attacks from the rear or flanking them. Invictus and Fenris grew adept at recognising the subtle change in the blond Warden’s expression that told them he had sensed darkspawn approaching.

The Western Approach was a vast, arid expanse of wasteland. It was a stark, inhospitable and forbidding place, blanketed in unstable purple sands. Occasional rocky pillars and ridges jutted out like broken, rotting teeth across the skyline, interspersed with tall, rusting iron towers that marked the way across the badlands. During the day they were blasted by the incessant howling winds, but at night the air grew still, the sky alight with shimmering auroras.

The land itself was unwelcoming enough, but although the nights were calm, they were far more dangerous - for at night, in addition to roving bands of Venatori, they faced the additional danger of darkspawn. They were not far from the AByssal Rift to the south; and their path led them almost directly towards it. The Adamant Fortress was a dwarf-built stronghold that stood upon the very lip of the Rift itself, and as they drew closer they encountered more and more darkspawn. It became safer to make camp during the day, when the howling winds and sandstorms made travel near-impossible, and travel on through the night.

They were marching on foot now; the horses had had to be left behind, ill-suited for the trek across the vast expanse of hot desert sands and scrub as they searched for sign of the Grey Wardens. Their progress was haltingly, frustratingly slow.

By the end of the sixth night in the wasteland, they were all tired, eyes gritty from the sand which got everywhere, legs aching and tired from trudging through the treacherous sand. The moment their tent was pitched, Invictus and his companions retreated inside to collapse upon their bedrolls. They were joined shortly afterwards by Zevran. The Antivan elf’s hair was streaked with purple and grey dust, his skin ashened by more of the same above the scarf bound over nose and mouth. His golden eyes were red and sore from squinting against the dust. Scouting was punishing and exhausting work in this Maker-forsaken land beyond the limits of civilisation, and it was telling on all the scouts. He crept into their tent and sprawled face-down upon the bedroll they had laid out for him, coughing hoarsely as he tugged the dusty scarf down and away from his nose and mouth. Fenris wordlessly passed him a water canteen and the Antivan elf nodded his thanks as he drank.

“How bad was it?” asked Anders quietly when Zevran had caught his breath.

“Bad enough,” admitted Zevran as he sat up and ran a hand through his dusty hair. “We lost two men to a darkspawn ambush. We were careless; we had gotten separated from our Wardens, and we ran into six hurlocks. They seemed to come from beneath our very feet.” He shook his head. “We were too careless,” he repeated.

“Darkspawn hit us from the rear,” Anders said quietly. “Not so many as last night. We had some casualties, but no deaths.”

“Only because you and Hal were there,” Invictus grunted. “Cullen should be bloody grateful we’ve got two spirit healers with us or we’d have buried half his men by now.”

“Where is Hal?” asked Zevran, glancing round; the red-haired mage had taken to sharing their tent of late, Belann generally sharing with Loghain.

“Giving Cullen the tally of walking wounded; he’ll be with us shortly,” said Anders quietly. “He’s holding up far better than I’d expected.”

The dawn winds were beginning to pick up as Hal arrived at their tent; he had to wrestle with the tent flap as the rising stiff breeze tried to tug it from his hands. The mage cursed as he fought with the flapping canvas then ducked into the tent, firmly yanking it closed again as he deftly tied the cords tight against the shifting sands that were already being whipped up against the tents with a sound like rain. Hal coughed as he unwound his scarf from around his mouth and nose. 

“Bad out there already,” he muttered, brushing sand from his shoulders, then he sighed as he dropped gracefully down to sit cross-legged upon his own bedroll.

“I will never complain about the wet or mud again. I don’t miss this part of Tevinter, and it saddens me there are other parts of Thedas like that hell hole.” Fenris said as he sat with Zevran to wash some of the dirt and dust from his lover.

“I think Dorian concurs with you if the swearing is anything to go by,” said Hal. “I could only get the gist of about half of it whilst I was healing him, but I’m pretty certain some of it was complaining about sand being in places he had forgotten he even had.”

Anders frowned. “Dorian needed healing?” he asked. “I didn’t know he’d gotten hurt?”

Hal shrugged. “He didn’t tell anyone. Apparently a genlock came up behind Meneris and Dorian got between them. It was Meneris who spotted he was bleeding just as I finished tallying the wounded for him. You should have heard the Inquisitor chewing him out for not speaking sooner. Dorian’s excuse was that he didn’t want to bother you any further.”

Anders frowned further. “If we’re dealing with darkspawn then he _should_ bother me. The last thing we need is anyone getting tainted out here.” He picked at a loose thread on his cuff. “You’re _certain_ it was a genlock?”

“Well, that’s what Meneris said, why?” said Hal. Anders swore.

“I’d better go check on him,” he said as he got up.

“Wait, you can’t go out in that!” objected Hal. “Can’t you hear how the wind’s howling? The sand will flay you alive before you’ve taken two steps out there!”

“We just got settled down in our tent and Hal is right, you’d get torn to shreds. I can’t take you because I need to know exactly where I’m going and taking you along is already risky. It will have to wait.” Fenris said.

“You don’t understand,” said Anders, his voice low and urgent. He turned and stared at Invictus. “Hawke. You were at Ostagar. The darkspawn came through Lothering. You _know_ what will happen if his cut got infected with the genlock’s blood.”

“I know… but wouldn’t someone have come for you if that was the case? Belann would know wouldn’t he?” Vic said.

“What happens if he’s tainted?” Fenris asked.

Anders’ expression darkened. “Either he’d succumb... or Belann, Loghain and I would have to attempt a Joining. Which he might not survive. If we didn’t attempt a Joining, then it would be kindest to kill him.” He glanced at Fenris. “I know Dorian’s death wouldn’t matter one whit to you, but I’m not going to let anyone die if I can help it - and there are few enough of us mages here as it is. We need every single one we have.”

Fenris glowered at Anders before he rose to dump out the filthy water and held out the basin for Vic to refill with ice so he could melt it. 

“Love…” Vic warned.

Hal stayed sitting obstinately in front of the door flap. “You’re not going out there. I’m sure Hawke isn’t above sitting on you if you won’t listen to reason.” His eyes glowed gold for a minute. “And I really wouldn’t advise trying to get past me,” he added, his voice deepening as it took on a hollow tone. Fenris felt his lyrium itching as the glow in Hal’s eyes brightened before dimming.

“He’s right Anders. Belann is closer than we are, he’s staying in their tent I believe if not right next to it. Wouldn’t he be able to sense any taint in Dorian?” Vic said.

Fenris said nothing, he was stung over Anders words. Instead he focused on running a cloth over Zevran’s hair before he gave it up as a bad job. 

“Get that bucket, I’ll just warm enough water so he can wash his hair.” Vic offered.

Anders had half-risen from his position on the floor, but he froze as he stared at Hal, shaken by the transformation as the spirit took possession of the other mage even as the others carefully avoided looking at both of them.

“Maker,” he breathed shakily. “Is - is that what I - when Justice...?”

“ _Sit down, Anders,_ ” said the spirit possessing Hal. Anders fell, rather than sat, back down.

“I, I’m... not going anywhere,” said Anders in a hushed voice.

Hal blinked, and the golden glow faded.

Fenris watched as Vic filled a bucket with ice then melted it for their use. “Thanks Vic.” 

“Fenris? Don’t pull back from me, please.” Vic pleaded.

“Later, I just want to get Zev cleaned up and go to sleep.” the elf murmured as he went to a corner of the tent and called his lover over.

The Antivan elf had been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchanges going on around them; he lifted his head as Fenris called him, blinking, then nodded as he got to his feet and followed Fenris to the corner.

Anders had turned away from the others as he slowly stripped off his Warden gear, undressing down to pants and shirt. He slowly started to unbuckle his boots, not looking at anyone.

 

***

Dorian grimaced as he inspected the thin pale scar running down his arm, marring the smooth tawny skin.

“Stop touching it!” Meneris hissed. “You were out there for a while without saying anything, you could have bled out, what if that genlock tainted you? Are you out of your damned mind Dorian?” 

“Evidently yes,” murmured Dorian, not meeting Meneris’ eyes. “If by ‘out of my mind’ you mean ‘I thought your life worth saving’,” he added with a sniff. “‘Thank you for saving me Dorian, thank you for not letting that genlock take my ungrateful head off’.” He turned away, still frowning at the scar. “You’re welcome.”

“I thought you were going to die! Don’t fucking sass me Pavus. Do you know what went through my mind, my heart when you swooned into my arms, bloody and babbling? Do you!?” Meneris screamed.

Dorian spun around, his grey eyes widening. “Babbling? What are you talking about?” he said, a faint tone of outrage in his voice. “I never babble.” He reached for the open wine bottle. “The swooning was unfortunate, I’ll grant you that.”

“You...were babbling. Something about Pavali, and your mother and home. I thought you were dying in my arms Dorian. I lost a few years and probably gained some grey hairs. Maker man, I thought you were done in.” Meneris snatched the bottle from him. “No, not until we have you checked for the taint, no.” 

“A few silver hairs would look quite dashing on you,” Dorian replied as he turned, then he frowned as the bottle was snatched from his hand. “Damn it, Meneris, don’t you think I deserve a drink after that? _kaffras_ , I certainly _need_ one!” He reached for the bottle.

“Fine, take it then.” the elven fighter slammed the bottle down and began to pace. “Man I love nearly dies in my arms, could be tainted by Darkspawn and _he_ needs a drink!” Meneris went in circles as he kept yelling with occasional pauses to glare at Dorian then throw his hands up in exasperation.

“Please stop yelling,” said Dorian quietly as he reached for the bottle, his hand trembling slightly.

“One reason why? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t scream my bloody head off?” Meneris asked as he stood in front of Dorian, his greenish-hazel eyes dark as he looked up to his Altus. 

The hand holding the bottle shook harder, and suddenly Dorian dropped it, staring down at his trembling hands. “My fingers are numb,” he murmured as he staggered back a step. “Meneris... help me, I can’t breathe....” He clutched at his chest and lifted his head, eyes slightly glazed. “Meneris... help me....”

He kicked the bottle aside and pulled Dorian into his arms. “I’m sorry...I...didn’t mean to do this to you. Look at me, focus on me and breathe, in and out, just focus on me can you do that?” Meneris asked quietly.

Dorian clutched at Meneris’ tunic. “Can’t seem to catch my breath,” he murmured breathlessly. “What’s happening? My heart... feels like I’m dying... Meneris, help me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry come on love, just stay with me. Do you want me to call for a healer?” Meneris asked.

Dorian shook his head jerkily, clutching tightly to the elven Inquisitor as his knees threatened to buckle. “Afraid,” he managed to whisper as he closed his eyes, fighting to control his breathing as his chest heaved.

“Of what my heart? What is it?” Meneris asked as he tried to keep from letting his own fear take over. “Talk to me.”

“No healer,” Dorian managed to get out. “I’m not ready to face that. Not yet. Give me a few hours before they pronounce my death sentence.” His voice was little more than a panicked whisper.

“Stop it, I’m sorry I’m sorry. Come on, look at me and breathe with me, in, out, please Dorian. I love you, I’m here, I love you. Please stay focused, stay with me beloved.” Meneris begged.

Dorian pressed his face against Meneris’ tunic, his breathing ragged and hoarse as he clung to the elf, shaking uncontrollably. It was several long minutes before the shaking subsided and the Tevinter mage’s breathing began to approach something approaching normal. Dorian finally lifted his head and managed to give Meneris a rather tremulous and watery smile.

“And there was I trying _not_ to think on that,” he confessed. “And now I’ve gone and wasted the wine.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a sob. He took a deep breath and stepped back, absently smoothing the front of Meneris’ tunic before turning away, running a hand over his face slowly.

“Sorry about that,” he said quietly, bracing one hand against the table. “I think it all hit me at once.” He bent down to retrieve the bottle, holding it up to the light and squinting. There was perhaps a third of the bottle left; eschewing a glass, he set the bottle to his lips and steadily downed the last of the wine before setting the empty bottle back on the table with care. He turned and dropped heavily into the low camp chair and stared at his hands.

“I knew the risk the moment it happened,” he said quietly. “It didn’t seem to matter at the time. Your back was turned; the genlock would have taken your head clean off. So I stepped in the way. Better to risk dying myself than watch the man I love die before me.” He lifted his head slowly. “You wanted to know what I was thinking.” He glanced around dazedly. “Please tell me there’s more wine? I’d really rather not be sober when the healers come and tell me-” He broke off and covered his face with his hand. “Please don’t let it be Anders,” he murmured.

“Why not? He’s the best healer we have and he won’t mistreat you love.” Meneris reluctantly left Dorian’s side to fetch wine before he curled against his lover and traded the bottle with him.

“Because I don’t want to see the pity in his eyes when he tells me I’m going to die,” said Dorian, staring at the ground. “I just want to be told, and then drink myself into a stupor so I don’t have to think about it.”

“He would not do that. He’d feel bad but Anders is a professional, I’d rather him than Hal or one of the Chantry sisters. Come on love, don’t give up on me or yourself yet. Why don’t we kiss and make up huh? I want to see that light back in your eyes and not you getting ready to lie down and die.” Meneris pleaded.

Dorian took another long pull from the bottle. “I’m too pretty to die,” he said with a lopsided grin. He lifted his head and stared into Meneris’ eyes. “No. Let’s get this over with. I can’t wait until morning with this hanging over my head,” he said quietly. “Call Anders.”

“Hopefully the wind has gone down enough to send for him.” Meneris kissed Dorian softly before he checked and found that it was safe to go out. He didn’t bother sending for anyone, he just headed for the tent with Anders and company himself. He found it tied tight so he scratched at the flap, while he called for the warden mage.

Anders appeared, his Warden tunic hastily flung back on. “Dorian?” he asked tersely; as Meneris nodded, he drew a breath then stepped out.

As they entered the pavilion, the rest of the inner circle all looked up, their eyes sympathetic. Cullen stepped forward. “Inquisitor - Anders,” he said quietly. “If there’s anything you require....”

“I’ll call you if needed, Cullen,” said Anders quietly, his voice even. He turned to Meneris, who gestured wordlessly to the flap curtaining off the rear third of the tent. Anders went ahead and brushed it aside.

When Meneris entered, Dorian was sitting up in the chair, eyes on the ceiling of the tent as Anders crouched beside him, hands glowing blue as he passed them slowly over Dorian’s body, the blond mage’s eyes closed.

Meneris fidgeted as he waited and watched and hoped for the best.

Anders slowly straightened and opened his eyes as the glow around his hands faded; he sighed, then turned to Meneris.

Cullen and the others started then stared at each other with worried faces as a burst of hysterical laughter suddenly rang out from beyond the curtain. They could only exchange wordless looks as Dorian’s laughter continued whilst the winds outside slowly built once more to a frantic howl, his voice still audible above its banshee wail.


	23. Chapter 23

Anders brushed aside the curtain slowly, weary and tired. He lifted his eyes to glance round and halted as both Cullen and Vivienne stepped forward at the same time.

“Anders, is he-” “Warden, please-”

They broke off and glanced at each other. After a moment, Vivienne inclined her head graciously and gestured for the Commander to speak. He nodded once in acknowledgement and thanks.

“Dorian. Will he....” Cullen couldn’t finish, his voice trailing off. Anders could read mingled hope and dread in his eyes; it was mirrored in Vivienne’s gaze as she stared at the blond apostate, all trace of her usual antipathy towards him gone in the face of her worry and concern for the Tevinter Altus.

Anders drew a deep breath. Maker, but he was so tired. It had taken far too long to calm Dorian down from hysteria; in the end he’d given him a sleeping draught to calm him. The Altus now slept deeply, Meneris curled protectively about his lover. Anders was exhausted himself; it had been a long night and his nerves were frayed. But all eyes were upon him, waiting for his verdict on whether Dorian would live or die.

Anders felt heartsick as he slowly shook his head. 

“No!” exclaimed Vivienne. Her hands flew to her mouth in horror, her gasp echoed by the other companions.

“Anders - is there any chance you might be mistaken? Any at all?” said Cullen desperately. 

Anders shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am,” he sighed, running a hand over his face slowly. “I wish I _were_ mistaken.”

“Please - there must be _something_ you can do?” pleaded Vivienne. Anders glanced around the tent, unable to face the desperation in her eyes. 

Sera’s lips were set in a grim line. Iron Bull was staring at the ground, his expression unreadable. Varric had slumped into a chair, shaking his head in disbelief. Loghain and Belann glanced to each other, then at Anders. He met their glances and held still as Loghain turned to Belann. The Warden held Anders’ stare for a long moment, then very slowly nodded.

“He has one chance,” Anders said quietly.

“It’s not certain he’d survive,” said Loghain quietly.

“But it’s better than no chance at all,” replied Anders.

Cullen glanced from Anders to Loghain. “What do you mean?” he asked, and then his eyes widened. “You can’t mean -”

“Whatever it is, you must give him whatever chance you can!” said Vivenne insistently. “No matter how small!”

“He doesn’t want to die,” said Cole quietly from directly behind Anders; the blond mage started violently, then turned, clutching his chest as he panted.

“Maker, don’t _do_ that!” he exclaimed.

“His heart is sore but he doesn’t want to die. Playing dice, rolling sixes not ones,” said Cole. “He didn’t see me but he turns away, searching.”

Meneris came out of the tent and halted at the expression on everyone’s face. “So ...he’s done in then?” 

“Anders... if there’s the slightest chance he could survive-” began Cullen.

“I can’t promise you that,” said Anders. “I don’t know! No-one does until - Maker, why is everyone looking at _me_?” He stared around at the others, then turned to Belann. “Belann, _you’re_ the Warden. You’ve done this. Tell them!”

Belann turned to Meneris as the elven Inquisitor cast a frown at him, not fully understanding what was going on. Belann shook his head.

“There are no guarantees,” the Warden said quietly. “The Joining is not... certain. Not every recruit survives. It could save him... or it could mean only a swift, if painful death.”

“Join? You mean... the Altus would become a Warden?” said Vivienne.

“ _If_ he survives,” said Anders darkly. “I underwent the Joining with two others; Oghren and I survived, but Mhairi....” He shuddered and turned away. “I am certain that Zevran would have a poison that would grant him a kinder death. But... yes, there is a chance. He might survive.” 

“No...just, when he wakes let’s do this. Don’t pity him, don’t dance around it. I’ll be with him until you’re ready.” Meneris went back in and sat with his lover for a while before he curled around him and started to sob silently.

Anders walked slowly over to a nearby chair and dropped into it heavily; he stared at his hands for a minute before dropping his head into them with a low groan. Cullen came to stand beside him, one hand hand coming to rest upon Anders’ shoulder.

“It can’t have been easy telling him,” the Commander said quietly.

“It never is,” replied Anders, then sighed. “Maker. I hate it. And he knew. Even before he said anything - I could see it in his eyes. I didn’t have to say anything.” He closed his eyes. “I am so tired,” he whispered.

“The sandstorm is worsening,” said Cullen quietly. “You should sleep here. Get some rest.”

Anders nodded slowly.

**

Fenris frowned when Anders didn’t return to them but the worsening storm meant he couldn’t go to check. “I do not like this, he’s been gone some time.” 

Hal stared at the floor of the tent. “I’m afraid -” he began, but Zevran interrupted him as he sat up and cocked an ear. “Hush! Do you hear that?” he said softly.

“Hear what?” Fenris asked crossly.

“I can’t tell what you’re hearing Zev.” Vic said in confusion.

Zevran’s face darkened, his expression grave. “Laughter. And not the healthy kind,” he said quietly. “That is the laugh of a man who hears his death approaching.”

“So he’s tainted then?” Vic asked solemnly.

“My guess is yes, otherwise why react in such a way. I am far too knowledgeable about that kind of hysteria.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran dropped his gaze to the ground. “And I too have heard it too often,” he said softly. “It is a sound I heard too much during the Blight.”

“Since Anders thinks I will rejoice in his demise, I will remain here in our tent when you go to check on him.” Fenris said bitterly as he laid out on his bedroll.

“Love...don’t.” Vic pleaded.

“It is not a death I would wish upon anyone,” said Zevran quietly. He turned and pulled his satchel over towards himself. He began to carefully look through his assorted vials and bottles.

“He said as much Invictus. I’m a lot of things but I am not so cruel to rejoice in a man’s death. Especially when it comes like this. You two can go to him, and if dies, then if Meneris will take my condolences I will give them. Otherwise I shall keep my peace.” Fenris snapped before he rolled away towards the tent wall and feigned sleep.

Zevran pulled a small vial containing a colourless liquid from his satchel and held it in his hand. “If Dorian wishes it, I will offer him a kinder death than that offered by the taint,” he said softly. He stretched out upon his bedroll, the vial tucked under his pillow, and closed his eyes.

It was an uneasy, long day in which they all attempted to rest as best they could as the sandstorm screamed outside. Towards dusk the wind slowly died down, and people began to emerge from their tents.

There was a hushed air about the camp that evening as Zevran and Invictus emerged from their tent and headed towards the pavilion. Inside, they found Cullen gently rousing Anders, who looked as though he had barely slept.

“You alright there love?” Vic asked as he grabbed a canteen and gave it to his lover.

Anders lifted an eyebrow, his eyes haunted as he stared up at Invictus. “Do I _look_ alright?” he muttered tersely. He dropped his head to his hand. “Sorry. It’s not fair of me to take it out on you love.”

“He’s barely slept,” said Cullen quietly. “I don’t think any of us did much.”

Anders straightened and groaned as his back protested. “Dorian should be coming round from that potion shortly.”

Vic gave him a wan smile and handed him the canteen. “What do you need?”

Whatever Anders was about to say died upon his lips as Dorian pushed his way through the curtain leading into the rear third of the pavilion and then halted as all eyes turned to him. His face looked haunted but he attempted to smile.

“Anyone would think I was dead already,” he attempted to quip.

“Don’t joke about this.” Meneris said as he approached his lover and wrapped his arms around Dorian without shame or fear of how the other man would react to such a display.

“Would you rather I wept?” said Dorian quietly.

“Anything but jokes, I can’t take it right now _amatus_.” Meneris replied.

Dorian lifted a hand to squeeze Meneris’ as it rested over the Altus’ heart. He glanced over to Anders.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

Anders got to his feet as he glanced to the other two Wardens, then to Zevran before he looked back at Dorian.

“Perhaps a week. No more,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to say precisely.”

“Ah.” Dorian glanced at the floor, then slowly nodded. “A week. And doubtless a rather nasty and unpleasant end.”

“It... need not be,” said Zevran. As Dorian glanced up with a frown, Zevran held up the vial of clear liquid. Dorian held out his hand, and Zevran laid it in his palm.

“Swift, but painless, I promise,” said the Crow Master.

Dorian stared at the vial. He felt Meneris’ hands tighten upon him, the elf trembling slightly.

“What of the Wardens? Can you do nothing?” Meneris asked.

Anders cleared his throat as Dorian looked up. “There... is a chance. It’s... not a certain thing, and it... it may not work. But... we can attempt the Joining.”

Dorian’s frown deepened. “You mean I could become a Warden?” he said slowly. Anders glanced to Belann and Loghain then nodded.

Dorian stared at the vial thoughtfully. “What happens if it doesn’t work?”

“Then you will die,” said Belann. “Not all who take the Joining survive.”

“So... either I survive and become a Grey Warden, or die trying?” Dorian mused. Anders nodded.

Dorian stared at the vial thoughtfully for a few minutes, and then he began to chuckle. “Oh this is just marvelous,” he laughed. “Can you imagine - _me_ , a Warden? Can you imagine my father’s face? Oh this is too precious!” He threw his head back and laughed.

Meneris let go of him and snarled at his lover. “How can you find this funny?” 

“Oh this is simply wonderful,” chuckled Dorian, shaking his head. He threw the vial back to Zevran. “I accept. How soon can we do it?”

Meneris glared at his lover then looked to the wardens. “Well, when can we be done?” 

Invictus shrugged as he watched the other men. “I can sit with you if you wish, since this is a warden thing.” 

“There are... certain preparations that must be made,” said Belann, striding forward. “There are... components we must gather for the ritual.” He glanced to Loghain and Anders, who both nodded. “We will gather them this evening as we travel. The Maker willing, we can perform the ritual at dawn.”

“If I can be of help, let me know. Love will you be with them as we ride?” Vic asked.

Anders nodded. “I must,” he said quietly. “It’s... “ He sighed. “I’m sorry, love; gathering the- the components is... hazardous.” He smiled sadly. “I daren’t risk either you or Fenris, and... well.” He shrugged apologetically. “Warden business. Dorian has to come with us, but....” He broke off and looked round with a frown. “Where _is_ Fenris?”

“He...didn’t think you’d want him here. Your remarks stung a bit more than you’d think Anders.” Vic said apologetically.

Anders stared at him, and his face fell. He turned away. “Knickerweasels,” he muttered. “I am such an ass.”

“These... components,” said Dorian slowly. “I suppose the gathering of them is as hazardous as they are?”

Belann shrugged. “Not as much as you might think,” he remarked. “Sooner we start, sooner we’re done.” He glanced to Loghain and jerked his head towards the tent door flap. “We’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.” The two Wardens headed outside.

Cullen glanced to the other companions. “That would be our cue to leave as well,” he said. He turned to Dorian and clapped a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Dorian, for what it’s worth I-”

“Don’t, Commander,” said Dorian quietly. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

Cullen studied his face for a moment then nodded. “Good luck, Pavus,” he said. He inclined his head towards the Inquisitor, then headed towards the exit as the other companions filed out.

Zevran glanced to Anders and Invictus, then sketched a deep bow to Dorian. “I am not given much to prayer,” the Antivan said quietly, “And a Crow makes his own luck. But may fortune be with you.”

Dorian inclined his head in acknowledgement. He watched as the Antivan turned and departed.

“I should go as well, good luck Dorian and may the dawn bring a new day.” Vic headed off to find breakfast and his other elven lover.

Anders paused as he glanced from Dorian to Meneris. “Take your time,” he said quietly. “It should be an hour or two before the darkspawn ought to start coming out.”

“Darkspawn?” said Dorian. “We need darkspawn for the components?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Anders. “Well. Something from them, at any rate.” He pulled a face.

“In a manner of speaking?” Meneris asked as he tried to make himself eat something.

“Well, it’s actually their blood we -” Anders checked himself. “Oh knickerweasels. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Darkspawn blood? We’re chasing the blighters for _that_?” exclaimed Dorian. “Fascinating!”

“This isn’t a science experiment Dorian!” Meneris huffed before he left the tent. Dorian watched him go with a look of dismay.

“Meneris!” he called, one hand lifted as though he could call the elf back with a gesture of entreaty. “Don’t -” He watched as the Inquisitor stormed out of the tent. “- go,” he finished forlornly.”

Meneris halted outside the tent and leaned against the closest pole. He didn’t know what he’d do without Dorian and the mage’s flippancy wasn’t helping.

Snatches of discussion drifted out to him from inside the pavilion. Dorian’s voice rose and fell; Meneris could make out the odd sentence here and there as the Tevinter mage’s voice grew more frantic.

“... I can’t do this without him! You can’t mean that!”

Anders replied in a low voice; Meneris couldn’t quite make out the words.

“But this could kill me! He has a right -” More low voices, and then the sound of a glass being smashed. “... damn it, it’s not _fair!_ ”

Meneris went back in at the shouting. “What’s not fair?” he asked.

Both men’s heads snapped round to look at Meneris; Dorian’s eyes were glittering with anger as he turned to glare at the blond apostate.

Anders groaned as he bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained expression. “The only people permitted at the Joining are the recruits and other Wardens,” he said steadily. “It is forbidden for onlookers to witness it. On pain of death.” 

“It is what it is, we’ll spend as much time together as we can love. Anders, if you’d excuse please?” Meneris said as he held the tent flap open for the other man.

Anders nodded, the pained expression not leaving his face as he headed towards the exit. He lifted one hand to rub at his forehead as he ducked out into the evening air.

“Meneris. I...” For once, the usually glib Altus had no words as he stared at his elven lover, all mirth gone from his aquiline features.

“Yes Dorian?” asked the Inquisitor.

Dorian stared at him, his lips slightly parted, unable to speak. He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat; and suddenly he flung himself at the elf, arms wrapping around the other man as he began to kiss Meneris frantically, desperately, as though what remained of his life depended upon it.

The elven warrior returned the kiss eagerly until he needed air. “Hey...it’s gonna be alright. Just, let’s take a moment ok?” Meneris said as he wrapped himself around Dorian.

“You don’t know that,” Dorian said quietly. “You _can’t_ know that. I might not survive this. Meneris... I could be dead within hours.” He traced a thumb over Meneris’ lips as he shook his head. “I’m not ready to die, _amatus_. Not when I have so much to live for.”

“I’ve got faith love, and I will not let you go so easily. Please just let me believe a while longer. When we stop tonight, I will show you what you mean to me, as a reminder of what you have to live for. Please beloved, even if it’s for a short while let me have hope.” Meneris begged.

Dorian pressed his forehead against Meneris’ chest as he began to crumple, closing his eyes. “I wish you could be there, love,” he said softly. “If I should die... I wish it could be in your arms. And yet... perhaps it is better this way.” He tried to smile. “I would say something about leaving a beautiful -” He broke off. “I - I can’t,” he whispered brokenly. “I can’t. Meneris.”

“Don’t say it. I love you and you’re gonna be fine, and if you’re not going to believe me, then I’ll believe for both of us. Let’s get ready and I will be at your side until I absolutely positively have to let them try.” Meneris squeezed his lover one more time before he pulled away. “Come on, we should get on the road.”

Dorian remained hunched over for a moment longer, then drew a shuddering breath as he straightened. “I am ready,” he said, his voice wavering only slightly.

“I’m not but I’ve gotten good at faking it.” Meneris said as he held his hand out to his mage.

Dorian took his hand as he took another deep breath. He gave himself a small shake then nodded. “Time to face the music,” he said.

**

Anders pushed open the flap of the tent and ducked inside. He pulled off his tunic slowly, throwing it down on his bedroll as he stood there for a moment, massaging his temple with his fingers. His head was throbbing and he felt faintly nauseous.

Fenris noticed Anders return but didn’t say anything, he remained over by his bedroll, packing and unpacking the same things again and again. He didn’t want Anders to see him, yet he did.

Anders dropped down onto his own bedroll on his knees, then slumped, cradling his head with one hand, muttering to himself. He fell silent as he heard a rustle in the darkness of the tent and glanced a little to the side; something had caught his eye. He blinked, and recognised a stray beam of moonlight glinting off a whorl of lyrium.

“Fenris?” he asked quietly, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Yes, that would be me.” Fenris said as his hands stilled and he glanced over to his lover.

Anders blinked, trying to make out Fenris’ face in the darkness; the faint moonlight showed only a hint of his profile and a glitter of emerald eyes in the darkness.

“Are you... angry with me?” Anders asked hesitantly.

“I’m...not angry but I am hurt that you think me so petty.” Fenris admitted.

Anders hung his head. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said as he scrubbed at his right eye with the heel of his palm. “It was wrong of me to even suggest it. I’m sorry, love.” He slumped further, hunching in upon himself. He was silent for a few minutes, and then he very quietly added, “Dorian’s tainted.”

“Is he to take the Joining then or will he accept Zevran’s offer?” Fenris asked.

“The Joining,” said Anders. “At dawn.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It... he....” He sighed. “Not all recruits... survive.”

“He’s too stubborn to die, he’s an Altus.” Fenris said as he went over to his lover and dropped gracefully to sit in front of him.

“I thought Mhairi was too,” Anders said softly. “Funny... hadn’t thought of her in years. But I can see her now, choking out her last breaths on the floor. Drowning in her own blood. I... I’m not sure I can face that again, Fenris. But I have to. Maker knows how I’ll look the Inquisitor in the eye afterwards if Dorian doesn’t make it.” He lifted his head slowly and stared at Fenris. “I’m tired of watching people die and not being able to do a damned thing about it, love. Dorian... I didn’t have to tell him he had the taint. He _knew_ , the moment I looked at him. It never gets any easier, telling someone they’re probably going to die.” He stared down at his hands. “He _has_ to make it,” he said softly.

“Come here, let me hold you for a moment.” Fenris opened his arms and was nearly pushed over by Anders wrapping himself around him. Anders shuddered and curled up, hunching into a ball, silent. He stayed like that for long minutes as Fenris gently stroked the long tousled hair back from his face.

“Anders?” called a voice from outside the tent.

“That’s Loghain,” said Anders in a subdued voice. “We’re going out to hunt darkspawn. For the Joining.”

“Do you need help?” Fenris asked. 

Anders pulled away, eyes wide and near-frantic as he stared at Fenris. “Maker, _no!_ ” he exclaimed. “I can’t lose you too! Please - love, just please - stay with the Inquisitor and Hawke. I need to know you’re safe whilst I’m out there.” He caught hold of Fenris’ hands and squeezed them. “Promise me.”

“Alright, if you insist.” Fenris said in confusion. He could take care of himself, but he wouldn’t make Anders worry any more than he already was.

Anders stared at him as though drinking in the sight of him.

“Anders!” Loghain called, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

“I’m coming!” called Anders. He leaned forward and kissed Fenris swiftly. “I love you,” he whispered fervently before getting to his feet, snatching up his Warden tunic and staff before leaving the tent hastily.

The other two Wardens stood waiting, Dorian standing between them.

“There you are, Anders. We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you,” said Loghain. 

“Sorry,” Anders replied tersely as he tugged on his Warden tunic. “I’m ready.”

The three Wardens set out on foot with Dorian. The rest of the camp turned out to watch them go; though none in the command tent had spoken to anyone else of what had happened, somehow word had gotten around that something was happening concerning the Wardens and the Altus.

Meneris watched until the Wardens were out of sight, then turned and nodded to Cullen. The order was given to break camp, and they moved on through the night.

The scouts kept close to the rest of the Inquisitor’s small force this night. Whether by some chance or perhaps the darkspawn were drawn to the Wardens, the Inquisitor’s small force was untroubled by attacks that night as they marched. They made good time through the dark night, their way lit by the moon and the ever-shifting aura that rippled across the night sky in waves of shimmering green.

The Wardens returned near dawn, tired, footsore and weary. Cullen had cleared the pavilion for their use; the inner circle companions clustered around the main camp fire that had been kindled but a short time before. There would be perhaps an hour before the rising winds would make it necessary to dowse the fire and for all to seek the shelter of their tents.

Meneris stood alone before the entrance to the pavilion. The Wardens nodded to him and he stepped aside; Anders paused beside him for a moment.

“We must make preparation for the rite, but you may stay for a little while,” he said quietly. He turned to Dorian and gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile before following the other Wardens through into the screened-off rear part of the pavilion, leaving the Tevinter mage and the elven Inquisitor alone.

Meneris stood before Dorian silently, head bowed as he tried to think of words that would suit.

Dorian lifted a hand and gently ran a forefinger down Meneris’ nose then brushed it against the elf’s lips before leaning in to replace his finger with his own lips. The kiss was soft and chaste; he pulled back slightly as he trailed his fingertips slowly down Meneris’ chest.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he breathed softly.

“ _Vhenan'ara._ ” Meneris replied as he looked into Dorian’s eyes. “I’m so scared.”

Dorian’s eyebrows quirked up and for a moment there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes that he blinked away swiftly. “I need you to be strong for me, love,” he said quietly. 

“I’ll try, no guarantees. A man only has so much in him with his beloved’s life in the balance.” Meneris wrapped himself around Dorian and wept openly, no shame in letting his lover see him so raw and open.

Dorian closed his eyes as he held the elf close, his own cheeks wet. “Anders says it will happen quickly. That if I don’t make it, I.... I won’t suffer long. And if I do - make it, that is - they’ll know immediately. They, they - well, he - Anders, he insisted we gather genlock blood; he thinks that would give me the best chance. Something about the same source of contagion, and all manner of stuff that I’m probably not supposed to tell you about.” He was aware he was verging on babbling. He pressed his cheek against Meneris’ short hair and drew a slow breath to ground himself.

“If you don’t make it, I will destroy them all.” Meneris said coldly, his face still buried against Dorian’s chest.

Dorian’s eyes snapped open and he thrust Meneris away to hold him at arm’s length as he stared into Meneris’ eyes. “No. Meneris. No matter what happens to me in there, Anders and the other Wardens are not to blame. You are to promise me that no matter what, you will not harm them. Please.”

“I cannot make a promise that I may well forget in my grief, Dorian,” Meneris said dully as he reached up on his tip-toes and kissed Dorian in case it was the last time.

Anders stepped out from behind the curtain. He gave them both an apologetic look as they turned towards him.

“It’s time,” he said simply.

Dorian turned back to Meneris and hugged him fiercely. “No matter what, remember that I love you, _amatus_ ,” he whispered. He pulled away, his grey eyes holding Meneris’ gaze intently as he straightened his shoulders. Then he turned and walked away. Anders held the curtain open for him, then glanced back to Meneris. 

“Wait here,” he said. “It won’t take long.” He hesitated, as if about to say something else, then shook his head and turned away, lowering the curtain.

From the screened off area, Meneris could hear low voices, then Belann’s voice asked,

“Are you ready?”

Dorian’s voice rang out, steady and sure. “I am.”

Belann’s voice dropped once more; Meneris found he was straining to make out the words. He took a step towards the curtain, and then another.

“...henceforth, Dorian Pavus, you are a Grey Warden.”

There was silence for a moment, and then as Meneris took another step forward, he heard a soft gasp and then the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Meneris couldn’t breathe.


	24. Chapter 24

Meneris was transfixed, waiting; unable to breathe, his heart stuttering in his chest.

A low murmur of voices, and then Anders held open the curtain. He glanced at Meneris, who felt his heart falter.

Anders’ face split into a tired grin. “He made it,” he said.

Meneris remembered how to breathe; he drew a ragged breath. “Can... can I see him?”

Anders nodded. “He’s out for the count but he’ll awaken in time, he-”

Meneris didn’t wait to hear what else Anders had to say; he was pushing past, into the curtained off area, his eyes fastened on the body of his lover, sprawled unconscious upon his back upon the ground. Someone had put a pillow beneath his head. Meneris took two steps into the room and then flung himself down upon his knees next to Dorian, drawing the unconscious man up into his arms to hold him close.

“Still alive; thank you,” Meneris whispered as he held his lover close and thanked the Creators he wasn’t taken from him.

Belann and Loghain stood to one side; Belann looked up at Anders as the blond apostate followed Meneris back.

“We’ll leave them in your capable hands, Anders,” said Loghain as they headed towards the curtain leading back outside.

“Of course you will,” muttered Anders to himself. He waved them off tiredly. “Tell Fenris and Hawke I’ll be out shortly. I just want to see Dorian settled and just make a final check on him.” He rubbed his forehead slowly as he stumbled back over to drop into a chair nearby. 

“Well. That went better than I think any of us could have hoped,” he mused.

“I can take care of him; you can go now, Warden,” Meneris said without looking up or letting go of Dorian.

“Of course you can,” said Anders gently. “But I dare say you’d appreciate a hand getting him settled in the bed instead of sprawled on the floor, and you’d probably like to have some idea of when he’ll wake up, hmm?” He nodded over to the low camp bed then back to Meneris, lifting one eyebrow.

Meneris glared at Anders for a moment but relented when he realized the apostate warden was right. “Fine.”

“If you take his shoulders, I’ll take his feet. That’s it - easy does it.” They carried the unconscious Dorian over to the camp bed and Anders checked the Tevinter mage over carefully, taking his pulse and briefly brushing back an eyelid to check Dorian’s eyes before laying his hand lightly over Dorian’s forehead and closing his eyes and concentrating.

“Another hour or two I think,” Anders said after a moment as he let his hand fall and opened his eyes. “He’s in good health otherwise.” He slumped slightly. “I imagine you probably have a lot of questions - and a lot of anger right now.” He glanced up at Meneris. “He’s out deeply enough that you can shout and he won’t waken. Not just yet, anyway. If it would help.”

“Anger is putting it lightly,” Meneris said as he sat with his hand entwined with Dorian’s. He refused to look at Anders as they sat there. Now the initial fear followed by a wave of fervent relief and gratitude had drained away, he had been feeling a slow, steady burn of white-hot rage rising within him; it coiled in his gut, a raging inferno that ate at him and demanded release.

Anders nodded. “Would ‘coldly furious’ be more accurate?” he suggested. 

“Don’t be flip with me, not right now,” Meneris said as he leaned his head forward, trying to control himself.

“Force of habit,” shrugged Anders. “Somehow I don’t think saying sorry is exactly going to make things better though.” He eyed the elf thoughtfully, then got to his feet, stepping aside from the chair, glancing at the floor behind him briefly before turning back to Meneris. “Don’t worry though, I’m sure Dorian will be back on his feet and winding everyone up as usual in no time. He seems to be even better at it than I am.” His glib tone belied the shrewd, measuring look he gave the Inquisitor.

Meneris kissed the back of Dorian’s hand before he stood and got in Anders’ space. “I really don’t think you are in a position to talk about anyone, Anders.” The elven Inquisitor had to look up to stare Anders in the eye but the expression wasn’t amused in the least.

“Do tell,” Anders drawled quietly as he stared down at the Inquisitor.

“Are you trying to get executed?” Meneris asked as he felt his mark flare in response to his agitation.

“Would you really kill me, Meneris? Your boyfriend is still living.” Anders’ eyes flicked from Meneris’ eyes down to the glow of the mark and then back. Was that a brief flicker of fear in the apostate’s honey-brown eyes? Meneris didn’t care.

“You keep giving me lip, I might just forget that I let you live to begin with. Is there some reason you are trying to goad me into that or are you just tired of living?” Meneris hissed.

Anders stood his ground. “For a start, I don’t think you would kill an unarmed man. Not just for annoying you,” he said, one eyebrow arching slightly. “Though Maker, you seem to have better control than I thought. Fenris would probably have smacked me by now.” His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Your mark aside though, I doubt you could take my head off-”

Before Anders could finish, Meneris had slapped him hard enough to make him stagger. “I could very well take your head off and more Warden. Do not underestimate me because I’m an elf. I wield a two-handed sword easier than you twirl that stick of a staff.” 

Anders fell heavily down to one knee; he lifted a hand to his lip then brought it away bloody. He stared at the blood for a moment. “Huh,” he said softly. He glanced up at Meneris. “And how do you feel now?” he said gently. “Still angry? Still like you really need to hit something, someone - anyone?” His eyes held Meneris’ with a knowing look. “Like you want someone else to hurt the way you’ve been hurting, because you were so terrified you were going to lose him?” 

He got to his feet, rolling his shoulders, and stood in front of Meneris again. “Still need to lash out?” He glanced down at the mark, then back up at Meneris. “Because believe me, I can take whatever you dish out. So go ahead. You need to make a Warden pay for taking him from you? Here I am.” He held his hands out to the sides. Blood slowly trickled from his split lip, running down his chin to drip upon the floor.

“Why? So you can run and get Fenris or Invictus after we got at it? What is your game?” Meneris asked even as he started to circle the blond mage.

“Anger festers,” said Anders quietly. “It’s better to deal with it than let it rot you from the inside out. You were afraid. Now you’re angry.” He turned slowly, keeping his eyes on Meneris as the elf circled him. “I’m not going to run to Fenris or anyone else. This is just between the two of us.”

“Right, as it is the second he sees that split lip he’ll come running. He’s protective of you, to the point he’d go for my heart in a second. Besides, if Dorian hadn’t lived? You’d already be dead,” Meneris said with a maliciousness in his voice few heard.

Anders smiled grimly. “You think I didn’t know that? I was well aware that would be the likely outcome.” He lifted his hand to his lip; his fingers glowed blue for a moment, and when he lowered his fingers, the cut had healed. “Don’t worry. There’ll be no marks for Fenris to fret over. Like I said - this is just you and me.”

“What’s your game? Why are you baiting me, Warden? I could kill you, and you can’t heal that now can you? I’ve heard tall tales about your abilities, but that’s pretty permanent,” Meneris grinned as he continued to stalk in a circle.

Anders slowly turned, keeping his eyes on Meneris. “Because you think it’s bad now? It’s going to get worse, believe me,” he replied. “When he wakes you up with his screams night after night, plagued by nightmares. When he feels that unclean scratching in the back of his skull that tells him darkspawn are near.” He paused, staring at Meneris. “When he hears Corypheus’ call.”

“This is going to get worse? What has been done to him?” Meneris asked as he slowed finally and stopped in front of the other man.

Anders exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m about to tell you things that are Warden secrets. I shouldn’t be doing this, and Maker only knows what they’d do to me if they found out. But you need to know.” He glanced over his shoulder down at Dorian. “The Joining... it doesn’t cure the contagion. It only slows it down massively. He’s still tainted; that’s never going away. But the taint gives us... certain abilities. We can feel the darkspawn when they’re near. In time, he’ll be able to tell not only how many, but what types, and he’ll be able to tell other Wardens from darkspawn.” He glanced back to Meneris. “And he’ll be able to tell individual Wardens apart from their feel as well. That’s how I know Blackwall isn’t a Warden.” He gave Meneris a lopsided grin.

“He’ll heal faster, have greater endurance - you’ll get a lot of benefit from that, by the way; the stories about Warden stamina are absolutely true.” He winked and grinned. “But it comes with a price. He’ll always feel like he’s starving hungry; the price of our fast metabolism is that it needs feeding. Miss too many meals and it’s actually painful.” He winced slightly. “Maker, did I learn that in Kirkwall,” he mused softly, almost to himself, before glancing back at Meneris. “And we dream. Nightmares, mostly of darkspawn - and they get worse when our Calling is near, or when an archdemon stirs at the beginning of a Blight. And... Corypheus can call to us as well. Loghain believes the Calling we’re all feeling is something of Corypheus’ creation. We’ll know one way or the other when we get to Adamant, I guess.”

His eyes dropped to the floor. “And the Calling itself....” He sighed and glanced up at Meneris. “Of all the secrets I’ve told you, this one would most likely mean my death were the Warden-Commander to learn I’ve told you. But... you deserve to know. The contagion cannot be halted forever. Eventually... it will claim us. I was told thirty years from the day of my Joining, but... sometimes it’s less, for mages. We don’t know why. Some last thirty; some only fifteen or twenty. You don’t know how long you’ve got until one day you hear it - the singing. And that’s the day you go into the Deep Roads and pray to the Maker you die.”

All the fight went out of the Inquisitor at that news. Instead of screaming or hitting Anders again, he stumbled back over the bed and sat with Dorian. “That’s even less than I expected...I’ll outlive him because he’s human...but still. Why, Anders? Is this really better than losing him now?” Meneris said as he stared at his lover.

Anders slumped back down into the chair. “A moment ago you were telling me that if he’d died, I would have died as well....” He shook his head. “He wasn’t ready to die just yet, Meneris. You have time now. Both of you. Not as much as if he’d never contracted the taint in the first place - but right now his heart beats, he draws breath, and in an hour or so he will open his eyes and he will want and need your love and reassurance.” He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. “Tell me then if it would be better to have lost him. Tell me then if you would rather have my blood on your hands and two men to bury.” He lifted his head slightly. “But ask him first if _he_ thinks it worth it,” he added softly, a steel edge creeping into his voice. “You said to give him the choice. And we did. _He. Chose. This._ ” 

His eyes dropped back to the floor. “A choice I was never offered. A choice that was never mine to make.”

“I’d have felt better if I’d taken your life for his, even temporary as it would have been,” Meneris admitted.

Anders laughed mirthlessly. “Another choice not for either of us to make, alas.” He lifted his head and gave Meneris a rueful smile. “If I could give you his life back in exchange for mine then I’d give it to you gladly. But I can’t. What’s done is done. He saved your life, and now he has a few more years than he would have had.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I am sorry, Meneris. Truly.”

“I find it hard to believe, especially seeing as how he wronged you along with Invictus,” Meneris said as he crawled into the bed next to Dorian and wrapped himself around the sleeping mage.

“I hardly think that an indiscretion between two men should deserve a death penalty,” said Anders, frowning. “It was sex. Why should I wish a man’s death for that? I’m a healer, Meneris. I live to preserve life, not pass judgement.” He glanced away. “I know my past does not exactly speak well for me however. I’m the last man who should ever sit in judgement on another man’s life.”

“I don’t know you well, and most of what I know is your action at the enthrallment of another. I know Invictus and Fenris still despise him despite his apology. You’ve another among your number, and I’m sure Loghain will try to take him from us at Adamant anyway. Leave me to grieve.” Meneris curled his fingers into the soft leather of Dorian’s tunic and turned his face so Anders could not see his pain.

Anders nodded. He rose from his seat and headed slowly towards the door, pausing only to pick up a small silver goblet that lay on the floor. He silently left the tent and stepped out into the cool pre-dawn air, glancing around himself as he straightened.

The camp fire was being doused; the first stirrings of a breeze had sprung up, whirling dust devils into the air. Anders tugged the grey scarf that hung round his neck up over his nose and mouth as he bowed his head against the rising wind and made his way back to the tent he shared with Invictus and the others.

Fenris wasn’t asleep; he found he couldn’t find rest without Anders present. He looked up when the tent flap opened, his relief palpable as he rose to greet his warden.

Anders fumbled with the tent flap ties, his fingers tired and clumsy; he swore, then set the goblet down whilst he wrestled with them, the rising wind trying to tug the flap from his grasp. Once he’d secured it against the wind, he picked up the goblet and turned slowly to find Fenris watching him.

“He lives,” Anders said quietly.

“I’m sure the Inquisitor is relieved. I figured I’d hear the keening from here if Dorian had not survived. You, however look haunted.” Fenris tugged Anders over to the low table and poured water for both of them.

Anders set the goblet down, then sat, his head drooping. “I told Meneris about the Calling,” he said quietly.

“I take it he was not pleased?” Fenris asked as he started to pluck at Anders’ tunic and jacket to help him undress. “You need a bath and something to eat.”

Anders pulled the scarf off and dropped it in his lap before tugging desultorily at the buckles of his tunic. “Would you be? I seem to recall neither you nor Hawke were exactly delighted to hear about it. And Dorian is a mage like me - so he likely won’t get the full thirty years either.”

“Do not compare what we have to them,” Fenris said as he continued to tug at Anders clothes. “He lived, and while it may not be what he wanted, he’s alive to complain about it.”

Anders snorted. “It’s not Dorian I had to argue with. He’s still out for the count. It’s _Meneris_ who -” He broke off and toyed with the scarf in his lap. “There was a bit of shouting. I was expecting it. I gave him the whole story - what Dorian will gain from the Joining, and what the price will be. I broke nearly every Grey Warden rule on the subject and my life wouldn’t be worth rat-spit if the First Warden knew, but frankly he can just kiss my arse and deal. They both deserve to know the truth, and I was never one for following the rules anyway.”

“I see… well once Invictus wakes he can help you get cleaned up since creating ice isn’t something I can do. Do you want breakfast in the meantime?” Fenris asked quietly.

Anders’ fingers plucked listlessly at the scarf, and then he nodded. “I should eat,” he agreed.

“What else is wrong?” Fenris asked as he took Anders’ hands in his. 

“Just tired, I guess,” he dissembled. “You know how it is. Long night, hunting darkspawn, the ritual and then dealing with the aftermath. You’re probably right, I just need food and then rest and I’ll be fine.” He looked up and smiled at Fenris.

“You’re not fooling me, Anders, but I won’t push you on it. Come on, let’s get food and then we can sleep,” Fenris said tiredly.

Anders nodded. He glanced about and spotted a half-full bottle of wine on the table. “Is that one of the ones Zevran stole?” he asked with a small smile.

“I think so, I’m… exhausted, wine is probably not a good idea right now.” Fenris mumbled.

“I think I’m going to need something to help me sleep,” replied Anders as he reached for the bottle. He reached for the nearest cup and was about to pour when he froze; he’d picked up the Joining cup. He stared at the dregs of dark fluid in the bottom, unable to tear his eyes away for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked.

Anders set the goblet down then took a long pull straight from the bottle itself. He swallowed, then looked up at Fenris. “Meneris told me that if Dorian had died, he likely would have executed me on the spot. I believe he would have, as well. But that’s... that’s not it.” He took up the cup, hefting it in his hand for a moment. “This cup has condemned as many as it’s saved, Fenris. And for what? What if this Calling is real? Worse still, what if it _is_ all a trick of Corypheus? You remember what happened last time we faced him.” Anders shook his head. “I can’t get this damned singing out of my head, and it’s only getting worse. I don’t know what is going to happen. And now we’ve gone and made another Grey Warden - condemned yet another man to hear this same damned song. But he chose this. He _chose_ it, Fenris. We gave him the choice, and he took it.” He rose to his feet and hurled the cup into the corner of the tent.

“He got a choice I was never given. And I am so damned tired of being other people’s pawn, their plaything - their tool.” He stood still, staring at his feet, his breath coming faster. “I’m tired of other people ruling my life, deciding whether I live or die. There’s only so many times a man can listen to another tell him _oh so casually_ that they’ve decided to let you live this time.”

Fenris raised a dark brow at Anders’ words but didn’t say the first thing that came to mind. Instead he went over and embraced his lover.

“You’re lucky, love,” said Anders quietly. “You freed yourself. I may have been pardoned - but I’ll never be free. There’ll always be someone or something else tugging my leash.”

“I don’t always feel free, so don’t be sure on that love.” Fenris gave him another squeeze before he looked up to his lover. “You’re safe with us.”

Anders sighed and rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder. “Yes,” he said quietly. “For now.”

The wind outside was rising to a frenetic screeching wail. Anders shuddered. “That’s not a wind I’d choose to walk in,” he murmured. 

“Then let us rest; now that you’re back, I can sleep,” Fenris said right before he yawned loud and long. Anders nodded.

“Lie with me?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course,” Fenris replied before he pulled Anders to the two bedrolls put together, pulled off his clothes and crawled in with a groan. Anders tugged off his boots, spilling out grey-purple sand, and let his Warden tunic drop before he stretched out beside Fenris.

Tired as he was, Anders didn’t drop off to sleep straight away; Fenris was aware of the tall blond man shifting on the bedroll restlessly. It was hot, stiflingly so; the tent seemed airless in the heat as the morning dawned and the winds outside screamed. Eventually the blond apostate stilled, his breathing evening out into a slow, deep rhythm of sleep. Yet even his sleep was not restful; Fenris was woken often as Anders would twitch and jerk in his sleep with occasional small pained cries.

The elf reached over and let his brands light slightly in an effort to quell his mage lover. “Be at peace love.”

Anders’ eyes flew open; in the half-light cast by Fenris’ brands, they seemed wholly dark. He stared at nothing, his breathing slowing as his eyes slowly fluttered shut again.

The elven fighter rolled over when he felt too hot and finally fell asleep not long before Invictus finally rose from his bedroll. The sunlight on the walls of the tent was little more than a rosy glow; the sun was setting, the wind’s banshee wail lowering to a mournful sigh.

Hal was rubbing his eyes sleepily and sitting up as Invictus slowly dressed; the red-haired mage seemed to have slept poorly, dark hollows beneath his eyes that made the flesh look bruised. Hal glanced up at him and managed a wan smile.

“Do you want me to bring you something to eat while you get a bit more sleep?” Vic asked.

Hal shook his head. “No, I’m awake now,” he answered. He ran his hands through the strands of hair that always seemed to work their way loose from his braid as he slept; they tumbled about his shoulders, tousled and messy. He pulled the scarf free and rubbed the brand upon his forehead with a small grimace. “Besides, if I sleep in, I’ll miss breakfast again - I’d rather have something hot.”

“Very well, let’s let them lie in and see what has become of Dorian.” Vic held the flap open for Hal and grimaced.

“At least the wind has stopped screaming,” said Hal. “Between that noise and the Wardens all having nightmares....” he shook his head. 

“You can sense them?” Vic asked

“It’s not quite sensing - more a case of I can’t help getting drawn into their dreams,” replied Hal. “And now there’s Dorian as well. I tried to help, to change it a little, but being in the Fade so much in other people’s dreams isn’t very restful.” He shrugged. “Though I did encounter a fascinating elf who was also drawn to Dorian’s dream.” He suddenly grinned. “He seemed just as interested in me as I was in him. He was quite perturbed to learn that Dorian is a Grey Warden now; I gather they know each other.”

“Probably that Solas fellow, he talked a lot of dreaming and walking paths when I did speak with him. Which was thankfully not often.”

“Yes, Solas - that was the name he gave,” nodded Hal. He hastily tugged the hood of his tunic up, pulling it forward to hide the brand as one of the soldiers approached, nodding greeting as she passed them. He waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “Fascinating man. I’ve never encountered anyone quite like him before - and nor had Endrin.”

“How’s that working for you - having another Hawke in your head?” asked Invictus, curious.

“It’s not like having another person there,” said Hal with a shrug. “I can’t hear his thoughts - he doesn’t talk to me, or anything like that. I honestly couldn’t tell you where he ends and I begin. His memories are laced in with mine; to all intents and purposes, I _am_ Endrin Hawke, just as much as I am Hal. There are times when I find myself thinking something and I’m not sure if it comes from me or him. And sometimes something happens and he comes out; mostly I’m aware when it’s happening though. And it’s happened less as time has passed.”

“And as you’ve gotten used to having feelings again?” asked Invictus.

“Kind of,” said Hal, rubbing the brand upon his forehead slowly. “My emotions still have a tendency to get away from me, particularly if I’m stressed or tired. Which... can be embarrassing.”

They had reached the camp fire that stood in the centre of the encampment. The entrance flaps of the nearby pavilion had been drawn open; and as they paused by the fire, Commander Cullen emerged. He was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and frowning slightly. A messenger hurried up to him.

“Commander Cullen sir - a raven arrived from Sister Nightingale,” he muttered. Cullen nodded his thanks and unrolled the missive, then glanced around, surprised. “How the deuce did she-!” He broke off as he noticed Hal and Invictus watching. “Hawke. Hal.”

“Commander,” replied Hal, bowing slightly.

“Cullen,” nodded Invictus. “Bad news?” He gestured at the missive in the Commander’s hand.

“Hmm? No... just puzzling, mostly,” Cullen replied. “Somehow Leliana’s gotten word of what’s happened to Dorian already, though I’m damned if I can figure out how.”

“She’s your spymaster for a reason Cullen.” Vic said. 

“Um....” Hal scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt, looking for all the world like a naughty apprentice who’d just been caught. “Actually, that... was probably me.”

“ _You?_ ” exclaimed Cullen. “Exactly how did you....”

“I... spoke to Solas. In the Fade. He probably told her,” Hal admitted, not looking up.

“Wait. Solas visited your dreams?” asked Cullen, frowning.

“Not exactly; I was... well...” Hal rubbed his brand self-consciously. “I wasn’t dreaming. I was in the Fade.”

“You don’t mean in the usual sense for a mage, do you?” asked Cullen. “You’re... actually _there_? Like Solas?”

“Just like him, yes,” agreed Hal.

“But wait - you didn’t have this ability back in the Circle - did you?” said Cullen, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure I would have remembered something like that!”

“No, it happened after - after I was no longer Tranquil,” said Hal.

“So... you can visit anyone’s dreams then? You could meet and speak with Solas at any time?” Cullen said slowly.

“Well, as long as we’re both asleep, yes,” agreed Hal. Cullen suddenly grinned.

“That’s fantastic! That is going to make communication with Leliana and Solas a lot faster and simpler!” he exclaimed. “Just wait until I tell Meneris - this is going to be incredibly useful.” He clapped Hal on the shoulder. “You’ve just officially become part of the Inquisition, Hal,” he smiled. He glanced to Invictus. “Hawke, have you two eaten yet?”

Invictus shook his head. “We were just about to -”

“Come with me, come join us for breakfast,” said Cullen. “Maybe this bit of news will help cheer up the Inquisitor a bit; Maker knows, he needs it.”

He turned and led the way back towards the pavilion, Hal and Invictus trotting to catch up.

“How is Dorian?” asked Hal.

“See for yourself,” said Cullen as he ducked into the pavilion and gestured.

A table had been set out with a breakfast buffet of plain but filling foods; Iron Bull was quietly chatting with Sera and Varric, occasionally darting glances at the far end of the table where Dorian was sitting with a large plate of food, eating swiftly as though he were starved, though his table manners were as impeccable as ever. He wasn’t _quite_ bolting his food, but the plate was being efficiently cleared in a manner quite unlike the Altus’ usual almost dainty eating habits. Vivienne was regarding him with a faint air of dismay whilst Meneris hovered protectively by Dorian’s shoulder, glaring at anyone who held his eye for more than a heartbeat.

“That’s his second plate,” remarked Cullen in a low voice as they headed to the table to help themselves.

“Warden appetite, get used to it Cullen.” Vic murmured. 

“Oh, I know - well, I’d heard, at least,” Cullen corrected himself. “It’s one thing to hear about it, another to actually _see_ it though.”

Dorian had finished and was fastidiously wiping his mouth with a napkin before he reached for a glass of wine. Meneris’ hand tightened upon his shoulder for a moment; Dorian reached up to pat the elf’s dusky fingers before turning his head and kissing them, then he leaned forward for his glass.

“Hang out with Anders more, you’ll see it often. You should take a warden lover, it’ll be good for you.” Vic said with a grin.

“I, ah, well,” stammered Cullen, pinking slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really have the time for, for that sort of thing, Champion.”

Dorian sipped from his glass, the fingers of his other hand still resting over those of Meneris. The Altus looked lost in thought, gazing into his glass, though his fingers pressed gently upon Meneris’, as though reassuring the other man that he was in the Tevinter mage’s thoughts.

“You should make the time, believe me it’s worth it.” Vic whispered in his ear. “You’ve heard us, half the camp has.” 

Cullen’s ears were going bright red. The blond ex-Templar coughed as he pulled away from the mage, a look in his brown eyes not too dissimilar to that of a doe caught in firelight under the hunter’s arrow. “Yes, well, I- I’ll take your word for that, Hawke - if you’ll excuse me? Hal, would you come with me please?”

Cullen couldn’t get away from Invictus fast enough, it seemed; he was still flushed pink as he strode over towards Dorian and Meneris. “Ah, I-Inquisitor, sorry to disturb you - Dorian,” he added, nodding to the Altus who merely smiled graciously and waved his wine glass in a “go on” gesture.

“Not disturbing us Cullen, what’s on your mind? Why do you look like a beet, I know it’s hot in this damned desert,” Meneris said.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Ah, my f-face? That’s, that’s not important, pay it no mind,” said Cullen hastily as he held out the missive. “Inquisitor, this just arrived from Leliana a few minutes ago. She knows about Dorian. Inquisitor, we have a way of transmitting messages to one of our units far faster than Sister Nightingale’s ravens.”

“How in the Void did our dear spymaster know?” asked Dorian very quietly, his hand pausing in the act of raising his glass to his lips as he stared at the Commander, his grey eyes stormy and intent. 

“I think the red-head behind you is the answer to that love.” Meneris said as he glanced past his commander to Hal. The red-haired mage glanced to Cullen then stepped forward, his hands folded within the loose sleeves of his hooded tunic. His golden eyes flickered to Dorian.

“Wait. My dream,” said Dorian very quietly. “I dreamed... Solas was there, and you. Then... I didn’t merely dream you both? You were-” His eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “Dash it all, is it not bad enough I have Cole snooping in my head every damned opportunity he gets - must I have two strangers rummaging around in my dreams as well? Can a man have no peace at all?” A very slight tremor in his voice was all that betrayed the alarm and touch of fear underlying his anger.

“It’s not as if he is doing it on purpose, we’ll be fine Dorian. Hal won’t go snooping, I get the sense he’s not that kind of man, right Hal?” Meneris asked.

“I was only trying to lessen the pain,” Hal said quietly. “To quieten the dreams and keep the demons away.”

Dorian stared at him fixedly. “He and Cole, a right bloody pair,” he muttered. He stared at Hal over the rim of his glass as he took a long slow sip before lowering it. He regarded the red-head as he stood there, Hal obviously discomforted. Dorian relented and leaned back in his seat with a seemingly-casual grace and bestowed a benevolent smile on Hal. “Don’t worry, my boy; I’m not about to fireball you on the spot or anything so gauche as that. Vivienne would never forgive me for ruining the carpet, for a start. I’m not really mad. Well, not much.”

Hal didn’t seem entirely reassured. He glanced up to Meneris as Cullen cleared his throat.

“It seems Hal here can walk the Fade much as Solas does. It means that we have a means of communicating swiftly between Leliana’s unit and our own. Hal would make a very useful addition to the Inquisition I think,” he said. 

“Let me think about it, I can barely keep you lot from banishing Cole half the time.” Meneris said as he drank his wine.

“Unlike Cole, Hal can be told not to invade someone’s dreams, and he won’t be following people around and plucking their secrets out of thin air,” said Dorian slowly. “He also hasn’t simply blurted out exactly what he saw in my dreams either, which puts him decidedly above Cole in my favour.”

“All the Wardens were experiencing bad nightmares last night,” said Hal quietly. “I thought you would prefer not to have such a rough time of it your very first night after the Joining.”

Dorian regarded him steadily, then raised his glass in salute. “Very true. And for that I do thank you,” he said quietly. “I fear I disturbed Meneris quite enough as it was.”

“It’s fine, rather have you here _to_ disturb me than worry about losing a little sleep.” Meneris mumbled around his glass, his hand tightened on Dorian’s leg as they sat together. Dorian laid his hand over Meneris’ and squeezed it slightly.

“All the Wardens, you say?” asked Cullen, glancing to Hal. “Is... is Anders...?”

“He was restless, but he is sleeping now,” said Hal quietly. “I shall tell him you asked after him.”

“No, no, no need,” said Cullen hastily. “I just wanted to be sure he was alright is all; he’s been looking very tired of late.”

“He had to do a lot of healing, and this heat has done no one favors.” Meneris said tiredly. “If he’s awake, I’d...like to speak with him.” 

Hal glanced to Invictus. “He may be stirring by now.”

“I’ll go and see,” said Cullen. “No need for you to go, Hal; you and Hawke haven’t breakfasted yet. I’ll be back shortly.” He sketched a hasty bow towards the Inquisitor and Dorian then turned and strode swiftly from the tent.

Dorian watched him go, following him with his eyes. “Fascinating,” he said softly.

“Whatever Invictus whispered to him has him flustered.” Meneris said as he watched the other men before he turned back to Dorian to just look at him as if he would disappear or something.

***

Fenris had barely opened his eyes when he heard a scratching upon the canvas beside the door flap, followed by the voice of the Commander.

“Ah, Anders? Are you awake?”

“He’s just waking up, come in Cullen.” Fenris called out as he got to his feet slowly and stretched with a groan. “I hope you have food with you.”

Anders rolled onto his side and hid his face in his arms with a small, half-vocalised sound of complaint.

Cullen tugged open the laces holding the door flap shut then tugged it aside as he ducked into the tent. “You’re both invited to come breakfast with the Inquisitor,” replied Cullen. “Meneris would particularly like to speak to you, Anders.”

Anders lowered one arm and peered at Cullen suspiciously over the edge of his arm at the Commander. “What for?” he asked in a low voice.

Cullen shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. How are you feeling? Hal said all the Wardens had nightmares last night.”

Anders rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in his arms again with a low groan.

“That good, hey?” said Cullen gently, patting the blond apostate on the shoulder.

Fenris quirked at eyebrow at the former templar’s casual touch but said nothing. He knew Anders wouldn’t do the same as Vic and if there was a hint of a chance at something he’d either turn Cullen down flat or ask them; especially if it was just to relieve stress.

Anders lifted his head slightly. “You could say that,” he said quietly. He pushed himself up to hands and knees then slowly got to his feet, snatching up his shirt as he stood. Fenris couldn’t help but notice how unconcerned Anders seemed to be about Cullen seeing the scars across his back when the apostate had always been so self-conscious about them - though Cullen himself turned slightly away and dropped his gaze to the ground.

It suddenly struck Fenris that from what Anders had told him, Cullen may well have been present and seen many of those scars inflicted upon the blond apostate. That thought curled sourly inside him, like acid in his stomach.

Anders tugged his shirt on then reached for his boots. “How is Dorian?” he asked as he began to lace them on.

“You wouldn’t know anything had happened - apart from the way he just wolfed down enough food at one sitting to feed me twice over,” remarked Cullen. 

“Warden appetites are hard to satisfy commander.” Fenris said as he shook out a sleeveless tunic with disgust at the sand that came off. “I hate sand, and the desert and the heat.” he muttered.

For some reason, Cullen turned bright red at Fenris’ words; he turned away hastily. “So I, ah, I’ve heard,” he stammered.

Anders was bent over his pack, tugging out a clean tunic and jacket as the one he’d worn the previous night was stained with darkspawn blood and sand; he was oblivious to Cullen’s sudden change in complexion or to Fenris’ sudden keen look of interest as the elf eyed the former Templar.

“Must admit I’m not a fan of the sand myself,” Anders remarked as he buckled up the jacket then flicked a little sand off one shoulder. “Gets everywhere.” He paused, staring at the quilted padding. “I miss having feathers,” he mused.

“Maybe I’ll catch something and pluck it for you.” Fenris came over and brushed Anders tunic down and tugged him down to whisper in his lover’s ear. “Cullen is looking a bit hungry love, perhaps you should show him how hard it is to satisfy a warden, if Vic doesn’t mind.” 

Anders glanced at him uncomprehendingly. “Why would Hawke mind if I eat breakfast?” he asked, frowning slightly before turning to cast around the floor of the tent. “Blast it, did you see where I dropped my hair tie? My hair’s getting so long now, it’s not very practical.”

“You could trim it,” suggested Cullen over his shoulder. Anders’ only reply was a laugh.

“And I’ll give you the same answer I gave to you back in Kinloch the first time you suggested that, Cullen,” he grinned. “Remember?”

“Oh Maker, do I ever,” replied Cullen as he turned away, blushing harder as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You were an appalling brat as an apprentice, Anders.”

“And you loved me for it!” chuckled Anders. He glanced at Fenris. “All us apprentices took it in turns to see who could make him blush the hardest. It was usually me, I’ll admit.” He reached into his pack and tugged out a bit of bandage, ripping off a strip to tie his hair back into a ponytail. “Only joking, Cullen; still not cutting it though.” 

“I wasn’t talking about food Anders, I’ll see you in the mess tent, I trust you to the commander’s capable and strong hands.” Fenris headed out with a wave over his shoulder and a grin for his lover.

“What??” exclaimed Anders as he spun round. “Fenris, what on- _Fenris!_ ” he called after the elf.

Cullen had turned to stare at him, his eyes as wide as Anders’. 

“Maker - I bet Hawke put him up to this,” muttered Anders. “Right.” He eyed Cullen. “It would just serve him right if I _did_ let you -” He broke off and shook his head. “Cullen, please don’t drop down in a faint or something silly, I’m not going to touch you.”

“Right. Yes. Of course not,” said Cullen, his eyes looking anywhere but at the slender Warden standing in front of him. “We should get back to the pavilion, Meneris is waiting,” he added hastily.

“Lead on,” said Anders as he reached for his staff.

Cullen made straight for the end of the buffet table farthest away from Invictus and Fenris when he arrived; Anders walked over to join his lovers, swatting Invictus on the arse hard. 

“You put Fenris up to that, didn’t you?” he muttered as he reached for a plate and began to load it with food.

“Put him up to what? You could say hello before you smack me on the ass, damn that hurt.” Vic said in utter confusion.

Fenris just grinned between bites of food.

“Oh hah hah. Propositioning the Commander and suggesting you wouldn’t mind if I were left in - what was it, Fenris? ‘The commander’s strong and capable hands’, wasn’t it? Maker, how bloody embarrassing!” Anders glared at his plate then began to wolf his food down swiftly as he stood there.

“I see you were not exaggerating, Champion,” remarked the tall darkskinned enchanter as she regarded Anders with a raised eyebrow. She swanned closer, and held a hand out to him. “Vivienne de Fer. I do not believe we have had the pleasure of talking, Champion?”

Anders muttered something under his breath between bites that sounded like “Andraste’s _tits!_ ” but carried on eating, not looking up.

Vic took her hand and gave her a courtly bow. “Madame de Fer, a pleasure.” 

Fenris leaned in and explained himself to Anders, a devious smirk on his face the whole time. “That was all me, just ask Vic for permission love.” 

Anders’ eyes widened. “What-” He choked and began to cough.

“My word, the Warden’s choking!” exclaimed Vivienne in alarm. At the far end of the table, Cullen’s head jerked up and he turned to stare.

Vic jumped up and smacked Anders on the back as Fenris waited with water for him. “What did you say to him Fenris, good grief.” 

Anders was coughing hard and trying to draw breath; he gestured for the water and hastily gulped it down.

Dorian had risen from his seat and was walking swiftly towards them, splashing wine into a glass. He held it out. “Here, take a sip of this and catch your breath,” he said quietly. Anders nodded, his eyes still watering as he took the glass of wine. Cullen was hovering almost anxiously beside Invictus. 

“Give him some room, let him sit down,” the Commander suggested as he tugged over a chair. Vivienne had produced a fan from somewhere and was fanning Anders with it as he gratefully dropped into the seat.

“I’ll be alright in a minute; just let me catch my breath,” he panted. “Maker, that was not a good start to my day.” He glanced up at Dorian and nodded thanks as he sipped the wine. “Glad to see you back on your feet,” he added when he had caught his breath a little.

“All thanks to you, Warden,” declared Vivienne. Anders eyed her, one eyebrow arching slightly.

“Well, _you’ve_ changed your tune,” he remarked. “Three weeks ago you would quite cheerfully have handed me over to the Chantry for hanging.”

“I may have been too hasty,” she said, inclining her hair graciously.

“Vivienne, dear, do be a darling and let me have a word with my fellow Warden in private?” asked Dorian.

“But of course, Dorian,” she replied. “Do drop by my tent when we make camp in the morning though?”

“Madam,” said Dorian, bowing slightly. She smiled, and nodded to Invictus, ignoring Fenris completely. “Champion. A pleasure to meet you.” 

Anders watched her go as she swept away.

“She reminds me of a magistra that tormented me in Minrathous.” Fenris said once she was out of earshot.

“Anders, if you’re finished eating?” asked Dorian, glancing over at Meneris.

“Well, I am _now_ ,” said Anders a trifle sourly before taking another drink of wine. He got to his feet.

Fenris said nothing else as he watched them go. 

Anders eyed Meneris with a certain degree of trepidation as they approached. He glanced to Dorian, then back to the elf. “You wished to speak with me, Inquisitor?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes, I wanted to properly thank you for saving Dorian. To apologize for my anger when we last spoke, it was unwarranted. You didn’t cause him to be tainted and I lashed out. I hope you still feel welcome with us.” Meneris said quietly.

Anders blinked, then dropped his gaze to the floor. “I... it was... I’m a healer. It’s just what I do,” said Anders. “I can’t just stand by and watch a man die. I only wish there was a way to actually cure the taint,” he said quietly. “You had every right to be angry, and to be honest I was expecting it.” He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed a thumb across his lip.

“Meneris,” said Dorian quietly. “You didn’t hit Anders, did you?” One elegantly groomed eyebrow arched in disapproval.

“Yes.” Meneris said as he glanced up at Anders then back to the ground.

“In fairness, I did goad him into it,” muttered Anders. “And you felt a little better for it afterwards, I hope?” He lifted his eyes a little to glance at Meneris.

“Not really, but it did work off some of my anger. Still, you had worked to save Dorian and I repaid you with pain. I confess I am worn down by everything and the prospect of losing him sent me over the edge. I’m not, I’m not doing well but I can’t show weakness out there, in front of them. It’s so hard to keep up this facade of being fine, being in charge. I can’t right now.” Meneris admitted as he took a seat and let his head drop to his hands. 

Anders stared at him, then wordlessly held out his glass of wine. He kept his eyes on the Inquisitor as Meneris glanced at it, then at him.

“What do you need?” asked Anders quietly.

Meneris just laughed hysterically until tears rolled down his face, he turned to Dorian and pulled him close as he fell silent. “Sorry, it’s just that’s the first time outside of Dori that anyone has bothered to ask me what _I_ needed.”

Anders regarded him sympathetically then dropped to a crouch so he wasn’t looming over the two men. He stared up at the elven Inquisitor. 

“Well, I’m asking now. I can’t guarantee I can do a great deal - I am, after all, only one Warden, and not a particularly high-ranking one at that. But if there’s anything I _can_ do....” He sighed. “At the very least, maybe I can be useful in some small way.”

“Can you reverse time so I never got this fucking thing?” Meneris asked as he raised his marked hand with a sneer. “Can you fix it so my clan wasn’t wiped out? So that people stop thinking I’m some savior when I just want to go home?” 

Anders stared at the mark; this close he could see it quite clearly as it flashed and flickered. He blinked; for a moment he thought he had heard ghostly whispers. He shook his head with a small frown, then looked up into Meneris’ eyes.

“No, I can’t,” he said softly. “I wish I could. No-one ever asks for these things. I know what it’s like to lose people you care about. I have the nasty feeling I’m going to get to know that feeling again very soon, when we get to Adamant. And I wish neither of us knew it. But if there’s anything I can do to make it a little easier....” He shifted slightly as his calf threatened to cramp. “You pardoned me. You didn’t have to do that, and you made things a lot harder for yourself by doing so. And... I feel responsible for what happened to Dorian.”

The Tevinter mage made a little tutting noise of disgust. “Oh please, Anders - you’re not the one responsible for me putting my damned fool self in danger and getting tainted. You and the other Wardens saved my life. I can get all the brow-beating and self-recriminations I like from Meneris; you really don’t need to get in on the act.”

“Don’t… just both of you stop. I can’t, I need time, I need space and this has me rattled and I can’t even show it. I can’t even be fragile when I’m at my lowest because I’m the damned Inquisitor!” Meneris kicked a bowl by his foot in anger before he tried to calm himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take this out on you.”

Cullen had ushered everyone else out of the pavilion; he lingered near the entrance, not staring at them as they spoke.

Anders shrugged. “So where _do_ you let it out?” he asked gently. “It has to come out some time. You can’t keep it bottled up forever.” He grimaced slightly. “I know only too well how well _that_ turns out,” he added, thinking on a certain mage with fond wryness.

“I don’t.” Meneris admitted.

Anders ran a hand through his hair, frowning as his fingers snagged on the hair tie. He tugged it loose as he sat back on the floor, then scraped his hair back into a ponytail again and retied it as he pondered. “I don’t have any answers,” he finally admitted. “Except maybe delegate more to Cullen and your advisers. You have an army. Granted, from what I understand, you’re the only one who can close the rifts - but that shouldn’t mean you have to do everything else yourself.”

There was a snort from Cullen. “I’ve been telling him that for months,” the Commander said over his shoulder.

“We all have,” said Dorian, giving Meneris a fond smile.

“Fine, fine… I’ll try to do that.” Meneris replied quietly. “You and Cullen should go work on that, he’s bad about delegating as well.” 

Cullen snorted again. “Maker knows, maybe this is just what we need, Inquisitor,” he remarked as he walked over to give Anders a hand back to his feet. “We’ve lacked a really talented healer on staff. Maybe with Anders around we could _all_ learn to respect our limits?”

“Did I just volunteer myself?” said Anders with a touch of dismay.

“Good man,” said Cullen as he clapped him on the shoulder then steered him towards the tent entrance. “You’ll do fine.”


	25. Chapter 25

Cullen walked Anders back to the tent the apostate shared with Invictus and the others. Anders glanced around the camp, watching the soldiers break down the camp ready to move. Beside him, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I apologise if I rather... conscripted you there,” said Cullen. Anders sighed.

“Not the first time it’s happened,” he shrugged. “And I can see the logic.” he glanced back at Cullen and noticed the way he rubbed his neck and the back of his skull and frowned.

“Headache?” he guessed.

Cullen sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “It will pass though.”

Anders stopped and eyed him sternly, lifting a hand.

“No magic!” snapped Cullen tersely as he jerked his head back. Anders let his hand drop.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. It was Cullen’s turn to sigh.

“I’m... sorry,” he said. “I’m not comfortable around magic. If you have a potion or something that would help though, I’d be grateful.”

Anders nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said as they turned and continued on towards the tent.

“Appreciated,” replied Cullen. They paused outside the tent. “And, Anders... if you need anything....”

“I’ll know where to find you,” said Anders as he turned to duck into the tent.

“Yes. Right. Well,” said Cullen, awkwardly, then nodded and headed back towards the camp fire.

Anders dropped down to roll up his bedroll. “Well, that was all rather weird,” he said quietly.

“It’s Fenris’ fault and mine. Fenris offered and I teased him.” Vic said from behind his lover.

“What?” asked Anders, glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh. That. I was talking about being conscripted into the Inquisition actually,” he said as he turned around and sat on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he stared at them. “Though now you come to mention it, what on earth put the idea into your heads that I’d be interested in Cullen Rutherford, of all people? He’s a ruddy _Templar_ , for Andraste’s sakes! I may _joke_ about playing ‘The Templar and the Naughty Apprentice’ but seriously, that’s all it was - a joke!”

“We both were teasing him about warden stamina, and well you’re a good looking man. If anyone needed a tumble to ease his mind for a bit it’s him. Neither of us mind if you want to, you know just for fun.” Vic said.

“Oh for...!” Anders threw his hands up. “When Isabela talked about the Lay Warden in the Pearl in Denerim, _she wasn’t talking about me!!_ ” He fell backwards onto the floor and threw his hands over his eyes. “Ugh!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, it’s not as if we threw you in a tent together and tied the flap from the outside. We were just having a bit of fun, I’d think you’d be glad of our humor returning but we’ll leave off it.” Fenris said once he was settled at the camp table.

Anders lowered his hands but didn’t sit up. “You realise Cullen freaks out if you use magic around him, right? Quite apart from not considering how _I_ might feel about Templars, did it not occur to you that a mage is probably the last person he’d want to bed? He was one of the rare good ones at Kinloch. He never laid a finger on me, even when he had the chance.” He stared at the underside of the tent roof. “He was one of the few who were kind to me during my year in solitary,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know him that well, I was just… never mind. I won’t mention it again. I’m going for a walk.” Vic said before he hurried out of the tent for some fresh air.

Anders groaned. “I probably ought to go after him,” he sighed, and sat up slowly, wincing as his back protested. “Maker, this living in tents thing is getting very tiresome. What I wouldn’t give for just one night in a real bed.”

“If you want, but it won’t hurt him to be left on his own for awhile.” Fenris said quietly. “I apologize, I forget myself when I’m in a mood to play.”

Anders gave him a sad smile. “I feel about Templars much the same way you might if someone suggested you go take Dorian for a ride, love. I don’t see either happening any time soon - do you?”

“Did you forget that Hawke did suggest that, then did that himself?” Fenris asked bitterly.

Anders groaned. “Maker, so he did.” He leaned back on his hands. “Fine, he can stew for a bit then. You’d think after that, he’d think twice before trying to set either of us up with anyone. What _is_ it with Hawke trying to throw people at his lovers, anyway? Isn’t that what he tried to do with you and Zevran?”

“Don’t remind me about that.” Fenris said angrily before he flopped back next to Anders. “I think sometimes he tries to sabotage things because he doesn’t feel he deserves to be loved...after all this time. It is tiresome.” 

“It is,” Anders agreed. He stared down at the toes of his boots.

From outside came the sounds of the camp being broken down as the unit prepared for the night march. Anders sighed. “Come on, they’ll be wanting to take this tent down as well. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to another six hours of slogging through sand and killing darkspawn.” He got to his feet and finished stowing his gear in his pack. He stood up then looked around slowly.

“That’s odd,” he said to himself. “Fenris, the Joining cup - you didn’t pick it up, did you?”

“That silver cup? No, I saw how you flung it aside.” the elf answered.

Anders began to cast around upon the floor, hunting for the cup. “Maker’s breath - it’s gone,” he said, staring around wild-eyed. “It still had blood in it!”

“Wait, what? Is that how the Joining works?!” Fenris asked.

“Hmm?” murmured Anders, distracted; and then he froze, realising what he had given away. He turned and stared at Fenris, the colour draining from his face. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” he whispered. “You should forget you ever heard me say anything.”

Fenris just stared at him for a moment before he resumed packing up his things. He was revulsed but also concerned for his lover.

Anders stood silently, one hand covering his eyes, looking ill. He swallowed hard.

“What’s the problem?” Fenris asked when he turned to find Anders stock still.

“You know it all now. The Warden secrets. I’ve... I’ve broken all the rules. You _know_. The Calling, how we resist the taint and gain our abilities through drinking the darkspawn blood - all of it.” Anders’ voice was faint, disbelieving. “All this time, and I kept the secrets.”

“You say that as if I will tell on you,” Fenris replied. “Come on before they pull the tent down around our ears.”

Anders picked up his pack and stumbled out of the tent, almost colliding with a soldier.

“Sorry, sir; we have to take this tent down now,” the soldier said as he stepped back. “The Inquisitor’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, of course; sorry,” said Anders distractedly as he stumbled in the sand then turned in the direction of the ashes of the camp fire.

Fenris put his arm around Anders and led him to where the Inquisitor’s companions awaited. He was mildly relieved to see Invictus packed and ready but still looking sullen. Zevran stood to one side, talking softly with Sera and Cole. The Antivan appeared to be smiling at something the spirit had said - which seemed to confuse Cole.

Hal was talking to Vivienne; he had a slightly dazzled look upon his face as she took his arm and leaned close in a conspiratorial fashion.

Anders glanced around, then nodded to Meneris and Dorian.

“Ah, Anders - you’ll be with the advance scouts tonight - that’s Zevran, Sera and Cole,” said Cullen as he strode towards them. “Fenris, would you keep near Dorian and Vivienne? You’ll have Belann with you as well, but Dorian obviously hasn’t got experience of looking out for darkspawn as a Warden yet, and I’d like to have at least one warrior with the mages at all times.”

“I’d rather not leave Anders, or at the least have Invictus with us since he’s proficient with more than a staff in a fight.” Fenris replied warily.

“Ah, I’d assumed Invictus would be with Loghain and Meneris,” said Cullen, frowning slightly as he consulted the slate in his hand. 

Fenris restrained himself from rolling his eyes and relented. “Very well.”

Anders slipped an arm around Fenris’ waist and kissed him lightly upon the cheek. “I’ll be fine, love,” he said quietly. “Besides, I’ll be with Zevran. I’m sure he’ll help me keep out of trouble. What could go wrong?”

“You should know better than to say that, especially with the way our lives have gone.” Fenris scowled, unhappy with being around Vivienne and he didn’t like the other elf of the Inquisition, Sera.

Said elf was stomping through the sand towards them now, Zevran and Cole just behind. 

“Come on, you lanky streak of piss,” she said as she marched past Anders. “Let’s see if you’ve got it or if ya’s all talk.” She glanced back at Zevran. “Fifty silver says talk!”

Zevran shook his head. “Prepare to lose then, my friend,” he grinned. He leaned over to claim Fenris’ mouth with a kiss. “Tonight will be fun,” he whispered with a wink.

Cole hovered by Anders’ elbow. “Frowning at grains of sand falling through his fingers, each one a word, but he feels the ripples in a cup of wine. Laughter of old friends that turn into screams when the dark falls.”

“Maker preserve me,” growled Anders as he whirled away and stormed into the dark night without a backwards glance. 

Cole glanced back at Fenris. “The glass cuts through the skin from inside but the song blunts the edges,” he said quietly. “He will hear you when the sun turns the ash to snow.” He turned and scampered off after the irate apostate.

They marched through the night, the purple sands bleached to ash by the moonlight, dust clinging to their clothes and skin as they dragged their feet through the dunes. One sand dune looked much like another in the moonlight, the shifting aurora bathing them in an unnatural green light that paled wanly as the moon rose higher, waxing gibbous and shading everything in grey and white.

Fenris was walking just behind Dorian and Vivienne when the Tevinter mage stumbled suddenly, putting a hand to his head before glancing round, looking nauseated.

Belann glanced round, drawing his knives; Fenris hissed as he felt the tug of magic upon his brands as the blades glowed in the Warden’s hands.

“You feel it?” said Belann quietly, his voice soft.

“Like some damnable itch somewhere I can’t scratch,” said Dorian, rubbing the back of his neck as he grimaced. “It feels somehow... _unclean_.”

“Darkspawn,” said the Warden grimly. “Be on your guard.”

Fenris’ sword was in his hand; Dorian and Vivienne readied their staves.

For all her elegant courtly manners that would have been at home in any Orlesian palace, when it came down to it Vivienne de Fer was an efficient and ruthless enchantress. Even as Belann called a warning, Fenris felt a familiar tightening over his skin as the ebony-skinned woman gestured and cast shields upon them all before gesturing, power building in her hands until she unleashed it with a twirl of her staff, surrounding them in a wall of fire as the first wave of darkspawn hurled themselves towards them. 

Shouts in the darkness told Fenris that the others were also under attack, even as he concentrated and shifted halfway into the Fade, the lines of lyrium lighting up with a familiar burn. Four genlocks reared up in front of Belann; Fenris took the heads of the two immediately to Belann’s left, as the Warden mage channeled magic through the blade in his right hand and encased the two to his right in ice. Vivienne unleashed a Force spell that shredded three more into falling gobbets of rancid flesh and black blood upon the pale sands; behind her, Dorian’s voice carried clearly as he chanted something in Tevene before there was a flash of green and two more darkspawn were crushed by his powers. He gestured, and lightning danced from corpse to corpse before grounding in three more, incinerating them upon the spot.

Fenris had no time to watch as he leapt to engage the second wave of darkspawn. From somewhere far to the right he felt the tug of familiar magic; a moment later, a fireball took out a group of hurlocks moving over the nearby ridge, and Fenris knew that Invictus’ group were under attack.There was a rush of feet churning through sand, and the Commander charged passed their group, leading a group of soldiers in a charge against the darkspawn. From somewhere out in the darkness, Fenris heard screams and then there were flashes of fire and lightning somewhere in the distance.

Fenris rapidly dispatched the group of genlocks directly in front of him before moving to engage the group that were flanking Vivienne as she concentrated on a larger force that were advancing towards them; she was intent upon casting a tempest. Fenris whirled, flicking blood off his blade, then leapt towards Dorian who was furiously wielding both staff and magic to fend off a pack of hurlocks that had surrounded him. He threw out a hand and a cone of ice followed his gesture, fanning out to freeze the feet of the nearest hurlocks before he turned to twirl his staff, spirit energy coalescing upon the tip until he unleashed it in a blast of force against the ones trying to take him from behind. 

Fenris’ sword scythed effortlessly through the frozen hurlocks before he slipped into the Fade to re-emerge behind a hurlock intent on hacking down Dorian from behind; it raised the axe in its hand but Fenris took its heart before the blade could fall. A blink, a flash of light, and two more fell to his blade and Dorian was blinking at him, wide-eyed, his white tunic splashed with blood. 

Fenris grinned savagely and turned to meet the next wave of darkspawn head on.

They fought a bloody battle for perhaps a couple of hours, and then the darkspawn were gone as swiftly as they had appeared. The Inquisition forces gathered together to tally their injured and dead; eight soldiers had fallen to the darkspawn, and there were many more walking wounded. When Anders had returned with the scouts, Cullen ordered camp to be set immediately; his priority was the care of the injured.

A burial detail laid the fallen out upon the sands some distance from the camp; Belann and Dorian attended to them. They returned to the camp some time later, the light from the funeral pyres still glowing behind them.

Anders and Hal were kept busy dealing with the injured. Zevran was amongst them; he had taken a blade to the hip, a nasty wound that laid open his thigh almost to the knee. Anders had carried the elf in himself, staggering under the unconscious Antivan’s weight, waving off the Iron Bull when the Qunari had stepped forward to assist him.

Fenris prowled restlessly outside the infirmary tent as Hal and Anders worked into the early hours of the morning; when finally one of the Chantry healers let him in, the white-haired elf did not know who to turn to first - the sleeping Crow Master, or his exhausted apostate lover who sat slumped upon a nearby cot, drained after healing so many after the demands of battle.

Dawn was yet an hour off when finally Fenris was able to drag Anders away from his duties as healer; the blond apostate stumbled wearily as he leaned into Fenris’ comforting strength, the elf guiding his faltering footsteps towards their tent.

Fenris stopped only to grab a bucket of tepid water to douse himself in, armor and all before he went inside, The last thing he wanted was to be sticky, have sand stuck to him and attract any number of desert insects. “You need a rinse?” he asked over his shoulder.

Anders stared down at his arms; they were covered in blood from hands to elbows. He nodded wordlessly.

“Sit down and hold out your arms.” Fenris got a cloth, another bucket and cleaned Anders quickly as he could. Anders merely watched him silently as Fenris cleaned the blood and dirt from his hands and arms. The mage’s head steadily drooped, his eyes drifting half-shut as he slumped. Finally, as Fenris helped him peel off the jacket, he roused himself a little.

“We lost eight tonight,” he said quietly, his voice colourless.

“I know love, you did all you could and made sure a couple didn’t suffer.” Fenris said quietly as he put Anders’ jacket over his arm and held a hand out for his lover. “Come, we need sleep.”

Anders rubbed his face tiredly, stumbling a little as he followed Fenris; he leaned into his support thankfully. “I was afraid I would lose Zevran,” he confided quietly. “He’d lost so much blood. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to pull him back, but our Antivan friend is made of sterner stuff than he looks.”

“The Crows couldn’t kill him, I doubt a genlock could. Come, rest with me.” Fenris got Anders settled before he pulled off everything but his breeches and landed face first into the bedroll. “If I never see sand again, I will die happy.”

Anders lay upon his back, staring up into the darkness. “Cole was... helpful,” he said softly. “I don’t know where he came from, but whilst I was working on Zevran, he was just... there. When I needed lyrium, a potion, a bandage, he was there with exactly what I needed, often before I could fully realise what I was reaching for. It was like he just... knew.”

“Because he was likely in your head, whether you wanted him there or not.” Fenris said as he turned to look at Anders. “That thing disturbs me no matter how helpful he seems to you.” 

Anders sighed, one hand drifting up to rub absently at a scar over his heart. “I know, love,” he said softly. 

“Lie with me if you cannot sleep. I am exhausted.” Fenris mumbled as he let his hand rest over Anders’ heart as he drifted off. Though exhausted himself, Anders couldn’t sleep. He stared blankly into the darkness, listening to Fenris’ soft breathing as the elf slept. Perhaps an hour later, he was slowly drifting towards sleep when he was vaguely aware of Hal and Invictus returning; he lay there, listening as they undressed, quietly talking.

“No, I think they’re both asleep,” murmured Hal. “Fenris certainly is.”

“Good, they both need the rest.” Vic whispered.

“Hawke... I’m worried about Anders,” said Hal softly. 

Anders shifted restlessly on the bedroll. He didn’t want to be awake to hear this.

Vic didn’t speak when he heard rustling, he shook his head and tilted it to where his lovers were lying down. 

Hal glanced to the two sleeping men. “It’s alright,” he said softly after a moment. “I think Anders is just dreaming. You know how restless he is in his sleep.” He sighed. “His dreams are very dark, Hawke. He’s been dreaming about Wardens. He’s afraid that whatever is going to happen at Adamant, he’ll see old Warden friends, and... he dreams of seeing them dead or dying.”

Anders felt a numbness slowly spreading through him. _No._ Bad enough his dreams had been plagued with visions of himself stumbling though the halls of some half-seen fortress, hunting for Sigrun, Oghren, Nathaniel - even Velanna; Maker knew she’d always been a prickly bitch to him but dammit, that didn’t mean he wanted to dream of finding her blood-spattered body. But to hear Hal speak openly of it made it so much worse.

Hawke frowned as he finished undressing and stretched out on the open bedroll. 

“But I’ve been starting to pick up on other dreamers,” Hal went on. “Other Wardens. And... Hawke, I’ve seen Anders in some of _their_ dreams.”

Anders’ breath caught in his throat.

“Enough of dreaming talk, I’m exhausted. We can speak more after some sleep” Hawke said as he flopped on his back.

“Forgive me,” said Hal quietly as he stretched out upon his own bedroll. He closed his eyes, and a short while after, his breathing smoothed out into the slow, steady cadence of sleep.

Anders lay still, his eyes closed as he heard Hawke shifting restlessly upon his own bedroll. The blond apostate was certain he would hear the Champion slip into sleep before him, but it seemed only a moment or two later that someone was shaking him roughly awake and calling his name.

“Anders. _Anders!_ ” 

His eyes snapped open, stinging with tears as he drew in a shuddering breath that was more than half a sob. He could still feel the weight of Nathaniel’s body in his arms; feel the pool of blood he knelt in as Nathaniel bled out, feel that empty place inside where his magic ought to be as he watched the black-haired Warden bleed to death and he unable to do anything to save him. “Nate!” he choked.

“Nate’s not here.” Fenris said as he sat next to his lover and gently tried to wake Anders. The blond apostate blinked, lifting a hand to touch his tear-streaked face before rubbing his eyes with a groan.

“He was bleeding to death and I couldn’t save him,” said Anders. “They were all dead - Sigrun, Velanna, Oghren, and then I found Nathaniel and-” He bit his lip to hold back the sob that threatened to burst out. He rolled onto his side and flung an arm around Fenris, burying his face in the elf’s lap. He could hear Hawke moving behind them, a sleepy voice asking what was going on.

“Nothing, go back to sleep Vic.” Fenris called out.

Anders tried to pull himself together; he lifted his head slightly. “I woke everyone up again, didn’t I?” he said, a look of embarrassed shame in his eyes that didn’t quite mask the lingering distress from the nightmare.

“No, go back to sleep love, I’ve got you.” Fenris said softly.

Vic padded over and curled up behind Anders to soothe him. “Me too.”

Anders shook his head. The dream was still too close, too vivid. “If I try to sleep now I know I’ll dream again,” he said. He sat up slowly and dropped his face into his hands. “We’ll be at Adamant tomorrow. I’m dreading it. Maker only knows what we’re going to face.”

“I’ll get up with you, come on I’m hungry.” Fenris mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you both,” said Anders with a sigh. He reached for his shirt and slowly tugged it on, then held still, his head cocked to one side. “What was that?”

“What’s was what?” Vic asked as he sat up. Then he could hear it too; panicked screaming coming from the direction of the Inquisitor’s tent.

Across the tent, Hal twitched and jerked. He gave a low moan.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with bad dreams tonight,” said Anders quietly.

“Shit...should we even go over there?” Fenris said. Anders shook his head.

“He won’t thank us for it,” he replied. “Dorian’s got his own inner demons no doubt. Whatever he dreams of, I doubt he’ll want to share. And Meneris will not welcome us; I rather suspect the Inquisitor would prefer to deal with Dorian himself.” He glanced at Fenris with a lopsided smile. “I doubt you would take too kindly to, say, Cullen bursting in whilst I was in the middle of my nightmare, after all.”

“True enough...might as well try to find something to eat since we’re up.” Fenris replied.

As they emerged from the tent, they found it was already astir; the cook fires were being stoked up, guards changing duties. Cullen was pacing before the main campfire, studying a slate in his hand and giving orders to three of his officers. He glanced up as they approached.

“Seems no-one’s going to get much sleep tonight,” the Commander remarked.

“Don’t remind me, point me towards the food.” Hawke grumbled as he slid onto the first bench he saw. 

Fenris fell in next to Vic and grabbed a mug of tea. Anders cradled his own cup of the steaming brew and crouched down next to the fire.

“It’s started,” he said quietly. “Whatever they’re doing at Adamant. It’s begun.”

“Maker...how much worse will it be?” Vic muttered.

“He calls them, and they listen,” said Cole unexpectedly, directly behind the Champion. “They hear the magister but they don’t hear the one speaking through him. Pools of blood on the stones, each one a sword for the cause, one less for the light. The wind drops but the stones scream in its place.”

Anders got slowly to his feet. “Maker, he’s right!” he exclaimed. “Can you hear that?”

They fell silent. Distantly they could hear screams, carrying far in the still night air.

“There’s a ruin in that direction,” said Cullen slowly. 

“Should we get going then? Or at least start to break camp?” Fenris asked.

Anders rose to his feet. “No time,” he said. “Get Meneris.”

“No need; Meneris is here,” said Dorian as he strode out of the pavilion, unslinging his staff; the Inquisitor was at his side. Loghain and Belann strode up out of the darkness to stand next to Anders.

“We have to go now,” said Cole. “Too late for them but maybe not for the others. Have to go see. See where the stones are bleeding.”

Fenris grumbled as he swiped field rations before he headed off to get back into his armor and get his weapon.

Vic did the same with a bit less enthusiasm but just as much speed as his elven lover. Hal was stirring, groggy and disoriented.

“What’s happening?” he asked, blinking as he watched them arming themselves. 

Zevran thrust open the tent flap and limped to his bedroll to arm himself, Anders pushing in after him.

“Zevran, no!” he argued. “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere! A few hours ago you nearly bled to death!”

“Zevran Arainai sit the fuck down or I will tie you down to that bed and not in a fun way.” Fenris snapped.

The Antivan elf ignored them, sliding his knives into their sheaths as he reached for the forearm bracer of throwing knives. He began buckling it on.

“Zev, you are limping, get back in that bed.” Hawke demanded.

Zevran turned and glared at him, his eyes glittering dangerously. “And you think you will put me in that bed so easily, hmm?”

“I’d rather fight you now, than bury you later please carissimi.” Fenris begged.

“I am going with you,” said Zevran. “I cannot let you go alone.”

Fenris got in front of Zevran, cradled the other elf’s face in his hands and pleaded. “Zev...I love you, please don’t go into this fight half-healed. You’re limping, you nearly bled to death before us yesterday. I don’t...I can’t lose you when you could stay and rest for a bit longer. I beg of you, don’t run towards death.”

Zevran jerked free of Fenris’ hands. “I am not as weak as you think me, _carissimi_ ,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Crows do not die so easily as that. You will need scouts. I am going. That is final.” He turned away and reached for another blade.

The Tevinter elf straightened and went for his own weapons, his expression blank as he moved swiftly and with determination. “I’ll see you at the Inquisitors group.” he said before he left.

“Dammit Zevran, he’s terrified you’ll die out there. Do you know what you mean to him?” Vic asked as he watched the Antivan arm himself.

Zevran’s hands stilled as he slid the blade into the top of his boot, then very slowly he got back to his feet. “I would not see my nightmare become true,” he said quietly. “Did you think the Wardens were the only ones plagued this night?” He turned slowly. “I saw old friends dead. I saw him die, and was powerless to stop it. Would you have me remain behind, Hawke? Could _you_ , had you dreamed thus?”

“I don’t know, but I would not ignore his plea as you did. I swore I heard the crack in his armor, his heart from here. You know I would give my life for him with no hesitation. But he does not give his heart so easily, and to admit his fear...well you know him and how well he guards his heart.” Vic said quietly as he approached Zevran.

“I care for you as well, and would like us all to come out of this alive.” Vic admitted before he kissed the Antivan quickly. Zevran was too surprised to react, his eyes widening as Invictus kissed him. As the Champion stepped back, Zevran glanced aside, one hand lifting to his lips.

“I must go to him,” he said, and pushed past Invictus, limping heavily as he headed after the elf.

“He can’t even walk, how the Void is he going to fight?” Vic said as he grabbed his staff, made sure he had plenty of potions and headed to where Meneris and company was gathering.

Zevran limped after Fenris, gritting his teeth against the flare of pain along his thigh. The whitehaired elf was striding swiftly, and the soft sand underfoot hampered Zevran’s halting steps.

“ _Carissimi!_ ” called Zevran as he stumbled to a halt.

Fenris stopped but he did not turn more than his head. “Yes?”

Zevran limped on a few more paces, panting slightly. “Beloved. Forgive me. I cannot bear to be left behind, not knowing what is happening to you.” He pressed his hand against his hip as the burning pain sharpened; he bit his lip, then straightened. “Please. Look at me, _carissimi_.”

The taller elf turned and looked at Zevran, his gaze softened as he saw how much pain his lover was in. “I know but you can’t even hurry for a few feet, yet you think I called you weak for no reason.” 

Zevran forced himself on a few more steps. “No. I know you spoke only out of concern for me,” he said quietly. “But I fear far more for you.”

“Why? You’ve never been a fearful man like this before, what did you see that you are so worried Zev?” Fenris asked as he stepped forward just to catch Zevran before he went down to his knees.

“Dead Wardens, some known to me. Some known to you, too,” said Zevran as he stared into Fenris’ eyes. “But what undid me... was your death, _carissimi_. I could do nothing to stop it.” His hands tightened on Fenris. “I cannot bear the thought of such a dream coming true.”

“I do not wish to die, but I do not fear it Zevran. You cannot keep me on this side whenever it is my time to go. I love you deeply, and fully but I would not see you run to your demise so readily over a nightmare. You do not carry the taint and you are no prophet _carissimi_. Right now I would see your end before my eyes well before mine would come today. Look at me, do you understand?” Fenris said as he picked up Zevran to head back to the medical tent.

Zevran let his head rest against Fenris’ shoulder. “Hawke, I would fight; but I cannot fight you, beloved,” he sighed. “Promise me you will come back.”

“Only if you promise to be healed when I return to you.” Fenris put Zevran down on a cot and kissed him gently. “For luck.”

“I give my word, then,” said Zevran. He kissed Fenris in return. “The luck of the Crow fly with you, _carissimi_. I shall await your return.”

As Fenris reached the exit of the tent, Zevran called out to him. “Keep an eye on our blond apostate, beloved. He was amongst the dead in my dream.”


	26. Chapter 26

They were too late to prevent Magister Erimond’s experiment in the ruins. Though between them they made swift work of the demons he and his enslaved Warden mages had raised, Erimond had escaped, leaving them with the knowledge that Corypheus was now raising an army of demons at Adamant using the Wardens.

“Well, I suppose that explains where that demon army in the future came from,” said Dorian slowly as he toed over the body of a Warden. From the looks of his armour, the man had been a warrior before one of the the Warden mages had used him as a blood sacrifice to raise a demon.

Anders was going from body to body, desperately searching for any signs of life, becoming more and more distraught as he found only dead and more dead. Belann and Loghain were doing likewise, their faces grim.

Belann rolled one body over and then swore. “I knew this man,” he said quietly. “He Joined at Vigil’s Keep.”

Anders carefully turned over another body and cried out. “This one was from the Keep as well! I remember her. She - she tried to drink me under the table after -” He staggered away from the butchered body a few steps and then doubled over, retching.

“This was butchery, Meneris,” said Dorian quietly. “These few bodies do not account for the number of demons here. There must be others further into the ruins.”

Fenris looked grim as he glanced up the stairway towards the inner part of the ruin. “Let us go and meet this Erimond and end him.”

Anders headed up the stairs. “There might be survivors inside!” he called back as he took the stairs two at a time.

“Anders, not so fast!” called Loghain. Belann shook his head and sprinted after the blond Warden.

“Damn him and his tendency to want to heal everything.” Fenris huffed as he took off with Invictus right behind him.

“Anders, wait up, it might be-” Belann broke off as he stared around the inner chamber. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered, then shouted over his shoulder, “Inquisitor, you probably should see this.”

The others hurried up the stairs then halted in the doorway.

The chamber was a bloodbath. It was evident that this was where the majority of Erimond’s “experiment” had taken place; bodies were scattered all around the chamber, bloodied and scattered like so many discarded blue and grey dolls.

Anders was frantically throwing himself from body to body, desperately searching for any signs of life.

“Any survivors?” Vic asked as he tried to catch his breath.

“I doubt it,” said Dorian as he regarded the slaughter sombrely. “But we should probably check just to be sure.” He began to pick his way slowly through the room.

Fenris checked bodies as well, each grim discovery made him scowl, especially when he found one unfortunate warden that had seemed to have had his chest split open. “This is gruesome, what happened here?” 

“At a guess, I’d say they were the blood sacrifices used by the Warden mages to call up the demons,” said Dorian as he nudged the body of a man who appeared to have been a rogue, from the style of his armour. “This poor sod’s been stabbed in the back.” He rolled the body over, then swore. “I believe this poor bastard is still alive!”

“What?” exclaimed Anders. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced over, and then his eyes widened. “ _NATE!!_ ” His scream reverberated around the chamber as he threw himself towards the man at Dorian’s feet. He threw himself down to his knees and gathered the rogue into his arms.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening, it _can’t_!” he moaned as he ran a hand frantically over the bloody wound in Nathaniel’s stomach then brushed his fingers lightly over the slash across the black-haired man’s throat, his fingers already glowing with blue healing energy.

Vic joined Anders with what healing magic he could lend, while Fenris readied a healing and a lyrium potion for them. 

“Shit...this is bad.” Fenris said after he’d tipped the vial of lyrium into his lover’s mouth. Anders was weeping as he poured everything he had into healing Nathaniel; he swallowed the lyrium on reflex, his eyes too blurred with tears to see. The slash across Nathaniel’s throat closed as the magic rewove skin; Anders swept his hand down to span across the gaping wound in the rogue’s abdomen.

As Anders worked frantically to heal his friend, Nathaniel stirred slightly, his eyes drifting half open. He tried to lift a hand; glancing down, Fenris noted the deep slashes across the palm of his hand and down his forearm. Whatever had happened in this chamber, here was one Warden, at least, who had gone down fighting.

Fenris swore as he realized some of his other lyrium vials had been broken during the fight, so he lit his brands and let his hand rest on the back of Anders’ neck so he could have full contact. Anders shuddered at the contact, gasping faintly. His eyes opened wide, and for a moment they seemed sheened in blue-white fire. The light from his hands blazed brighter.

Nathaniel’s eyes snapped wide open and he gasped loudly. “Maker!”

Fenris said nothing, he just offered his other hand to Invictus who didn’t take it. He wasn’t using nearly as much power as Anders so he concentrated on cleaning up after the blond mage.

“Anders?” said Nathaniel in a wondering tone. “Maker, it _is_ you! I thought I was dead!”

Anders lifted his hand away, the light slowly dying. “You nearly were,” he said, blinking as the fire died from his eyes. Suddenly he slumped sideways; he would have fallen if not for Fenris’ hands to catch him.

Nathaniel made to sit up but hissed in pain; his wounds were barely healed, and the incautious movement had reawoken a warning stab of pain. “Hawke? Where did you come from?” He glanced around and groaned. “Someone please tell me others survived too?”

Invictus shook his head slowly, and glanced sadly at Nathaniel. The rogue stared hopefully at him, then fell back with a groan.

“Meneris, we have to get this man back to the camp. He can tell us much of this ritual and Erimond’s plans - his knowledge is invaluable,” said Dorian.

Fenris helped Anders to his feet and turned to Pavus with a tired look. “We all need to get back.”

Loghain and Belann came forward to help Nathaniel to his feet, holding him up between them.

“Thank the Maker you live,” said Belann. “I thought my heart would stop when-”

Nathaniel stared at him quizzically. “Do I know you?” he asked, bewildered. “You sound Ferelden but I’ve never met you before.”

Belann’s eyes grew bleak. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I don’t think you do.” He smiled faintly. “Call it natural concern for one of my brother Wardens, and gladness that at least one of you survived this massacre.”

“We can explain when we get back.” Fenris said.

Nathaniel nodded, then glanced around the chamber. “Can we do nothing for them?” he asked. “We cannot simply leave them to rot, surely?”

Anders glanced to Dorian, then to Invictus. “We can take care of it,” he said quietly.

Loghain, Belann and Fenris between them managed to shift the bodies outside into the inner chamber as Meneris and Anders kept a close eye on Nathaniel. The rogue seemed in shock, and little wonder after what he had seen and endured. 

Anders glanced to the other two mages. “Gentlemen?” he said, and walked to the entrance of the chamber.

“My least favourite duty in the Inquisition,” said Dorian, then sighed. “Needs must however. I shall be making close acquaintance with the bottom of several bottles when we return to camp, I feel.” He stepped up next to Anders.

Invictus lined up with them, nodded and raised his arms in unison. 

They unleashed fire simultaneously. Within minutes, the room was a mass of white-hot flame that roared up and engulfed the centre of what remained of the tower. The three mages were forced to retreat from the heat; it was fierce enough that the very stones began to crack. Anders studied the conflagration for a moment, and then slowly crumpled to the ground. 

Fenris rushed over to Anders, unsure if his faint was exhaustion, grief, a need of food and water or a combination of the three. He pulled his mage into his arms and held him. “What do you need?”

Dorian knelt down next to them, fishing in a pouch for a vial of lyrium. “After the amount of power he’s been expending, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted,” the Altus remarked as he uncorked the vial. Anders’ eyes slowly drifted open as he turned towards Fenris. 

Dorian leaned forward as though to place the vial to Anders’ lips himself, then checked himself, glancing to the elf cradling the semi-conscious mage so protectively. “My apologies; perhaps I overstep my boundaries?” he murmured as he presented the vial to Fenris instead.

“I don’t own Anders,” Fenris said as he tightened his hold on his lover and let Dorian finish. Dorian nodded slowly, then gently held the vial to Anders’ lips. The blond apostate blinked slowly, then swallowed the lyrium.

“Indeed,” said Dorian, his eyes on Anders. “But still, it is only polite to ask before imposing your aid on someone, hmm? And I prefer not to ruffle feathers unnecessarily.”

Anders licked the last drops of lyrium from his lips then turned to bury his face against Fenris’ chest. “So tired,” he whispered. “The song is too loud. I can hear him calling me.”

“Will it help if I light my brands? Will it stop the song for a while?” Fenris asked.

“I can’t ask that of you,” protested Anders weakly. “I know how it hurts you to use your powers, love.”

“If he is _offering_ , you’re hardly _asking_ now, are you?” said Dorian a trifle acerbically. “Come now, let Fenris help you. You’re incapable of standing right now. You’re a healer. Surely you must recognise it is only sensible to accept help when you so clearly need it?”

“I’m agreeing with Pavus, the world surely is ending.” Fenris said as he lit his brands along his arms and made sure he had contact with Anders. The blond apostate made a wordless sound of relief, the lines upon his face smoothing away as he closed his eyes.

Dorian frowned slightly. “Why does he hear Corypheus so clearly? I can’t hear any singing. Is it because he has been a Warden so long, or is it because he has encountered Corypheus before?”

“A bit of both, I suppose.” Fenris replied as he leaned in to kiss the top of Anders’ head.

“We should get him back to the camp as swiftly as possible,” suggested Dorian. He slipped a hand beneath Anders’ elbow and helped Fenris to get the apostate back up to his feet. He glanced briefly at Invictus, then slung Anders’ arm across his shoulders as Fenris did likewise on the other side of the drowsy blond Warden.

Belann and Loghain had managed to get Nathaniel likewise to his feet; he seemed in not much better condition than Anders. 

Fenris bit back the sharp words that had risen for Pavus. Much as he hated to admit it, he knew he needed help from the other man to get Anders back to camp. “Thank you Pavus.” was all he uttered as they went, his worry for his lover kept him quiet all the way back.

Invictus carried staves and assorted things as they traveled, and swapped out with Belann when the Warden needed a rest from carrying Nathaniel. The dark-haired Warden was oblivious; his footsteps increasingly stumbled, and he finally slumped unconscious between Invictus and Loghain when they were barely in sight of the camp. Anders wasn’t much better off, his head drooping as he barely managed to keep his feet under him.

“Infirmary tent or yours?” murmured Dorian, glancing at Fenris. “Infirmary is nearer, but...?”

“Infirmary, he needs medical attention beyond my skills.” Fenris steered them to the medical tent in spite of the faint querulous noise of dissent that came from the blond apostate, and put Anders on a bedroll with a soft groan. Their height difference didn’t help the few injuries he’d taken. 

Loghain and Invictus were busily occupied with laying Nathaniel down upon another cot; Hal hurried over to check upon this new patient, then glanced over towards Anders. “Did Anders suffer any injuries, or is he merely exhausted?” he asked Invictus in a low voice.

“Just exhausted as far as I can tell. He put a lot of energy into healing Nathaniel, and took a lot of lyrium in the field.” Vic said as he straightened up with a pained hiss. Everything ached and what didn’t ache, outright hurt.

Hal straightened and extended one hand towards Invictus, palm outwards. There was the soft whisper of magic, and then the taller mage felt a wash if invigorating energy sweep over him, chasing away the niggling aches and pains and leaving him feeling refreshed. Hal turned back to check on Nathaniel, then sat himself on the edge of the cot and pressed his hands lightly over the unconscious man’s abdomen, hands glowing soft blue as he set to work to complete the healing that Anders had started.

“Thank you, that helped.” Vic said before he went over to his lovers. “How is he besides tired as all get out?” 

“Not sure, he seemed pretty wrecked emotionally when he found warden Howe.” Fenris grimaced as he stood, one arm around his middle. “I might not be doing so well though.”

Hal was bent over his task, eyes closed as he worked on Nathaniel, shaking his head minutely as he felt out the extent of the Warden’s injuries. It was several long minutes before he opened his eyes again and sat up.

“How bad is it?” asked Loghain gruffly.

“Bad enough, but he should recover in time,” said Hal. “There was no infection; the wounds were inflicted very recently. And Anders had done much of the work. He will need a day or two to recover however, and he won’t be fit for active duty for at least a week. He will need rest.” He got to his feet and drew a blanket over the sleeping Warden, then turned and glanced over at the others. He frowned when he saw how Fenris was clutching his midriff and advanced upon the elf.

“Why did you not say you were hurt?” he said sternly.

“It’s not a mortal wound, I’ve been hurt before and survived.” Fenris muttered as he tried to get to a cot.

“Dammit Fenris, not you too. I can’t take this stoic shit from you now, speak up when you’re hurt. You know a broken rib can cause a lot of damage if you don’t check on it. From the way you’re turning green you’re about a moment from fainting.” Vic said as got the elven fighter onto a cot and worked on getting his cuirass off.

Hal moved to the other side of the cot, his fingers deftly setting to work on the armour on that side, stripping it off with the air of one well practiced in removing this particular type of armour. “Do you remember what happened to cause this?” he asked.

“Take your pick of darkspawn and add in something that tackled me from behind.” Fenris mumbled as he stared up at the tent and tried to stop the scream he wanted to let out when Hal probed his side.

Hal lifted a hand, the merest ghost of power flickering across his fingertips as he stared down at the elf. “May I?” he asked gently.

“Yes.” Fenris closed his eyes and waited for the feel of strange magic across his skin. 

Invictus held Fenris’ hand as they sat there, his gaze worried for his lover.

Hal’s magic felt different to that of Anders when he was healing; where Anders’ power felt like cool, soothing water flowing over and through the skin, Hal’s healing power felt like slowly spreading warmth suffusing the flesh - as though Fenris were sprawled by a warm fire, the heat sinking into his bones and soothing away the pain and ache.

“You have three broken ribs,” said Hal absently. “One was almost at the point of piercing your lung. This happened a while ago and seems to have worsened quite suddenly, You should have come to me earlier.” He closed his eyes as he felt deeper, guiding his magic to heal the damaged soft tissues around the cracked ribs even as the splintered bone bound itself together, rebuilding from the inside out.

After a few minutes, Hal sat back; Fenris could feel the warm glow slowly dissipating, leaving only a lingering tingling in his nerves until that, too, faded.

“You should rest for a while,” said Hal, looking tired. He glanced to Invictus. “Did anyone else take hurt?”

“I don’t think so, few are in the habit of not telling us they have injuries.” Vic said with a squeeze to Fenris’ hand. 

Hal nodded. “I need to check on Anders and then on some of the others,” he said as he got to his feet. He crouched down next to Anders’ cot and lifted the blond apostate’s wrist to check his pulse. Anders’ hand hung limply in Hal’s grasp; the blond Warden had sunk into a deep sleep. Hal checked him over carefully before setting to work to heal the minor injuries Anders had picked up during the fight with Erimond and the demons at the ruins.

Dorian leaned against one of the tent poles, watching silently, his eyes on Anders’ sleeping face; his expression was thoughtful.

Vic kissed Fenris on the forehead before he sent him into a healing sleep before the elf could protest. He looked up at Dorian, and approached carefully. “What’s on your mind Pavus?”

Dorian glanced up and arched an eyebrow. “There are many things on my mind, Champion,” he said, smiling charmingly. “Foremost however is the thought that perhaps we should all get some rest.” He pushed himself up and away from the pole. “Love to stay and chat but Meneris will be wondering where I am.” He cast a last glance back at Anders, then inclined his head in a half-bow toward Invictus before turning on his heel and striding slowly away.

Vic stared at Dorian’s back until he was gone then turned back to find Zevran hovering over Fenris with a curious look at him. “He needs the sleep, and you know he’s hard headed as a druffalo sometimes. I’m going to eat, I’ll be in our tent for some sleep after. Tell him to yell at me later,” said Invictus.

“As you wish,” said Zevran. “Though he is not the only hard-headed one, hmm?” The Antivan elf stretched out upon the cot next to Fenris’, stretching one hand out to lace his fingers with those of the sleeping white-haired warrior.

Hal laid Anders’ hand upon his breast and laid a blanket over him then nodded to Invictus. “I shall stay here; I have many patients to watch over,” he said softly.

“We’ll leave you be, Hal,” said Belann. “Call us when Nathaniel wakes?”

“Of course,” nodded the red-haired healer.

**   
Dorian made his way toward the command pavilion, pausing by the cook fires to grab something to eat for them both and a warming cup of tea; though by day the desert was burning hot, at night it was chill, and his blood felt like ice at the best of times. It was better here than at Skyhold where he seemed to be permanently half-frozen, but still he preferred to be warmer than he felt at present. 

Perhaps it was simple fatigue together with a lingering horror of what they’d seen in that chamber in the ruins, he mused. Whatever the reason, he was looking forward to curling up with Meneris. The elf was always warm and comforting to be around, particularly when Dorian’s own thoughts were taking a dark turn; and right now he had far too much on his mind that he would prefer to forget.

He glanced around the outer room of the pavilion, then crossed to the inner room that he shared with Meneris.

The elf had stretched out on their camp bed after a quick scrub down with hot water provided by the mages in their party. he only had a thin blanket over his hips and he was staring upward, wool gathering it seemed.

Dorian crossed over to the bed and sat upon the edge, hooking the leg of a small table with his foot and drawing it over so he could set down the food. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said quietly. He sipped his tea, grateful for its warmth.

“Hmm, oh food, food is good thank you.” Meneris sat up and grabbed at bread, sliced meat and wine, chilled by Dorian as he held the cup. “How bad off is everyone?” 

“The Warden we found will recover, given time and rest; Anders exhausted himself but otherwise seems unhurt, thankfully. Zevran seems to be reasonably mobile again though probably ought to be taken off scouting duty for a few days - I don’t envy Cullen enforcing that, mind you.” He took another sip of his tea. “Oh, and Fenris neglected to mention three broken ribs and was duly chastised by Hal. He’s now sleeping off his healing in the infirmary as well.”

“I just hope we survive the trip back to Skyhold, we’ve lost so many and traveling in this damned desert is more treacherous than the swamps.” Meneris held his cup out for a refill as he watched Dorian with a mix of desire and relief they were unhurt.

Dorian finished his tea then poured wine for them both. “I think it’s going to take more than a glass of this to get what we saw tonight out of my head,” he mused, standing to fetch another bottle. “It was bad enough dealing with the demons without looking upon what they did to raise and bind them. I can’t imagine what it must have done to Anders to find someone he obviously knew and cared for in the midst of that carnage.”

“I can’t imagine it, I’d rather not.” Meneris said before he sat his cup aside and stared at Dorian with naked lust in his gaze. “I know what could take your mind off things for a while.” he said.

Dorian had downed his wine swiftly and was busy uncorking a second bottle. “Yes, this rather hopeful looking Nevarran red,” he replied absently without looking up. “My dreams last night were bad enough without being given more delightful imagery like that. I plan to drink myself into a stupor I’m afraid, love.” He turned and raised his refilled glass with a smile then downed it in one before he finally took in the look Meneris was giving him. “My word. You look as though you could devour me on the spot, Meneris,” he said quietly. “I’m feeling rather overdressed for the occasion....”

“Yes, those belts and buckles are a hindrance to what I had in mind. I rather enjoyed that first taste of Warden stamina and want another night where half the camp hears me begging for you.” Meneris grinned before he moved the table over and started to work on his lover’s clothes. 

Dorian’s eyes looked a little troubled, though he didn’t move to stop the determined elf as Meneris began to divest him of the various belts and buckles of his elaborate outfit. “Meneris... far be it for me to denigrate the obvious stress-relieving qualities of such activities, and ordinarily I would indulge quite happily - but I’m not sure I entirely feel up to such energetic endeavours this evening, my love. Something about seeing so much carnage and then witnessing Anders’ very real grief and distress... I’m... not sure I....” His voice tailed off as Meneris determinedly began to tug at his white one-sleeved tunic. He allowed the elf to remove it, switching his wine glass to the other hand and taking a hasty gulp.

Meneris hands stilled and he looked up to Dorian. “If you don’t want to, we stop. I’m sorry, I just… thought, no. We can just talk and kiss if that is what you want?” 

“Forgive me, love?” said Dorian softly. His grey eyes regarded Meneris with that same troubled look that had haunted his eyes since they had found Nathaniel. He gave his elven lover a faint smile, then sat down slowly upon the edge of the bed. He made to pour another glass of wine, then shook his head, setting down the glass in favour of taking a pull directly from the bottle itself.

“Meneris, I have an uneasy feeling about what we will face at Adamant. Erimond said this was but an experiment - and one that he seems to have considered a success. How much worse will it be there? I dread the manner of slaughter we might find there. This is obscenity on a level far beyond anything ever practiced in Tevinter, regardless of what southerners might think of the Imperium. We are not given to wholesale butchery like that! Erimond stands for the very worst, the poisonous corruption that is eating my homeland from the inside out. These Venatori are - are a _filth_ , a vileness that cannot be allowed to continue.” He could feel his anger rising, like fire in his veins, driving out the chill he had felt earlier. He took another pull of the wine.

“I will be with you love, and I know it’s barbaric. Pass me that bottle.” Meneris held his hand out with a tired smile.

Dorian took another long swallow then passed the bottle to his lover. “It’s people like Erimond that are destroying the Imperium! They’d seek to turn the clock back to a worse time in search of stolen glories that should never have been ours in the first place! They display the same lack of hubris that led to the desecration of the Golden City in the first place, and for what? Do they seriously think this Corypheus will _reward_ them?” Dorian’s voice spat derision. “Do they seriously think he will do anything other than destroy them like so many ants when they are no longer of use to him? They are fools!”

The Tevinter mage sprang to his feet, pacing restlessly.

“They are delusional love, and you know that. I doubt they will listen to reason at this point so we do what we can to eliminate their threat. Hopefully whatever we find, we can stop this false calling and get the wardens on our side.” Meneris said as he watched Dorian pace like a caged animal.

Dorian took back the bottle of wine again as he paced past Meneris, taking a long swallow. “I haven’t felt this Calling yet, for which may I say, I am deeply grateful. Loghain has described it to me and it sounds absolutely foul. Though Anders seems to feel it far worse than he does.” He turned on his heel and paced the other way. “Do you know, he can actually _hear_ Corypheus? Hears him singing in his head. How on earth he can stand it and not go mad, Maker only knows - feeling those wretched darkspawn for the first time was bad enough, I can tell you!” He shook his head as he paused, staring down at the wine bottle in his hand. “Makes me feel unclean even thinking about it.” He shuddered, then tipped back his head and swallowed down the last of the wine. He turned and reached for another bottle.

“Dorian...you’re going to be hungover and miserable if you don’t stop drinking. Come and lay with me, I need you.” Meneris asked as he tried to gently pry the bottle from Dorian. The taller man was able to effortlessly lift the bottle out of the elven Inquisitor’s reach however as he turned on his heel and paced away again. He uncorked it and drank deeply; on his next turn, his footsteps were less steady and he stumbled a little on the edge of the carpet. 

“I’ll be bloody miserable anyway, going up against.... _that_ ,” he said, gesticulating with the bottle and splashing wine in the carpet before taking another pull. “May as well have good reason to, and maybe if I drink enough I won’t dream tonight.” 

“Dorian, you’re not really thinking clearly. Give.me.that bottle.” Meneris asked again.

Dorian stopped pacing as he took another swallow, then pointed the bottle at Meneris. “No, the problem is I’m thinking _too_ clearly and I don’t want to,” he replied, his voice slurred as he swayed slightly. “I’d rather not think at all right now.” He went to take another drink but hesitated, staring at the bottle in his hand.

“Dorian, I’m not having this fight with you again. Give me the damned bottle and have some water before you fall on your face.” Meneris’ expression had hardened into the one he showed on the field, the one enemies feared.

“Don’t look at me like that, Meneris,” said Dorian, his voice wavering slightly as he gave the elf a hurt look, his eyes large and dark. He looked for all the world like a lost child, bewildered and disoriented. He looked at the bottle then back at the elf. “Why are we fighting, love?” he asked softly. He held out the bottle as he swayed.

“We’re not fighting, but you are drunk and morose and it’s never a good look.” Meneris took the bottle with one hand and steadied Dorian with the other. “Lie down, I’m going to get us both water.” 

Dorian sprawled on the camp bed and groaned, flinging one arm up over his eyes. “Everything’s spinning,” he murmured. “I may be a trifle tipsy.”

“And I’m a golden nug.” Meneris said as he poured himself water then filled a goblet for his lover. “Here, I’ll be back with something to calm your stomach.” Meneris threw on pants, his short sword and headed for the medical tent.

Hal was slumped over a small desk in the corner of the infirmary tent, his head pillowed on his arms and his hair dishevelled. A candle on the corner of the desk had burned low, dripping wax onto the worn wooden surface. The tent was filled with the sounds of people sleeping, disturbed only by the occasional muffled whimper coming from one of the cots.

Meneris went to the work bench quietly so he wouldn’t wake anyone, and hoped he could find some embrium and elfroot without having to disturb anyone that needed the sleep.

Hal drew a sudden sharp breath and sat up, blinking, glancing round. “Who’s there?” He rose to his feet, magelight blooming upon his raised hand. “Inquisitor?”

“Apologies Hal, I was trying to be quiet as I searched for some herbs. Is there anything already mixed for a headache and possibly upset stomach? Otherwise I’ll take some Embrium and Elfroot.”

The healer made his way over to the workbench and lightly danced his fingers over the top of the potion bottles until he found what he was searching for. “Ah, here it is. Willowbark, embrium and chamomile; eases headaches and it’s an anti-emetic. I brewed it for Commander Cullen, but there’s enough to spare.” He held out the bottle towards the Inquisitor.

A cry from one of the beds drew his attention. He set the bottle down and crossed swiftly to the side of one of the cots; the occupant shifted restlessly and then gave another cry. Hal crouched down beside the restless sleeper and laid a hand upon a pale forehead, brushing long blond hair back as he murmured in a low voice. Hal’s hand glowed briefly, and the man settled with a small sigh. 

Meneris palmed the vial as he headed past Hal and his patient. “Thank you” he whispered before he slipped back out to his own tent.

He returned to find Dorian fast asleep, sprawled half over the side of the camp bed, one arm and one foot dangling to the floor. He had managed to remove one boot and his white tunic before passing out; his black hair was somewhat tousled. As Meneris nudged him lightly, he let out a very soft snore.

“It’s a good thing I love him.” Meneris muttered as he rolled Dorian fully onto the bed, got his other boot off and snuffed all but one candle. “He’s going to be miserable when he wakes up.


	27. Chapter 27

The Tevinter altus was, indeed, truly miserable come morning. The one small good thing he had to dwell on was that at least the quantity of wine he’d imbibed seemed to have drowned whatever dreams might have troubled him, but as he sat on the edge of the camp bed clutching his head in his hands, he had to dig deep indeed to dredge up a small smidgen of thankfulness. He sat still, trying to decide if his treacherous-feeling stomach would allow him to stir from his position without spewing up whatever remained within it. He doubted the Nevarran red would feel particularly enhanced by a return trip. He wondered if a team of dwarves had set up a smithy in his skull; it certainly was pounding enough.

Meneris entered the tent with a tray of food, water and placed the vial on the tray. “Medicine, water then food in that order.” he said before he sat with his own small plate.

Dorian regarded the food with dismay then buried his face in his hands again, taking deep breaths to try and overcome the rising nausea. He wondered if he could make it outside before he vomited. He swallowed hard.

“Drink what’s in the vial, it will calm your stomach.” Meneris said with a raised brow and a salute with his tankard of water.

Dorian held a hand out wordlessly for the vial without lifting his head. He fumbled off the cork with his thumb then downed the contents, grimacing slightly at the faintly bitter after taste, then sighed as the imminent feeling he would throw up gradually began to recede. He reached for water.

“Go ahead; I am sure you’re simply _dying_ to tell me ‘I told you so’,” he groaned.

“I’ll wait until it won’t sound like I am screaming at top volume.” Meneris said as he looked over plans for Adamant Fortress. Dorian winced.

“Thank you; I do appreciate your not deafening me - it feels like my brain is trying to dribble out of my ears at present.”

“Inquisitor!” called Cullen from the outer room of the pavilion. Dorian winced and fell back upon the bed with a groan, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head.

“A bit softer if you please Commander, our warden has a headache.” Meneris said as Cullen entered. The Commander paused on the threshold as he glanced up from the slate in his hand.

“Sorry to hear that, Dorian,” he said a little quieter. “You should go talk to Hal; Anders and he brewed up some potions for me that knock most of my headaches out quite quickly. Maybe you should give them a try?” He turned to Meneris. “Speaking of Anders, he’s still out for the count this morning although the Warden, Nathaniel, is awake and up. And the winds appear to be quiet this morning, unusually. This bodes well for our troop movements however; I’ve ordered all units to advance on Adamant and rendezvous with our forces already in place there.”

“Good, start breaking down the rest of camp and we’ll follow and enter tomorrow. If Anders isn’t awake in a couple of hours have him put on a litter. What of Fenris and Zevran?” Meneris asked.

“Both up and mobile; Fenris made a nuisance of himself in the infirmary tent over Anders not being awake yet, but Zevran was able to get him to leave - eventually.” The Commander’s wry grin suggested it hadn’t been an easy task for the Antivan.

“He’s one to talk, hear tell he had three broken ribs and didn’t say anything till he nearly fell over from pain.” Meneris said as he got to his feet so he could finish dressing while Cullen gave him an update. 

“Well, quite,” said Cullen, rubbing the back of his neck. “Loghain and Belann are debriefing Nathaniel at the moment; I’m expecting their report shortly. It should give us perhaps a little more idea of what to expect.” 

“Alright, once everyone has been fed and camp broken we move out and plan to pass the main group so we can enter Adamant on the morrow. Breaching that thing at night will be a catastrophe if Erimond and his forces are holed up in there.” Meneris got his sword on before he called to Dorian. 

“Come on, if Hal is awake he can help that headache of yours.” 

Dorian threw the pillow aside and got to his feet, rapidly dressing in a clean tunic. He was dressed remarkably quickly in spite of the number of belts and buckles on his outfit. He snatched up his staff and nodded to Meneris, only the slight frown upon his brow betraying his lingering headache.

“Commander!” One of Cullen’s messengers ran up and saluted. “Sir, you asked to be informed when Warden Anders had awoken.”

“Very good,” said Cullen. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Let’s go.” Meneris headed off to the tent, almost eager to be sure everyone was well.

Anders was sitting on his cot, fiddling with the buckles on his Warden tunic. Hal was talking to him quietly as they entered; Anders’ fingers paused, and then he shook his head.

“Anders....” Hal said quietly as they approached.

“Forget it,” said Anders tersely. “I’m fine. I _will_ be fine if you will just leave me alone for five minutes, dammit.”

“Anders, I -” Hal sighed, then broke off as he glanced up. “The Inquisitor. And Cullen,” he said quietly.

“Just what I needed,” Anders muttered to himself under his breath.

Hal gave Meneris a half-bow then moved away towards one of the other patients, casting an exasperated look back at Anders.

“Is there a problem Anders?” Meneris asked.

Anders got to his feet, tossing his head to get his long loose hair out of his eyes as he turned. “No, no problem,” he said, still scowling slightly. “Why should there be a problem?”

“Are you alright, Anders?” asked Cullen. “You seem rather tense and on edge.”

Anders’ laughter was sharp and brittle. “Can’t think why that would be, can you? You know, apart from the damnable singing in my head and finding part of my nightmare coming true. Can’t think _why_ would have me on edge.” He glanced around. “Where’s my staff?”

Dorian reached over and picked it up from the floor next to Anders’ cot and held it out wordlessly; Anders took it with a single nod of thanks. He slung it at his back then swept a hand through his hair to push it back out of his way.

“Are you able to go on to Adamant or do you wish to remain here while the camp is broken down? If you aren’t able to cope we won’t fault you.” Meneris said.

Anders stared at Meneris, his honey-brown eyes darkening with anger. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said, tapping the fingers of one hand on the haft of his staff. “I’m fine.”

Meneris stared up at Anders for a long, tense moment before he turned to go. “I trust the other wardens to know if you are truly fine Warden. See you at the front line.” 

“Does that include me, Meneris?” asked Dorian, smoothing his moustache.

“No, it doesn’t,” snapped Anders. “You’re a junior Warden. I outrank you. I outrank every Warden here except Belann - and I doubt he counts, seeing as he’s not even from this version of Thedas.” He glared at Dorian for a moment then strode swiftly from the infirmary, rapidly overtaking Meneris with his longer stride.

“Anders!” called Cullen, but the blond warden didn’t look back. “Blast it. He’s supposed to be with me on this morning’s march. By your leave, Inquisitor.”

“Go on, I’ll get Invictus and company gathered so we can leave.” Meneris sighed and headed off to the tent where the others should be.

Meneris found himself wondering if everyone had gotten out of bed the wrong side that morning; he found Fenris and Zevran sniping at each other as they readied themselves, Invictus standing in the middle of the tent attempting to keep the peace.

“You are still in no fit state!” growled Fenris as he pulled on his gauntlets.

“Hah! Says the man who nearly screamed when the healer touched his ribs,” retorted Zevran as he buckled up his wrist bracer. “Three ribs, I believe it was?”

“My leg wasn’t nearly sliced open from hip to foot!” Fenris snapped as he tugged his vambrace back from Zevran.

“Maker save me from you stubborn assholes. Zevran, you are still limping, Fenris you can’t even bend to the right without turning pale and swearing. How are you going to fight like that?” Vic asked as he had to duck from both elves as they got in each others space to fight.

“My foot? Must you exaggerate?” exclaimed Zevran. “It was merely to my knee, and look - you can barely see the scar!” He flipped back the side of his tunic, parting the lambrequins of his armour, and tilted a shapely tawny-skinned leg to flash his thigh; the skin was smooth and unmarked save for the line of the scar that wound from hip to just behind his knee. “See, it is fine! It is merely a little stiff. Marching will loosen it up; you cannot say the same for your ribs.” He turned away and picked up the harness for his long knives.

“Inquisitor maybe you can get them to see sense, neither will listen to me.” Invictus said as grabbed his staff, potion belt and headed off to scavenge for rations. “I’ll get my assignment from Cullen, see you later.”

Zevran merely sniffed. “I am being perfectly sensible, it is _he_ ” he glared over his shoulder, “Who is not seeing sense. He can barely bend over to pick up that ridiculous sword of his.”

“See what I mean!” Vic called over his shoulder before escaping the tent.

Meneris folded his arms and stared at the other two elves in exasperation. “Two nugs in a damned pot, both of you. Fenris you are wincing just standing there, you stay back, Zevran you too, because you are damned lucky you weren’t tainted when you did get cut open. End of story, you won’t endanger yourselves or anyone else because you are bullheaded. Do you want to take the Joining too? Make Anders have to pronounce you wardens or dead? It’s no fun let me tell you. Now stop being stupid, get something to eat and follow up with the rest of the troops. No one else dies in our group if it can be helped. Am I clear gentlemen?” 

Zevran straightened slowly, his face impassive as he stared back at Meneris, his gold eyes flat and unfriendly. “Zevran Arainai goes where he pleases, Inquisitor. He is not part of your Inquisition, to be bid when to come and when to go. When you hire the services of the Crow Master, _then_ you may dictate.” He suddenly grinned, the smile not reaching his eyes. “But if you wish to contract the services of the Crows, that might be a different matter, yes?” He slid his fighting knives into their scabbards. “As for Fenris, he too is a free man. He is the companion of the Champion, not the Inquisitor. Unless you wish to conscript him too, the way you did Anders and Hal? Tell me, Inquisitor - did you give them a choice before you drafted them?”

Meneris pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten silently before he answered, his own voice cold and flat as the Antivan’s. “I conscripted Anders to make sure people knew he was under the protection of the Inquisition. I did the same for Hal. Fine, you’re right both of you are men grown. Do as you please and I hope you both survive this battle.” He saluted them both and stalked out of the tent towards Dorian and the others.

Anders was standing near Cullen, his face dark as he glared pointedly away from the Commander. As Meneris approached, three figures in Warden gear stepped out from one of the tents; as Anders glanced at them, his eyes widened as a look of confusion crossed his face, to be replaced by a genuine smile. “Nathaniel!” he exclaimed, and broke away from their group to hurry to meet the three Wardens. The dark-haired archer gave Anders a smile in return. 

“Anders. It’s good to see you again, my friend,” he greeted him. The two men embraced. Anders whispered something in Nathaniel’s ear; the rogue pulled away briefly to search Anders’ eyes as he smiled reassuringly, and then they embraced again, Anders burying his face against the side of Nathaniel’s neck as the other Warden rubbed soothing circles over Anders’ back.

“Glad to see you up and about Warden, once you’ve had something to eat we should be on our way.” Meneris said as he passed them to get his canteen filled. His expression was almost as dark as Anders had been moments before. 

“Grey Wardens do not die easily, Inquisitor,” replied Nathaniel as he and Anders walked slowly towards the group, Anders’ arm slung around the rogue’s shoulders with a casual ease that bespoke of long familiarity. “Particularly with a healer as talented as Anders. We’ve felt his lack sorely in Vigil’s Keep since he left us.”

“Not exactly through choice,” said Anders, a sharp note creeping into his voice.

“I know, my friend,” said Nathaniel gently. “That is the past now.” He slipped an arm behind Anders to pat him on the back. “Inquisitor, would you happen to have spare bows with you?”

“I’ll take you to see the quartermaster once we’ve all breakfasted,” said Cullen. “We’ll be on the march in an hour.”

“Not soon enough, I want this done.” Meneris snarled as he passed them on his way to breakfast.

Invictus frowned at the way Nathaniel was so familiar with his lover but bit his tongue. Instead he followed after Meneris and the others. 

Anders and Nathaniel waited until Loghain and Belann had caught them up, then all four Wardens headed in to breakfast together. They sat apart from the others, talking together quietly as they ate. Anders and Nathaniel sat side by side, often putting their heads together to share some quiet joke.

Dorian watched quietly, a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

Fenris and Zevran came in finally, both elves silent as they found Invictus and ate quietly, Fenris often wincing as he had to straighten up and drink his tea. Invictus simply stared at him with _that look_ he had inherited from Leandra, that one she gave them as children when they were being bull-headed. Zevran ate sparingly, his eyes scanning the groups of people. He froze when his eyes fell on the group of Wardens.

“It cannot be... _Nathaniel?_ ” he exclaimed. He rose from his seat and limped towards the Wardens’ table. “Nathaniel Howe! How is it you are here in this Void-be-damned place?”

The Warden archer got to his feet. “Zevran! Anders told me you were here.” Anders was looking up at Nathaniel with a fond grin on his face.

“Well it’s a long story friend, one we can rejoice in once this business with Adamant is done, yes?” Zevran said with a grin.

“Indeed,” said Nathaniel. “And is that Fenris I see over there? And Hawke too! I thought I’d dreamed them -”

“Which doesn’t surprise me,” said Anders. “Considering the state you were in when we found you. Maker, I honestly thought my heart had stopped when Dorian turned you over and I saw you lying there.”

Nathaniel leaned back and gripped Anders’ shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t think on it. You were in time, and we’re all fine now.” Anders reached up to lay his hand over Nathaniel’s and nodded.

“Come, why not join us?” suggested Zevran, inclining his head in the direction of the table where Invictus and Fenris were sitting.

“Go ahead, I think we were done anyway,” said Loghain. Nathaniel tugged Anders up out of his seat and they followed Zevran back to their table.

“Hawke, Fenris. I owe you two my thanks as well as Anders,” smiled Nathaniel as he dropped into the seat opposite Fenris, Anders sitting down beside him.

“Welcome.” Fenris snapped, still irritated at being injured.

Nathaniel glanced at him, then at Invictus, raising an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting?” he asked, making to rise. Anders laid a hand on his arm to check him. 

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked.

“Someone is still hurt and being an ass, make that two someones.” Vic said.

Anders rolled his eyes. “What is it? And when did you get hurt, anyway, Fenris?” he added with a slight frown. “You never said a word.”

“As I understand it, you were a little preoccupied, Anders,” said Nathaniel. “The red-haired healer told me you weren’t in much better shape than I was when they brought you in.”

“Yes, well, I’m fine now,” said Anders as he rose from his seat. “What’s the damage, love?” he asked Fenris as he moved around the table.

“I’m fine, stop babying me.” Fenris said even as he flinched and clenched his teeth. 

“Hal healed you why are you still jumping when touched, let him heal you.” Vic said.

Anders frowned. “Love... you haven’t flinched from my healing in years,” he said softly. “Something’s wrong - love?”

“I said I’m fine, just sore. We have things to do we should...go.” Fenris said before he slumped forward and fell silent.

“Fenris?” said Anders, then a little louder, “Fenris!” He rose to his feet and leaned over the elf, then glanced up at Invictus. “Not good,” he muttered tersely.

“What happened? “ Vic asked worriedly.

“Not sure yet,” said Anders, his gaze going distant and unfocused in the way Invictus had learned to recognise as the blond apostate looking inwards with his healer’s senses. “Bleeding.”

“Bleeding inside. Tired. Can’t catch my breath; why does it hurt to breathe? Mustn’t speak. Mustn’t make them worry. Can taste the blood in my mouth.”

“Cole, leave them alone!” called Dorian as he sprang up from his seat and hurried over.

“But he’s hurting inside,” said the spirit looking around. “I want to help.”

“Maker, who is that?” exclaimed Nathaniel.

“Quiet!” hissed Anders as he closed his eyes. “Punctured lung. Hawke - help me hold him upright. He’s drowning in his own blood. Stubborn idiot - why didn’t he _say_ something?”

“I thought Hal had fixed his ribs? Did he do something else?” Vic asked as he held Fenris up as Anders worked.

“He doesn’t see the demon. I turn and block but something breaks inside. Sharp. Like glass but burning.” Cole regarded Anders with colourless eyes.

“Breaks inside...” Anders tilted his head, his eyes still closed. “Ah.” He traced a hand down over the ribs Hal had healed. “Yes. I can feel it - a shard of bone, splintered from one of his ribs.”

“Get his armour off,” suggested Nathaniel. He moved around the table to start unbuckling Fenris’ cuirass.

“Anders, anything we can do to help?” asked Cullen.

“Give him room to work,” Vic answered as he tried not to give in to panic.

“Here, clear the table,” said Varric as he appeared at Invictus’ elbow, Iron Bull looming behind. With one sweep, the Bull cleared the table quite efficiently. As Invictus gently laid Fenris upon the table, Nathaniel was still stripping off Fenris’ cuirass.

Everyone was on their feet now, and Cullen waved them back. “Just give the healer space!” he ordered.

Dorian stood to one side; he’d intended to pull Cole away from Anders, but the spirit appeared to actually be helping the blond apostate. He was quietly talking to Anders, the mage nodding.

As Nathaniel peeled back Fenris’ tunic, Zevran pulled one of his knives from his wrist sheath and held it out towards Anders.

“He’s surely not going to operate in _here_?” exclaimed Vivienne.

“Not now, Madame de Fer,” said Dorian. “This is really not the time for Orlesian dramatics.”

“Yes, he is now shut it all of you.” Vic said as he saw Meneris and Dorian watching, wearing twin expressions of shock.

Cole was quietly murmuring in Anders’ ear as the blond apostate took the sharp knife. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to stare down at Fenris’ side. Carefully setting the tip of the blade between two ribs, directly over a dark bruise, he steadily sliced into the elf’s flesh. Blood immediately welled up around the blade; Anders frowned slightly, and glowing blue light surrounded his hands as he sliced deeper.

Nathaniel kept his hands upon Fenris, holding the unconscious elf steady as Anders operated. Blood ran over the table as he carefully guided the knife, then he set it aside and closed his eyes as he delicately slipped two fingers into the deep incision.

Dorian couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. “Fascinating,” he breathed to himself.

Zevran’s eyes were fixed on Fenris’ face, his hands resting upon the table either side of the unconscious elf’s head.

“Got it,” muttered Anders tersely; his fingers withdrew, a shard of bone held between them. He pressed his hand flat over the bloody wound and poured healing magic into it, closing his eyes as he worked to shunt the blood in Fenris’ lung into the elf’s stomach then heal over the puncture wound, healing him steadily from inside out until finally smooth new skin covered over the wound, leaving a neat white scar where he had removed the shard.

“Turn him on his side; he’s going to vomit in a minute,” he said as he stepped back, shaking Fenris’ blood off his fingers.

Vic did as he was instructed and made a disgusted face when Fenris started gagged and threw up darkened blood and bile.

“Sorry; it had to go somewhere, and the stomach was the most appropriate place to shunt it,” said Anders, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Nathaniel skirted around the table and slung an arm around Anders’ waist, guiding him back to a chair. “I’m alright, just a little dizzy; it’ll pass,” said Anders. He glanced back to Invictus. “Blood’s an emetic so it tends to come back up pretty fast. Better than drowning in it though. He should come round shortly; he’ll need water and food.”

“As do you,” said Nathaniel. “I’ve seen you like this countless times before.”

“Stubborn fucking elf.” Vic muttered.

“Horrified. What have I done? Recrimination, remorse, guilt eating away - I failed him, I could have killed him,” murmured Cole.

“What?” said Anders tiredly, glancing up at the spirit. Cole was staring towards the entrance to the tent; as Anders turned to see where he was staring, he saw brief movement - a swirl of blood-red hair, and then the sound of feet hurrying away.

“Too much feeling, everything too much, everything hurts now - bleeding on the sharp edges of my failure. It was easier when he couldn’t dream,” murmured Cole.

“I’ll talk to Hal, you two take care of Fenris.” Vic said tiredly. He rose to his feet and headed after the red-haired healer.

“He missed it. He wanted to help. Forgive me, forgive me,” murmured Cole. “Alone, Lonely. Regret. The wrong one.”

Anders glanced at Fenris and sighed.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rather a long chapter, this one. Fenris comforts Hal, they join the rest of the army at Adamant, and Nathaniel catches up with Anders.

  
  
[Hal](http://arkadyrose.deviantart.com/art/Hal-558907744) by [ArkadyRose](http://arkadyrose.deviantart.com/) on [DeviantArt](http://www.deviantart.com)  


Vic hurried after Hal, and finally caught the red headed mage before he could get away amid the chaos of breaking down camp. “Hal, slow down. Fenris is fine, stop running.” 

The red-haired mage whirled around, his eyes wide and his face tear-streaked. “No... no, you don’t understand!” he exclaimed. “I nearly killed him! It’s my fault! I missed that shard, and I could have killed him!” He turned away, pressing one hand over the brand upon his forehead. “Leave me, how can you bear to even look at me after what I did?”

“Because you’re human and you are not a murderer. Come here Hal and look at me, see that I’m just happy he’s alright. You didn’t do that on purpose and no one would think you did, certainly not Fenris. If I tell you a story will it help?” Vic asked gently

“You can’t fix this with a _story!_ ” said Hal, spinning to face Invictus as he took a couple of steps backwards, shaking his head.

“What if it’s a story of Anders doing the exact same thing and me nearly dying?” Vic asked.

Hal stopped and stared at Invictus. “I don’t believe you. Anders would never make a mistake like that; he’s too careful. Too conscientious.”

“Not when he thinks his lover is about to die in his arms and Fenris was sobbing as if I was already gone. We’d encountered bandits as he tried to keep the peace after Kirkwall, total surprise attack almost like one of Varric’s stories. Despite the fact we were well rested and alert, they got us good. One of them had a warhammer that I got acquainted with in the worst way, and considering how hard he’d whacked me I was surprised to open my eyes at all.”

Hal was regarding Invictus with a slightly disbelieving look, ever so slightly shaking his head, his arms wrapped around himself; but he was no longer backing away.

Invictus frowned when he saw the way Hal shook his head at him. “Do you want Anders to tell you then? It’s clear you think I’m lying to make you feel better. Trust me, that’s not something I do.” 

“I... I can’t believe he’d be that distracted - not when healing,” said Hal, but there was an uncertain look in his eyes. “He’s always so focused when he’s working.”

“Yes, but we were taken by surprise by them. He told me later that he’d thought I was dead with the way Fenris had acted and the blood. But he missed a couple of shards of bone that traveled, causing all kinds of trouble. I’m lucky that Fenris caught me when I fell over and can do his phasing thing or I’d have been done for. No one is perfect Hal, no one. Please come back and see that Fenris will be fine for yourself.” Vic knew there was more to Hal’s distress but one thing at at time.

Hal dropped his gaze to one side. “No, I... I can’t face him, not after what I’ve done. My carelessness could have killed him. I should have known, should have checked more thoroughly. I could feel that rib was splintered, I should have _known_.” He put a hand to his face as he drew a ragged breath.

Invictus tilted the other mage’s face up so he could look in his eyes. “He hates cowards, and I’ll bet your Fenris does as well. Do not run from him, and do not make it out as if you should have known to cut him open and look for piece of rib. Stop this Hal, you are not to blame, do you understand?” 

Hal opened his mouth, but no words came. He shook his head slowly, then crumpled forwards, clutching at Invictus’ tunic as he hid his face. “I failed him. I failed him!” he choked.

“This isn’t about Fenris here, is it?” Vic asked quietly as he pulled Hal into his arms. “It’s ok, it will be ok.” 

“No, it’s not,” whispered Hal. “It can never be OK. I wasn’t good enough. He needed me, and I failed him. I wasn’t the healer Anders was, but we’d left him behind and Fenris was dying and I wasn’t good enough,” he choked. “And now I’m not there, and there’s no-one and I can’t do anything and I promised, I _promised_....”

“Hal, you told me your Fenris survived.” Vic said gently as he tried to soothe Hal as best he could. He rubbed circles on the other man’s back as he felt Hal pull on his tunic as he continued to speak of broken promises to _his_ Fenris. “You need to be strong for him Hal, so you can get back.”

“It was the lyrium,” said Hal brokenly. “Something went wrong; it wouldn’t heal right. I had to fix it constantly or he would be in pain. But who will fix it now? I didn’t do it right, and now I’m not there.”

“Hal, listen to me please. I know what it’s like to be stuck in the wrong Kirkwall, and I know it’s hard to be here but you can’t fall to pieces like this. Not right now, not over something like this. Listen to me, and know I’m not being an asshole but I need you to get it together and keep it together or you won’t get home. Do you understand?” Vic pleaded with the younger man as he thought on how he’d panicked at the thought of never getting back to his life.

Hal slowly straightened, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his tunic. “I-I’ll try,” he said softly. “It’s just so hard. I miss Fenris so much, and seeing your Anders and not knowing what happened to him back there... and I’m still not used to _feeling_ so much; it feels like I just took a step and missed a stair and I’m constantly falling. And I’m not used to being amongst so many people, being _needed_ and yet without instructions or orders... it was _simpler_ when I was Tranquil. Everything is so confusing, and I’m lost and so lonely.” He buried his face in his hands and drew a slow, shuddering breath as he attempted to pull himself together.

“Believe me, I know that feeling Hal. Come on, you need something to eat if you haven’t already and I’m sure Fenris is up and probably yelling about something. They aren’t that much different, and I’m sure he’ll talk with you if you want.” Vic gave him an easy smile, and wiped away the other mage’s tears. “We’ll take care of you ok?”

The young mage took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I- alright,” he said softly.

“If you need to talk about it, come to me or Anders. We both know what it’s like to feel out of place.” Vic grinned at him and turned him back towards the tent where he could hear Fenris yelling as they approached. “Told you, up and angry like I expected.”

Hal glanced up, apprehensive, but began to slowly walk back towards the tent.

“Well you’re right as rain now, what are you yelling about love?” Vic asked as he had to reach back and keep Hal from running off again.

“Anders wants me to stay at the back and be safe.” Fenris snarled as he made a rather rude gesture to accompany his words.

Anders was sitting slumped over the table where he’d operated upon Fenris only a short while before; the table was still wet with Fenris’ blood, as were Anders’ hands. There was a smear of blood across the blond mage’s cheek. Nathaniel stood just behind Anders, one hand resting on the mage’s shoulder as he frowned at Fenris.

Varric was shaking his head and nudging Anders, a glass of wine in his hand which he seemed to be trying - unsuccessfully - to coax Anders to drink.

Hal paused on the threshold and tried to take a step backwards; only Invictus’ hand pressed firmly against the small of the young mage’s back kept him in check.

Vivienne turned to Invictus. “Champion, perhaps _you_ can make him see sense, he -” She broke off and stared hard at Hal. “Why have you brought one of the Tranquil here - and _why is he crying??_ ”

“He’s not Tranquil.” Vic and Fenris replied in tandem. “Long story Vivienne, and not one we have time for now I’m afraid.” Vic nudged Hal on towards the angry elf, while he went to Anders so he could tilt the glass to his lover’s lips. “Drink, and then we’re getting you cleaned up and then we are going.” 

Anders turned his face away with a small noise of dissent. “No... I don’t want wine,” he said tiredly. “I want Fenris to see sense and I don’t want to have to put back together the bloodied bodies of anyone I care for again right now.”

Hal was staring nervously at Fenris, twisting his fingers together, barely able to meet Fenris’ gaze.

“Not Tranquil?” echoed Vivienne. “But he has the brand!”

“As the Champion says, it’s a long story, my dear,” said Dorian. “Come, I will try to explain later as we head out. It’s still quite a long march to where the rest of the army is encamped by Adamant, after all; and doubtless we’ll have to lay siege to the bloody place - a fortress full of Grey Wardens won’t be taken particularly fast or easily so we should have plenty of time.”

“Anders, drink the wine and I’ll work on Fenris, you need to get cleaned up you’re still bloody.” Vic said gently.

Fenris glanced at Hal and gave him a smile. “Come on, don’t do this Hal. I’m fine, despite what Anders says.” 

Hal took a hesitant step forward, then another. “How can you forgive me so readily?” he whispered. “You might have died thanks to my carelessness!”

Anders gave up trying to fight against both Invictus and Varric and took the glass of wine, sipping it slowly. He lowered the glass and stared at the blood on his fingers. “Oh.” He stared down at the bloodstains on his Warden tunic. “I’m a bit of a mess.”

“I could have but I didn’t. I could have also told someone that I was still in pain so the blame does not lie solely with you Hal.” Fenris glanced at Anders and sighed, “besides as much as I am yelling about it, he _is_ right.”

“Mark the calendar, Fenris admitted he was wrong about being so stubborn all the time.” Vic said before he got a thwack to the back of the head for his trouble. Zevran was regarding Fenris with a wry smirk.

“I would say ‘I told you so’, except I prefer to avoid Fenris’ further ire,” he remarked.

Hal took a step closer to Fenris. “I should have checked though. I should have been more thorough.”

Anders glanced up. “Hal, how many people did you treat yesterday? How many did you heal? Maker knows I passed out before I even hit a bed; I wouldn’t have been capable of paying attention to much of anything after the amount of power I expended yesterday. I think I was running on sheer adrenaline by the end, and that’s not particularly conducive to concentrating. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I doubt you ever had to face these kinds of injuries during your time in the Circle, and you’re far younger than I am. Give yourself a break. These things come with time and experience.” He put down his wine glass and ran a hand through his hair unthinkingly then made a small noise of disgust when he realised he’d just smeared blood through the dark blond locks. 

“Anders, come with me; let’s get you cleaned up,” suggested Nathaniel. “It’ll take a while for the camp to be broken down and for the soldiers to get moving.”

Fenris glanced at Nathaniel and frowned when he saw the other man’s arm around Anders waist but tried to not lash out. They’d been wardens together well before the blond apostate had joined them. Instead he gave Hal a warm smile. “I’ll be fine, just stop looking like someone kicked your mabari alright?” 

“I’m going to clean the table, and maybe try to eat now that the excitement is over.” Vic said as he smiled but tried to tamp down on the fear and jealousy that had crept into his mind over the way Anders and Nathaniel were so close.

Anders let Nathaniel lead him out of the tent, the other Warden’s hand resting comfortably around Anders’ waist; it felt reassuring, particularly after the nightmares he’d had the previous night. Dreaming of Nathaniel dead had been bad enough the first time, but replaying it again in that chamber of death had been so much worse. As they left the tent together, Anders couldn’t help but slip his arm around Nathaniel’s waist in return, the physical contact reassuring him that the man at his side was really there, that this wasn’t all a dream. He was oblivious to the stares of his two lovers as he and Nathaniel left together and headed off to the tent the three Wardens had been sharing.

Hal was wiping at his face with his sleeve, trying to clean himself up a little. His breathing was still giving a little hitch every so often, but he managed to give Fenris a weak smile.

“Give me a smile, and let’s get us both fed alright?” Fenris looked to Invictus cleaning his blood before he realized he was covered as well. 

Cullen sighed. “I think perhaps I should give orders for a staggered departure, Inquisitor,” he suggested. “Dorian is right; we’ll be facing a siege situation at Adamant. It won’t be taken easily. We can send out an advance party, with the command travelling as the second unit, and the baggage and wounded bringing up the rear.”

“Fine, fine. I just want to get this done. Being so far out from Skyhold and losing so many has gotten to me Cullen. Apologies if I have snapped at you.” Meneris said as he paced anxiously.

“I understand, Inquisitor,” said Cullen quietly. “Losing men under your command is never easy.”

“I know you do, I’m sorry. I’m going to speak with Dorian before we move out. Do you need anything further?” Meneris asked.

“No, I’ll make arrangements and have the first unit sent out,” replied Cullen. He bowed slightly then headed off.

Bull and the other Wardens started herding people out of the tent until only the Inquisitor, Dorian, Invictus, Hal and Fenris were left, Zevran having taken his leave of them. Hal dropped into a chair, still looking a little lost.

Fenris helped Vic finish cleaning then sat at the table with a sigh. “I’m sorry for not speaking up.” he finally said. Hal lifted his head, glancing from Fenris to Invictus, then dropped his gaze to his hands resting in his lap. He lifted a hand to rub absently at the mark on his forehead.

Dorian shook his head and poured himself another glass of wine, then checked himself. Glancing at the red-haired mage, he walked over and pushed the glass into Hal’s hands, winking at the startled mage when he glanced up.

“Don’t do that again, we’re lucky you didn’t get tainted or drop dead. We’ve had too many close calls love, please?” Vic pleaded even as he pulled Fenris into his lap for a long, drawn out kiss. “I thought you were going to die this time.”

Hal took a sip of the wine, keeping his head down. His thoughts were in turmoil.

“Confused; why wasn’t he angry? I could have killed him. I miss him. There’s a maelstrom inside but mustn’t show, must keep still; small and silent like hiding from the templars.”

Hal jumped and stared around wildly at Cole.

Fenris turned with an angry snarl and sharp words but he was quieted with a soft plea from Invictus. “He helped Anders to find the shard, don’t get into it now. I beg of you love.”

Fenris glared at Cole. “Get away from him, demon! Leave him be!” 

“Cole, this is _really_ not the time, hmm?” said Dorian, deftly interjecting as he stepped between the elf and the spirit. “Why not go and find Varric? I’m sure he must have a fascinating story or two to tell you.”

“Everyone has stories inside but Varric’s ripple like stones in water. But sometimes they splash the wrong people and Cassandra gets angry,” said Cole.

“Yes, well, Cassandra is always angry - go and find Varric and maybe he can tell you why.”

“I already know why; she -”

“Cole!” said Dorian warningly.

“Go and find Varric,” said Cole, nodding, and backed away.

“Cole helped him save you love, please don’t snap at him like that.” Vic said.

Fenris got to his feet deliberately before he got in Vic’s face. “I do not care about that demon Invictus. I won’t care about it, not on anyone’s say so. Why hasn’t anyone banished it yet is my question. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that he nearly killed Anders?” 

Hal’s head jerked up. “What did you say?” he said, looking alarmed. 

Dorian glanced to Meneris. “I’m not sure the young mage is in any fit state for any more surprises or upsets, love,” he said quietly. “He seems quite overwhelmed - unsurprising really, all things considered.”

“I’ll tell you as we travel, since I’m being sent with the wounded.” Fenris snapped before he got himself under control with more effort than he liked. “If you all will excuse me I need to get my blood off before we get our marching orders.” Fenris headed off in the direction Anders and Nate had gone quickly and with a tiny hitch in his step.

“We need to be done with Adamant soon, it’s getting to everyone warden or not.” Vic said before he turned to the others. “Come on, I dare say we could all use a wash before we get back into the sand again.” 

Hal hastily drank the rest of his wine and got to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm as he set the glass down before wiping his nose hastily on his sleeve then tugging his hood up. He swallowed hard as he tried to get himself together.

Dorian frowned as he watched Hal straightening his shoulders and tapped his chin thoughtfully with a forefinger. He glanced to Meneris, then back to the young mage. “I think we might do well to talk to Cullen about our young healer, love,” he said quietly. “I suspect he is perhaps rather younger than he may seem. What age do these southerners put their mages through that barbaric Harrowing ritual of theirs?”

“Depends, Anders said he was...fourteen, maybe fifteen because he is a Spirit Healer. Most go through it before eighteen. Father didn’t talk about the Circle much, so I’m not sure if it’s a fact or it just seemed that way.” Vic replied.

“I do think he’s younger than most Harrowed Mages I’ve met.” Meneris looked to Hal curiously. “How old are you?”

Hal blinked at him. “I was nineteen on my last nameday,” he said quietly. “Why?”

“How old were you when you were Harrowed then?” Vic asked in a whisper.

“About a month past my seventeenth nameday,” replied Hal. “They made me Tranquil a week later.”

“Maker!” Vic paled at Hal’s words and the idea of being so young and terrified of the Rite. “That’s horrific.”

“You poor boy,” murmured Dorian.

Hal looked wordlessly from Dorian to Invictus, and then to Fenris as the elf returned from his quick washing up. Hal blinked rapidly as he stared beseechingly at Fenris.

“Don’t pity him, you all wouldn’t like it if the situation was reversed. Come Hal, I think we could use something to eat after all this. I know I could after throwing everything up earlier.” Fenris stared at the others before he offered Hal his arm so they could go. Hal went to him gladly, taking Fenris’ arm as he ducked his head, acutely uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the others.

“Tell me of the other Fenris, I’m curious about him especially how he reacted to you being alive after all.” Fenris said as they walked off.

Hal stared at his boots as they walked. The Fenris at his side wasn’t _his_ Fenris, but it was hard to remind himself, sometimes; he looked, walked and talked exactly the same, right down to the inflections in his voice and his intonation; the deep, comforting rumble of his voice. Even his scent - that particular scent of the sandalwood soap the elf had always favoured, combined with the tantalising scent of lyrium and a faint hint of leather and sword oil; all were precisely the same. It made it so much harder and all the more jarring when he remembered that this was not his Fenris; not his world. 

He wanted nothing so much as to feel those strong warrior’s arms around him, bury his face in the soft white hair, hear that voice telling him it was all going to be alright, they were going home, he was safe. Instead he took a deep breath and tried to push down the longing he felt.

“He couldn’t believe I was alive. To be honest, I couldn’t believe it myself. I woke up in my room to hear breaking glass; I opened my eyes and there he stood in the doorway, looking for all the world as though he’d seen a ghost.” Hal smiled fondly in remembrance. “He rushed to me, not caring that he cut his feet on the broken bottle he’d dropped. He took me in to see Arden and Anders - they looked as if they’d seen a ghost too. Arden fainted, Anders thought he was dead or dreaming. And Fenris, he couldn’t keep his hands off me - kept having to touch me often, as if he was trying to reassure himself I was still alive.”

“I would do the same, well...I did in a way.” Fenris stopped and looked up to Hal. “How much is it bothering you, honestly?” 

Hal stared at Fenris. “That you look, sound, exactly like him?” asked Hal slowly, as he found himself leaning closer in spite of himself. “Even your scent, exactly the same...” His eyes were drawn to Fenris’ lips as he tilted his head slightly, leaning in a little more until he could feel Fenris’ breath on his face as he half closed his eyes.

No. This wasn’t his Fenris. He jerked his head aside, then bowed his head. “You cannot imagine,” he breathed. “Sometimes I open my eyes after sleeping and I see you there, and for a moment I forget where I am. And then it all comes back to me.”

He turned away, letting go of the elf as he wrapped his arms around himself. “It’s hard. It’s very hard,” he admitted quietly. “It’s painful seeing Anders here and remembering how we left him behind in Kirkwall, but... he’s just different enough that I can remind myself he’s not our Anders. But it’s so hard at times being around you, Fenris. Because you could be him - yet you’re not.”

Fenris pulled Hal back to him and stared into the other man’s eyes. “You nearly kissed me, is it so terrible Hal? Can I help at all?” 

Hal stared into his eyes with longing. “Hold me,” he breathed. “Tell me it’s all going to be alright. Let me believe if only for a minute that you’re him. That I’m home safe.” He closed his eyes. “Please. Just for a moment or two.”

Fenris went over to a bench, hopped up on it and pulled Hal into his arms. “Close your eyes, and if you need to, let go. Talk if you need to and if you need more of me, you may ask but I cannot guarantee that they would allow it.” 

Hal buried his face in Fenris’ hair as he clung to the elf, closing his eyes tight against the fresh tears that threatened to fall, hot and stinging as he drew a shuddering breath. “Miss you so much,” he breathed.

Fenris hummed quietly, nonsense words that Anders would sometimes say to soothe nightmares he’d have. “It will be ok, Hal. All will be well.” 

Hal gasped, and then tears did begin to fall, dampening Fenris’ hair as the young man clung to him, his body shaking with each silent sob. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he managed to gasp between shudders. “I’ve tried to be strong but I f-feel so l-lost, lonely!”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright to be weak. Did they tell you I fainted when I met the other me? You were a bit...indisposed at the time.” Fenris chuckled as he remembered the shock at seeing another version of himself, though nothing was funny at that moment. “I understand loneliness better than they do, would you have me help you with that as well?”

Hal lifted his head slowly. “Was that... in the Hanged Man?” he asked. “My memories of that part are hazy; I remember being in incredible pain, as though my insides were being ripped apart, but... I remember a moment or two of clarity. I wasn’t sure at first if I were merely seeing double because of the pain, until I saw Invictus there.”

‘Yes, I met the other me and ...didn’t take it well to be honest. I had a moment of utter panic and fainted. It was not one of my finer moments.” Fenris grinned at Hal and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “If you need other comforts I will ask permission to help you.” 

Hal shivered slightly as he felt the touch of the other man’s lips over the scarred brand; and then before he could help himself, he was kissing Fenris desperately with a faint little moan, his lips parting against those of Fenris as though inviting him in.

The elven warrior didn’t pull away, he let Hal do as he needed until the younger man pulled from him. He didn’t pull him closer for another kiss but he gave the red head a smile to let him know he wasn’t angry. “Better?”

Hal opened his eyes as he panted for breath, his face tear-streaked and wet. “I-I shouldn’t have done that, forgive me,” he said hastily. “I forgot myself for a moment - I thought....” He bowed his head and drew a slow shuddering breath. “I thought for a moment I was home,” he said in a small voice.

“I know, I could tell in how you kissed me. Hal, what do you need?” Fenris asked as he wiped the other man’s tears away.

“Fenris?” called the Commander. “Fenris, what are you....” Cullen’s voice tailed away as he took in the sight of the young mage embraced in Fenris’ arms, his breath coming fast and his eyes red-rimmed and watery.

Fenris glanced up at Cullen and sighed. “I am not taking advantage of our young mage if that’s what you’re thinking. He was distraught and he misses...his version of me. It’s fine Cullen.” 

Cullen frowned. “I see,” he said, in a tone of voice that suggested he didn’t see at all but wasn’t going to push the issue on this occasion. “Perhaps you should go and get food whilst the cook fires are still lit. I’ll need you both ready to move out with the second unit in an hour.” He headed towards the command tent.

“Cullen, I suggest you speak your mind with me, I know that tone.” Fenris said as he got to his feet and helped Hal wipe his face clean.

Invictus had ducked into a tent when he’d heard Hal and Fenris speaking, then Cullen. He wanted to be furious but couldn’t, not when he’d heard how the younger mage had begged forgiveness and his lover had said he would not go further without permission.

“I don’t have time for this,” said Cullen testily as he paused before the door of the command tent. “Just... clean him up and Maker’s sakes, be ready in an hour.” He ducked into the command tent without looking back.

The elven fighter glared at the commander’s back but didn’t fight it. “Come on, let’s get food and get you washed up.” 

Hal nodded shakily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he said softly. “Maker, it was so much easier in so many ways when I was still Tranquil....”

“Don’t do that. Come along Hal.” Fenris linked his arm with Hal’s and headed back to the mess tent. Vic followed shortly after and sat with them, his expression curious more than upset. After all he didn’t have a leg to stand on after he’d fucked Dorian.

Hal poked the food on his plate with his fork without much evidence of appetite, then straightened a little and set to, eating neatly with almost fastidious bites until the plate was cleared, not looking up or speaking until he was done. Only then did he finally dare look at Invictus, his expression wary.

“Feeling better?” was all Vic asked.

“I - yes, thank you,” he said, a little bewildered. He glanced to Fenris, then back to Invictus.

“Good, will you be alright, or do you want to stay with Fenris for now?” Vic asked once he’d finished his food.

“I...” He glanced at Fenris again, then back to the Champion once more, nervous. “You... wouldn’t mind?” he asked cautiously.

“No, it’s clear you need company and Fenris is comforting for you to be with since you’re not home. Why would I mind?” Vic asked.

Fenris arched an eyebrow, curious at Vic’s ease at which he accepted Hal’s need for help. Hal seemed to be unsure how to take it. He dropped his gaze to the tabletop; after a moment, he nodded.

“I... would like to stay with Fenris,” he said softly.

“Alright, I know how confusing it is to be away from home and heart.” Vic finished his tea and leaned in to give Fenris a kiss and his blessing. “Take care of him, however you need to love.”

Hal glanced up, a look of wonder and bewilderment in his golden eyes as he watched the Champion. He looked at Fenris, clearly confused.

“Invictus?” Fenris asked in confusion.

“I saw you kissing, and I know how he feels love. I can’t tell you anything after my trespass so if you need or want to comfort Hal, you have my support. I love you, and I know it’s not like you’re leaving us if you do give him some attention.” Vic gave him another brief kiss before he left them, Fenris seemed stunned by the exchange.

Hal stared at Fenris. “I don’t understand,” he said. “He... saw us, but he... isn’t angry?”

“He...did a bad thing before you wound up here and I think part of that was guilt, the rest was an attempt to make you feel better about being trapped here.” Fenris said distractedly.

Hal seemed to curl in upon himself at that. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“Yeah...oh. Nothing to be done about it now, we should make our way to the rest of the second wave. We can discuss it after we’ve dealt with Adamant and the Wardens.” Fenris said quietly.

The first wave had already set off by the time Fenris and Hal returned to where the command tent had been; soldiers were busy dismantling it as they arrived, the command staff gathered about a table set in front of the pitch. Meneris glanced up as the mage and warrior joined them.

Anders stood beside the other Wardens; he was wearing what looked to be a spare set of Warden rogue armour that the other Wardens had scrounged together from their packs. He looked a little uncomfortable in it, tugging at the collar with a small grimace until Nathaniel leaned over and murmured something in his ear; Anders left off fiddling with it with a small grin.

Dorian was lingering halfway between the Wardens and Meneris, as if not entirely sure where, exactly he belonged. Zevran stood a little behind him, looking far more at ease than the Tevinter mage did.

Vivienne stood on the other side of the Inquisitor with a deeply bored expression on her face; to her left stood Iron Bull and Varric. Invictus stood next to the dwarf, staring down at the maps spread over the surface of the table.

“So what’s the plan Inquisitor?” Fenris asked as he came over.

“We follow the group already deployed and depending on what we find at Adamant, we go in ready to fight or we wait on the others.” Meneris said as he glanced up at Fenris. “Feeling up to the fight?”

Fenris rolled his shoulders, settling the weight of his sword more evenly on his shoulders. “I am,” he said steadily. He glanced to Invictus.

“Alright, then we should be on our way.” Meneris glanced to Dorian and his gaze softened. “Where will you be love?”

“I should be by your side, surely?” said Dorian with a charming smile that might have fooled anyone else but never Meneris. The Tevinter mage was evidently uncertain as to where he was expected to throw his allegiance.

“The Wardens will stand with the Inquisitor,” said Anders, folding his arms and glancing around for any word of dissent. “ _These_ Wardens, at least, understand where the true danger lies.”

“Well, that’s that settled then,” said Dorian. There was a slight hint in his eyes that expressed his relief at Anders’ pronouncement that was belied by his casual diffident tone.

“So bossy, I like it.” Invictus said with a wink to Anders. 

“Mmm, always did like a man with a bit of authority in his voice,” murmured Nathaniel. Anders affected to ignore him, though his cheeks coloured a little.

“You want my Chargers to help guard the mages, Boss?” asked the Bull.

Fenris scowled at Nathaniel’s remarks, glad for once that Vic missed it. He slipped past the others, pulled Anders down for a kiss then went back to his spot between Invictus and Hal. “For luck.”

Anders looked startled for a moment but swiftly regained his composure, folding his arms once more and turning to stare at the Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor,” called Cullen as he stalked through what remained of the camp; most of the tents had been dismantled already and men were busy packing gear away and forming up into marching lines. Only the infirmary tent remained, and there was a hive of activity around it also. “The second wave is ready to march on your command. What’s our marching order?”

“Form up and move out Commander, I trust you’ll catch up with us once the third wave has been sent off or will you leave it in the hands of your lieutenant?” Meneris said as he clipped his sword on with a loud clink as it slipped into it’s holster.

“I’ll be marching with the second wave, Inquisitor. We’ll be rendezvousing with the main army on this ridge here.” Cullen leaned forward over the map on the table and pointed to a mark on the map. “I need to be in place to receive the reports from the other units and take Leliana’s intelligence reports. There’ll be messages from Josephine as well, and I believe Solas will wish to speak with you there also.” Cullen glanced over to Hal. “He wishes you to be present as well, Hal.”

Invictus and Fenris didn’t care for the elf but said nothing as they made ready to go. “Do you want me to bring up the rear then since Meneris will be in the lead? Or where would you have me Cullen?” Fenris asked. 

The Commander inspected his slate. “Have you assigned anyone to stay by the mages, Inquisitor?” he asked as he made marks beside a couple of items on his list.

“Oh yes, Bull I do want you with the mages, sorry for not answering.” Meneris said distractedly.

“Boss? You OK?” asked Bull with a slight frown.

“As OK as I can be with what we might be facing. I’m just...ready to be done with this visit to the warden strong hold.” Meneris replied 

“Right,” said Cullen. “In which case Fenris, I’d like you in the advance scout party with Zevran, Varric and Sera and Cole-” Cullen broke off and looked around. “Damn it, where’s he got to _now_?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Ah well, the four of you can move out. The rest of the command party will follow behind - Inquisitor and Wardens first, mages behind; I’ll have units flanking you to each side and the third wave will follow in one hour. The winds have dropped and it looks like the weather might hold, so with luck we should reach Adamant in four hours or so.”

Hal glanced to Fenris, then dropped his gaze to the ground as he reached one hand back to touch his staff as though for reassurance.

“Unless there’s anything else, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen.

“Nothing Commander, let us hope the Dread Wolf doesn’t catch our scent along the way.” Meneris gave Cullen a slight salute and went to the front of the line.

“Very well - Fenris, Zevran, Sera, Varric - move out. The rest of you - on the Inquisitor’s mark. Maker go with you all.” Cullen saluted Meneris then headed back towards the ranked lines of troops, shouting orders.

“Be safe,” Hal murmured to Fenris.

“You as well, come back to us...me.” Fenris replied before he joined the rest of the advanced scouting party. 

Sera elbowed Zevran. “Watch out, looks like your boyfriend’s eyeing up a new boyfriend,” she snickered. “Unless you’re up for a foursome, ya kinky Antivan bugger.”

“Why, Sera, I do believe you are jealous, no?” grinned Zevran. Sera cackled and jabbed him in the ribs again. 

“Come on, before that blasted wind starts up again. It gets sand in me unmentionables, it does.” She headed on forwards.

“Ah, Sera, ever the lady,” sighed Varric. “Come on Broody, best get moving.”

“If she ends up missing, it was me.” Fenris said in Antivan when he fell in with Zevran. The Antivan elf chuckled.

“Ah, it is only teasing, _carissimi_ ,” he smiled. “Though perhaps you should be a little more... discrete, hmm?” Zevran fingered the buckle on his leather vambrace. “After all, the mage... he is a little young for you, no?”

“You know I hate being teased Zev.” Fenris griped. “Besides, he is lonely, afraid and missing the other me. I was merely trying to help him. I didn’t throw him on the ground and fuck him in front of everyone.” 

“I should hope not!” Zevran exclaimed quietly, arching one eyebrow. “But still, many eyes saw you in front of the command tent, hmm? I do not think Anders knows of it - he was busy with the other Wardens. But people... talk, _carissimi_.”

“He… is distressed Zevran. I told him I would ask permission should he seek more comfort. The kiss...was unplanned but I was not going to make him sink further into despair when he is terrified.” Fenris said quietly as they walked, his fingers brushed over Zevran’s as they went, his expression troubled. 

“You have a gentle heart under that prickly exterior, no?” said Zevran with a fond smile. “He is young and, it seems, easily overwhelmed. It must be hard to suddenly be faced with emotions again after being Tranquil I think, and being hurled into another world... well, it is easy to see why he is distressed. But Anders, too, is quite distressed and I think perhaps you must consider where your priorities lie _carissimi_. You know I am not jealous and you are free to take lovers where and how you will as far as I am concerned - but you should think of Anders and Hawke as well.”

“I know, Hawke saw us and gave us his blessing. I thought only to approach Anders if Hal requested more of me. I’m worried about Adamant as it is, I would not hurt him further.” Fenris pressed a brief kiss to Zevran’s cheek and fell back in step with his lover. “I want this over for all our sakes.” 

“That, I heartily agree with,” nodded Zevran. “I am not the kind of man who is suited to war, unlike our Commander Cullen.”

Sera whistled from up ahead. Zevran narrowed his eyes. “She has seen something,” he said quietly. He dropped to a crouch and swiftly made his way forward.

It was a group of Venatori who had come across some stragglers from the first wave. There was a short, bloody fight, Zevran and Fenris dealing with the up-close work whilst Sera and Varric picked opponents off from a distance. The fight was over swiftly, leaving blood and bodies scattered around.

“Best be on our guards, Broody, Ser Crow,” remarked Varric. “Looks like the Venatori are getting daring.”

“I’ve got a name Varric, how many times must I remind you?” Fenris said as he flicked blood from his blade.

Varric chuckled. “You’ll always be Broody to me, you know that. Just as Anders will always be Blondie, Bull is Tiny, Solas is Chuckles, Dorian is Sparkler - it’s just how it goes.” He shrugged. “I’m sure I can come up with something worse if you’d rather though.” He winked.

“I’m sure I could feed you Bianca in small pieces if I put my mind to it. All these years and you have yet to call my name.” Fenris said with a smirk. It was an old joke, undimmed by the time apart post-Kirkwall.

“Now, now, Broody, you know how Bianca hates having to put holes in her friends.” Varric smiled.

Fenris just hmm’d at Varric as they carried on, alert as they encountered a couple more bands of roving Venatori that were dispatched almost too easily. Fenris squinted as they came over a small hill with Adamant not too far off. “An hour, maybe less?” 

“Less, I think,” said Zevran, his keen eyes seeing far. “I see the banners of the Inquisition upon the next ridge; I think we have found our army.”

***

The rest of their unit joined them shortly afterwards, and crossed the last shallow valley before the ridge in a little over an hour altogether. The Inquisitor and his command headed through the large encampment towards the flags flying atop the highest hill on the ridge, where the command tent had been set up.

A large wooden table had been set up outside the pavilion; Leliana, Cassandra and Solas stood waiting for them. Blackwall stood nearby; as Anders and the other Wardens approached, he saluted. “Senior Warden Anders,” he greeted him.

Anders paused beside Meneris and eyed Blackwall thoughtfully. “Warden Blackwall,” he greeted him quietly. “You’ve been a busy man.”

“The Inquisition has demanded much of my time,” shrugged the large warrior. He glanced to the other Wardens. “More of our number?”

“Senior Warden Howe of Vigil’s Keep. Senior Warden Belann, Senior Warden Loghain,” said Anders, gesturing to the other men. “And Dorian Pavus has joined our ranks.”

Blackwall eyed Dorian with a curious look. “Indeed?”

“We should speak later, Warden Blackwall,” said Anders with a small, polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Of course, Senior Warden,” nodded Blackwall. “Inquisitor, if you will excuse me; there are some matters I must attend to.” He hurried away swiftly.

“I bet there are Blackwall, I bet there are.” Meneris said as he watched the burly warrior hurry away. “He’s our first order of business when we get back to Skyhold.” 

Dorian was staring at Blackwall’s retreating back with a thoughtful look. “I gather from what we discussed earlier that I should have felt something, Anders?” he said slowly.

“Yes - the same thing you feel from us. Let me guess; you felt nothing.” 

“Not a thing,” agreed Dorian.

“Not that Meneris needed the confirmation, but there you go,” shrugged Anders.

“Anders, why is there a man masquerading as a Warden, here of all places?” asked Nathaniel, frowning. 

“That’s what we’d all like to know, Nathaniel,” replied Anders as the other Warden stepped up next to him and slung his arm around Anders’ shoulders before glancing down at the map spread out on the table.

“Nathaniel!” exclaimed Leliana with delighted surprise. Nathaniel glanced up, and then grinned.

“Leliana! I’d heard you’d found yourself a place in the the Inquisition,” he smiled as she came around the table. She gave him a hug. “It is good to see you again, old friend,” she smiled. “But what are you doing here?”

“I thought Sister Leliana was supposed to know everything?” said Dorian archly as he smoothed his moustache. Leliana gave him a sharp look before turning back to Nathaniel.

“We’d heard rumours up in Ferelden of something going on with the Wardens in Orlais,” Nathaniel explained. “The Warden-Commander at Vigil’s Keep sent myself and a handful of wardens to investigate. When we heard that all the Wardens in Orlais had heard their Calling at the same time, we decided to investigate further and managed to join up with one of the units heading to Adamant. Unfortunately we were among the group that a Tevinter magister decided to use to fuel his little experiment in binding demons.”

“Nathaniel was the only survivor of the non-mage wardens,” explained Anders. “And he nearly didn’t make it out either.”

“Nathaniel - Velanna? Sigrun? Oghren?” exclaimed Leliana; Nathaniel raised his hands to forestall her. 

“All safe back at Vigil’s Keep,” he replied. “I brought a group of the newer recruits with me.”

“Tellingly, Nathaniel doesn’t hear this false calling,” said Anders quietly.

“We’re still not sure why Anders does, though we have our theories,” said Loghain.

“Theories are all well and good but what will we do here and now Inquisitor?” Invictus asked.

“What we do, Hawke,” said Cullen as he strode towards them, a sheaf of reports in his hand, “is lay siege to Adamant Fortress. Once we get that gate open, we’ll hold it for you and secure the ramparts to cover you as you go in.” He tossed the reports onto the table, atop the map. “The siege engines are moving into position. They start the assault at dawn. Sappers are in place and working to weaken the walls even as we speak. We’ll get you your breach, gentlemen.”

“Then set camp, all of you in our pavilion or nearby. Anders, Loghain, Nathaniel and Hal I’d speak with you once the command centre is set up. Fenris, I’d like you to be support to the scouting party so we know what we’re going into. Report back before dark and then we take Adamant at daybreak.” Meneris leaned over the map as he visualized their route and how he hoped it would go for them.

“The command tent is all ready for you, Inquisitor,” replied Cullen, gesturing at the pavilion behind them. “It has quarters for yourself and Dorian, plus meeting space.” He gestured to the bell tent to the left of the pavilion; though smaller than the command tent, it was roomy enough to sleep several, and tall enough that even Anders could stand and have headroom within. “Quarters for the Wardens,” he gestured, before turning to the other bell tent to the right of the command tent. “Hawke, your quarters for yourself and your companions.”

“Thank you Cullen, I think I need a rest while I can get it.” Invictus came over to Anders with a soft smile and spoke in his ear. “Be careful love, I worry for you with all this warden business.” 

“I’ll be fine, love,” said Anders quietly. His gaze was distracted; he put one hand to his forehead briefly and frowned before giving a minute shake of his head. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated. “Look after Fenris? I’m sure he’s alright, but... well.” He gave Invictus a brief smile then headed over towards the Inquisitor, Hal following behind and looking a little lost and uncertain.

“I’m more worried about you.” Vic said as he watched them go he turned to Fenris with a sad smile. “I’ll get our supplies in order and get a nap while I can while you’re scouting. Be careful Fenris, we don’t know what’s out here besides Venatori, sand, sand and more sand.” 

“Do not forget darkspawn and the native wildlife,” smiled Zevran. “It can be quite lively out there for such a dead-seeming place I think.”

Anders, Loghain, Nathaniel and Hal followed Meneris into the command tent.

“You wished to speak to us, Inquisitor?” asked Anders.

“Yes, I wanted to know two things. Firstly, what do you think you’ll find in the fortress, and secondly, what consequences are there to you being able to walk in dreams and speak to Solas, Hal? I will not abuse your power but I admit it could be useful.” Meneris said.

Nathaniel glanced at Anders, then turned to Meneris. “This Magister Erimond has experimented with a way to bind demons. It requires a blood sacrifice to call up and then bind the demon, but the ritual for binding then turns the mages into thralls of the Magister.”

“And through him, Corypheus,” added Anders. “It seems this is how Corypheus intends to raise his demon army - with unwitting help from the Wardens.”

“Who think they’re doing this to stop the blight,” added Loghain with a heavy sigh.

“I don’t think they’ll necessarily be sacrificing fellow Wardens in the Fortress for this ritual - they’ll need too many of them on the walls defending. But... it’s possible they may, if they lack enough other victims,” added Nathaniel. “Either way, it’ll be a bloodbath in there, and we can assume that for every demon already summoned and bound, there’s a Warden mage bound to Corypheus.”

“Hopefully we can take out Erimond before he truly binds everyone inside. Maker above this will be ugly.” Loghain said. 

“Or perhaps we can persuade Warden-Commander Clarel to see reason,” said Anders. 

“I wouldn’t count on it though,” said Nathaniel. “She seems persuaded enough thus far that she must have every Warden in Orlais holed up in there with her and the Magister right now. I know you can be charming and persuasive with the ladies, Anders, but I think we’re going to need something more.” He winked at Anders.

“As for my... ability,” said Hal, “I can walk the Fade through my dreams and visit the dreams of others, much as it seems he does. I can fall asleep more or less at will and seek him out and we can converse, no matter the distance between us. Such Fade travel is not restful or refreshing in the manner of ordinary sleep however; if I spend too long dreaming in the Fade then it will take a toll on me and exhaust me.”

“Then we use that only in a dire emergency, assuming you’d be able to do so for the Inquisition. If you’d like to that is.” Meneris stretched with a grimace and turned to them with a critical eye. “Dismissed for now, but I’d like everyone in here for dinner so we can be sure we’re all in agreement before we hit the fortress tomorrow, dismissed.” 

The Wardens inclined their heads in acknowledgement whilst Hal bowed before they all withdrew. They paused outside the command tent.

“Coming, Anders?” asked Nathaniel. “I thought we could continue catching up on old times?”

Anders hesitated, casting a glance at the tent Invictus would be sharing with Hal, Zevran and Fenris.

Fenris nudged Anders towards his friends with an impatient grunt. “Go on you look like you want to be with your fellow wardens.” 

Anders stared at Fenris, silently pleading for Fenris to change his mind, call him to join himself and Invictus. Despite the veneer of calm authority he’d assumed, inside the blond apostate felt anything but calm and certain. Leadership had never come naturally to him; it was one thing to take control when it came down to healing; but although he had led the mages’ underground in Kirkwall, that had been mostly with Justice’s support and drive, and later the influence of Solona. SInce the destruction of Kirkwall, he’d found himself floundering and rudderless, his life dictated by others. He’d taken control, but inside he still felt uncertain. He desperately wanted a little time with his lovers, a chance to be just Anders and not the Senior Warden.

“Come on, Anders. Let’s take the chance to get out of armour and uniform for a bit and relax,” suggested Nathaniel. With a last glance at Fenris’ retreating back, he nodded and fell into step with Nathaniel.

Inside the tent, four low camp beds had been set up, and Anders frowned. “So Blackwall isn’t joining his fellow Wardens,” he said quietly.

“Do you think he suspects we know he’s a false Warden?” asked Nathaniel.

“I’m not sure,” replied Anders. “He likely knows nothing of what the Joining truly entails, and perhaps isn’t aware of our ability to sense other Wardens as well as darkspawn. He may simply be wary of questions as to which order of Wardens he comes from, or why a lone Warden would have been operating without backup from others.”

“Forget him for a while,” said Nathaniel. “You’re tense; I can feel it. Your shoulders are like rocks. Come on, get that uniform off and we’ll see if I can do something about it.”

Anders let Nathaniel guide him over to a cot, and the rogue set to work to help Anders out of the uniform. “They should have your usual uniforms cleaned and ready by morning,” said Nathaniel.

“Thank the Maker,” agreed Anders. “This armour suits you, but it’s bloody uncomfortable for me.”

“No wonder; you’re not much more than skin and bones,” said Nathaniel as he drew off the tunic. “You always were on the skinny side but this is ridiculous. Have the Inquisition not been feeding you, man?” he exclaimed.

“They have; my appetite’s just... not what it used to be,” replied Anders.

“You _have_ to eat, Anders,” said Nathaniel. “Does it not hurt?”

“I got used to it in Kirkwall,” smiled Anders, a little sadly. 

Nathaniel sat down on the edge of the cot, and tugged Anders down until the mage was sat cross-legged in front of him. Nathaniel laid his hands over Anders’ shoulders, then dug his thumbs firmly in just beneath Anders’ collar bones. There was a muffled crack, and Anders groaned then hung his head as Nathaniel set to work with steady, practiced movements.

“Maker, but you’re a mass of knots,” Nathaniel exclaimed. “Your shoulders and back always were bad though. You got so tense every time we went into the Deep Roads.”

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Anders. “And you’d spend ages unkinking me afterwards.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “And you’d turn to putty beneath me,” he said fondly, remembering the past. 

“You always did like to be on top,” said Anders with a little wry smile.

“And you frequently topped from the bottom,” Nathaniel teased. “You never shut up.”

“Not much has changed there,” Anders grinned, then drew his breath in with a sharp hiss as Nathaniel’s thumbs drove into a particularly painful knot. As it eased, he let out a long, low sigh.

They sat in companionable silence for a while as Nathaniel worked slowly down Anders’ back, the apostate slumping forward as the rogue worked on his lower back, then straightening as Nathaniel worked his way back up again. When he reached Anders’ neck, the mage pulled his ponytail to one side so Nathaniel could get to his neck better.

Anders made a small sound of query as he felt Nathaniel untying the strip of leather he kept his hair tied back with, letting his hair loose to tumble down his back, and then groaned in pleasure as the rogue began to flex his fingers into his scalp.

“Oh, that’s good,” Anders sighed. “That’s very good.” Nathaniel chuckled, then gently combed his fingers through Anders’ hair. Freed from the ponytail, it hung down to his shoulderblades, a rich dark gold. 

Nathaniel smiled as Anders relaxed back against him, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Nathaniel leaned over him. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” agreed Anders.

The rogue reached down and brushed a finger lightly over Anders’ right ear. “Ever thought of getting another earring?” he asked.

“Occasionally. It’s how we told the other Anders and I apart when I was in the other Thedas. I must admit it did suit me,” replied Anders. He opened his eyes as he felt Nathaniel’s breath on his face.

“I’ve missed you,” said Nathaniel softly. “We didn’t get much chance to be alone together when we were travelling together in Tevinter and on Seheron.”

“Nate, it’s been - what, eight years since I left Vigil’s Keep?” said Anders.

“More like nine,” said Nathaniel.

“Surely you’ve moved on since then? What about SIgrun? She was always quite fond of you, as I recall.”

“Oh, she’s sweet enough,” replied Nathaniel with a small shrug. “But it wasn’t the same. Besides, you and I were never the monogamous sort; you hopped into Solona’s bed often enough.”

Anders tensed, expecting to feel that choking sensation of his throat closing up and not being able to breathe; but strangely, nothing happened. Nathaniel looked down at him quizzically.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Anders slowly. “That’s just it. I didn’t feel anything... say her name again.”

“What, Solona?” Nathaniel looked confused.

“Maker. It’s stopped happening,” said Anders wonderingly, then slowly ventured her name himself. “Solona.” Nothing happened; his breath did not so much as hitch in his chest. “Sweet Andraste, it’s broken. Whatever she did to me, it’s gone.”

“I don’t understand - what did Solona do to you?” asked Nathaniel, puzzled.

“On Seheron, she used blood magic to enthrall me. It was her who caused me to destroy the Chantry in Kirkwall.” He laughed disbelievingly. “Maker, I can actually _talk_ about it now!”

“Solona did _what??_ ” exclaimed Nathaniel. “Maker, that’s... that’s monstrous! Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Anders. “She was ultimately the one behind the Mage-Templar war. She’s the reason why Thedas is now full of Circle mages who have no way of looking after themselves, and bands of Templars looking for an excuse to kill them. Just ripe for the Venatori to swoop in and -” He broke off as realisation dawned. “Corypheus. She must have been one of his first Wardens. The first one to fall to him. Maker, he’s been doing this _that long?_ No wonder he was able to get such a grip on the Wardens.”

Nathaniel nodded slowly. “After Seheron, she headed to Orlais. She tried to persuade me to go with her, but King Alistair had requested the assistance of the Wardens in Amaranthine; he wanted to map out the Deep Roads beneath the city and seal off all the exits around the city in case of a future Blight - there’s been an increase in darkspawn activity in Ferelden recently. Solona went to Orlais alone.”

Anders nodded. “She was going to Corypheus, to do his bidding amongst the Wardens.”

“And you say the blood magic she worked on you no longer binds you?” said Nathaniel slowly.

“She’s at Adamant,” said Anders bleakly. “She must have raised and bound a demon there, and now she’s fallen under Corypheus’ control.”

“So instead of enslaving you to Corypheus through her blood magic, it instead severed her tie to you?” said Nathaniel.

The blood slowly drained from Anders’ face. “Maker. If it hadn’t severed the tie... I’d be enslaved to Corypheus, and he’d have had a pawn right here in the Inquisition camp.” He shuddered, eyes wide in horror as he contemplated what might have happened; he began to tremble, his breath coming faster.

“Easy, Anders; you’re safe. The binding’s broken; she can’t get to you now.”

“You don’t understand,” said Anders. “I’ve had Corypheus in my head before. He tried to control me; he nearly succeeded. It was horrible; I’ve had nightmares about it ever since. It was like I was helpless, a prisoner in my own mind as he took me over; I attacked Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Carver. They had to take me down before I could kill them all. To think he could do that again...! That’s been my greatest fear all along ever since Loghain found me and told me what was going on.”

“You think Solona’s blood magic was why Corypheus was able to control you then?” said Nathaniel slowly. Anders nodded; he was still shivering, gasping rapid shallow breaths as his heart raced. He could feel himself growing light-headed, fingers going numb, and he slumped forward, desperately trying to catch his breath. His vision was closing in, and the tent seemed to be slowly spinning around him.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that; he gradually became aware of strong arms holding him, a hand gently stroking his hair, a soft voice calling to him. “Anders. Anders, it’s alright. You’re safe now. Anders.”

“Nathaniel?” he managed to gasp out.

“I’m here. You’re OK,” said Nathaniel gently. “Just try to breathe. Slowly. Breathe with me - in, hold, out. Can you do that? Breathe with me. That’s it, nice and slow. In.... out... that’s it, deep breaths.”

Anders’ breathing slowly returned to normal and he was able to open his eyes and sit up. Nathaniel’s arms around him were comforting; the rogue was sat behind him, his breath warm on Anders’ shoulder, his chest pressed against Anders’ bare back. With that small part of Anders’ mind that wasn’t preoccupied with panic and the need to breathe, he distantly noticed that Nathaniel had removed his tunic at some point.

Slowly, the blond apostate relaxed back against Nathaniel, then slowly he curled round until his head was resting on the rogue’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t be,” said Nathaniel. “After what she did to you and everything that’s happened, it’s not surprising your body reacted to the stress like that. From what you told me before, so much has been happening over the past couple of months that you haven’t had much chance to think or process it. Just glad I was here for you.”

“So am I,” murmured Anders. It was comforting to rest there like that, Nathaniel’s arms warm and reassuring as they held him close, Nathaniel’s scent familiar and reassuring.

Nathaniel chuckled quietly.

“What?” asked Anders as he glanced up.

“Just thinking on all the times in the past we ended up like this. Times when the Deep Roads got too much and the claustrophobia got on top of you. That time after we took down that broodmother... after the concussion wore off, do you remember?”

“Don’t remind me,” said Anders with a shudder.

“Shh, it’s alright; you’re safe here,” said Nathaniel soothingly, pressing a kiss to the soft golden hair. Anders tilted his head back to look up at the rogue, a questioning look in his eyes.

Slowly, Nathaniel leaned down and gently kissed Anders. As the blond apostate held still, not exactly returning the kiss but not pulling away either, the rogue’s lips brushed Anders’ skin again, and Anders felt Nathaniel’s tongue probing gently at his lips. 

Anders closed his eyes and parted his lips, letting Nathaniel in as he surrendered to the kiss. This, too, felt so familiar; Nathaniel taking control, claiming his mouth as his hands began to stroke Anders’ bare skin, one hand drifting up to curl loosely at the base of Anders’ throat whilst the other stroked downwards, dipping slightly under the edge of the waistband of Anders’ pants. He could feel Nathaniel’s growing erection pressing against his hip, and as Nathaniel’s hand slid deeper down, Anders made a faint noise of encouragement in the back of his throat. He reached down with one hand to pull free the laces of his pants, and then groaned as Nathaniel reached in to grasp his member firmly.

Nathaniel lifted his head enough to smile down at Anders as the mage arched into his grasp.

“Missed me then?” he said softly.

“Maker... yes,” sighed Anders. “Nate....”

“I want you,” whispered Nathaniel. “I can feel you want me too. Don’t you?”

“Nate, I... I can’t, Fenris - and Hawke....” Anders whined softly as Nathaniel slowly pumped him. “Oh Maker....”

“You want this,” said Nathaniel softly. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, Anders? Just like I used to. You want me to bend you over, fuck you slowly until you lose your mind and forget all about this - forget Adamant, forget Corypheus and Solona. Just me and you. Like old times. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” moaned Anders. “But I can’t, I _can’t_ , Nate....” He buried his face against Nathaniel’s neck and wept. “Please, I-I _can’t...._ ”

“At least let me do this for you then,” said Nathaniel softly. “Let me make you come. Please.”

Anders was silent for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as his body shuddered, Nathaniel’s hand still steadily pumping him as heat coiled low in his groin, pressing and insistent, demanding release. He closed his eyes and nodded.

Nathaniel murmured encouragement quietly as his strokes sped up, until Anders was bucking into his fist, panting as small, soft, desperate cries escaped his lips. His head was thrown back, hair tumbling over Nathaniel’s arm as the rogue held him close, bringing him closer and closer to the edge until Anders thrust his fist into his mouth to stifle his cry as he came in Nathaniel’s hand, his body shuddering with the release.

Anders’ hand fell away from his mouth to hang limply by his side as he sprawled in Nathaniel’s arms, his chest heaving as his heart raced, his eyes closed. Nathaniel reached for a cloth to wipe off his hand then clean Anders up before he gathered Anders up in his arms and got to his feet. He gently laid the exhausted apostate upon the cot and bent to lace up his pants again before unbuckling and unlacing Anders’ boots. Anders rolled slowly onto his side as Nathaniel drew the blankets up over him.

Nathaniel bent to stroke the hair back from Anders’ face then lightly kissed the mage’s cheek.

“Nate,” breathed Anders drowsily.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” Anders whispered. 

Nathaniel smiled, and gently stroked Anders’ hair as the apostate slipped into sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Fenris found he couldn’t sleep or rest even when settled next to Invictus. He felt ill at ease with having sent Anders off with his fellow wardens. If pressed he couldn't have put the feeling into words, but he didn’t feel right about it. The elven fighter gave up on even lying still after a couple of hours.

He pulled out of Invictus’ arms slowly so he wouldn’t wake the other man, but managed to find himself tugged at though Vic wasn’t quite awake. 

“Can’t sleep?” Vic mumbled.

Fenris grunted. “I just need some air,” he replied as he sat up. “You should stay and rest; I’m going to look for food and find Anders.” He patted Invictus on the shoulder.

“Okay...bring m’ back love, miss him,” Vic mumbled as he closed his eyes and fell asleep again.

Fenris slipped out from beneath the covers then swiftly dressed. He decided to leave off his armour, though he slung his sword on his back before ducking out of the tent then making his way across to the Wardens’ tent.

He found Anders stretched out upon one of the cots, fast asleep with a peaceful expression upon his face, his loose blond hair scattered across his back as he lay upon his stomach, arms folded beneath the pillow, face turned to the side. It struck Fenris that he hadn’t seen the apostate so relaxed in sleep for several days, and it gladdened him that Anders seemed to be having a break from the nightmares that had plagued him of late.

“I almost hate to wake him but he needs to eat and get proper rest,” Fenris murmured to himself as he knelt down to rouse his lover.

“Anders...time for dinner.”

The mage’s forehead creased slightly, and he made a faint sound in the back of his throat before his eyes slowly drifted open, the honey-brown gaze unfocused.

“Love, I’m sorry for waking you like this but we all should eat something. We miss you,” Fenris said as he brushed his fingers over Anders cheek and gave him a warm smile.

Anders smiled sleepily in return before sliding his arms out from beneath his head and rolling over onto his back. He stretched slowly, back arching up off the cot before he laced his fingers together upon his chest.

“Solona,” he said slowly, savouring the way the vowels rolled off his tongue with no hitch of breath or tightness in his chest.

Fenris froze over Anders, his eyes wide. “What did you just fucking say?”

Anders rolled over onto his side to face Fenris, resting his cheek on his hand as he grinned. “Solona. Sol- _ohhhhhn_ -ah.” He stretched out the vowels, his eyes sparkling.

“But...how? What?” Fenris asked in confusion.

“Her blood magic has broken,” said Anders. “I’m free of it. I can talk about her, about what she did at last. Doesn’t hurt, and I can breathe. You could tell me how you want to tear her heart from her chest and it won’t do a thing to me. I’m free of her, love!” His face grew serious. “She’s at Adamant. She must have performed the binding ritual on a demon there. I guess when she fell under Corypheus’ control, it broke the binding on me.”

“Can I kill her for you?” Fenris asked as he sat back, surprised at the change of events.

“If you like,” shrugged Anders. “In fact, you may well have to,” he added. “If she’s at Adamant, we’ll face her. I don’t know exactly how Corypheus’ control actually works - but if he sees and recognises me - or she does and he picks up on it - he may try to try to re-exert his control over me as he did at the fortress at Vinmark, and he may well try to kill me through her when he finds he can’t. You may well have to take her down - assuming Hawke doesn’t get there first.” 

“There’s a line for her head, though there is Zevran to consider,” Fenris said as he rose and pulled Anders with him. “Where are your clothes?”

“Hmm? Oh, that spare uniform Nathaniel and the others threw together for me was too damned uncomfortable to sleep in,” said Anders. “Nate was going to go see if my uniforms are clean yet I think; I was too tired and sleepy to pay attention. Pass me my shirt would you, love?” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair with a yawn. “Besides, you’d hardly sleep in your leathers, would you?”

“Not the point,” Fenris muttered as he got a shirt for Anders and watched him dress. He knew that ugly feeling that had crept into his mind and kept it tamped down somehow. The night before a battle was not the time to pick a fight with his lovers.

Anders frowned a little but said nothing as he pulled the shirt on then swung his legs over the side of the cot as he reached for his boots. He’d had the best sleep he’d had in days; it may have only been perhaps an hour’s nap, but it had done more to refresh him than the past several nights spent in nightmares had. He bent to lace and buckle up his boots, enjoying the feeling of a back that didn’t pop and crack as he tried to move.

He got to his feet and picked up the thin leather jerkin he customarily wore beneath his Warden tunic, lacing it up before he ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced around for the leather tie then shrugged; it wouldn’t hurt to leave his hair loose for once. It wasn’t as though they were going to be fighting a pitched battle over the Inquisitor’s table after all.

“Where is your hair tie?” Fenris asked quietly. 

“Hmm? Probably dropped on the floor somewhere,” said Anders. “I’m always losing the wretched things.” He grinned. “You know I can never find one when I need one.” He brushed his hair back over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go eat. That nap must have done me the world of good; I’m actually hungry for once. Solona’s blood magic breaking has put me in a good mood.”

“I see, come on let’s get everyone else roused,” Fenris said as he led them back to the tent to find Zevran cleaning his blades and Invictus sitting up and looking confused.

“Hello love,” said Anders as he practically bounced over to the bemused Champion. He leaned over Invictus with a grin, then slowly and very deliberately intoned, “Solona.” He waited.

“Why aren’t you gagging and choking?” Vic asked as he leaned back to stare at Anders.

“I’m keeping that for the bedroom games,” quipped Anders. He grinned as a brief look of irritation crossed Invictus’ face. “And I’m guessing you’d just love to make a head start on that. Why do you _think_ , Hawke?” His grin broadened. “Go on. Tell me what you want to do to her when you get your hands on her.” He crouched down next to Invictus’ cot and looked up at Invictus, looking for all the world like a mischievous apprentice.

“Her hold is broken somehow and what I want to do for her isn’t for you to know as it’s rather violent. Considering she’s my cousin and all.” Vic tried to shake off the exhaustion that kept him from being fully with the conversation.

“Go on. Tell me. It can’t hurt me anymore, and I’m curious what you have planned for her - seeing as it’s her fault Corypheus was able to get in my head,” said Anders as he stared up at Invictus.

“Anders, my love remember when you were terrified of me? How everyone was terrified of me and that look I would get that scared you until you were comfortable with us?” Vic asked as grinned at his lover, that malicious look he hadn’t used in ages.

Anders ran his tongue slowly over his teeth. “You have no idea what that’s doing to me right now,” he said softly.

“Someone is in a good mood.” Vic leaned in and tugged Anders hair so he had to lean back a bit more. “Maybe I’ll tell you what I’m going to do to you when I get the chance. You might like that a bit much.” 

Anders fell to his knees as he tilted his head back to relieve the pressure on his scalp. “Maybe I would at that,” he murmured, his eyes darkening to a warm brown as his pupils widened. 

Zevran straightened. “Hmm, methinks friend Anders perhaps would like us to repeat a certain night in a certain inn - and this time he will be awake enough to truly enjoy it.” The Antivan elf grinned. “You appear to be feeling much happier, my friend. It is good to see.”

“I’d like you to ride me while you suck Fenris then Zevran off, I want you so hungry for us that you beg when you’re mouth isn’t full,” Vic whispered in his lover’s ear. “I want me and Fenris to fuck you together again, make you really scream for us.”

“I want to scream for you,” breathed Anders softly. “Maker, you have no idea the things you do to me, Hawke. You make me ache for you.”

“I want your jaw to ache after I fuck your face,” Vic said with a wicked smile. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow, surprised at his lovers, mostly at the way Vic stared at Anders like he could eat him alive, and probably would in mere moments.

“That might make eating rather difficult,” Anders smiled. “Though Maker, I’m tempted to tell you to do it. You have no idea how much I want your cock down my throat, Hawke.” He reached out to palm Invictus through his pants.

“Don’t tease me, either undress me or we go to dinner then I shag you so hard you can’t walk after,” Vic growled.

“As much as I want to see this, and I’m glad for the change in Anders’ mood, perhaps we shouldn’t provide entertainment for the whole camp _before_ dinner?” Fenris said.

Anders leaned forward to mouth Invictus’ very obvious erection through his pants, then rose to his feet, his face a little flushed as he turned to Fenris. “You may have to gag me later if you don’t want the whole camp to know, love,” he murmured.

“I think Vic has you covered as far as gagging you. Come on,” Fenris muttered as he held the tent flap open and ushered them all out.

As Anders followed the elf out, he quietly mused, “I wonder where we could find some rope around here.” He glanced down at Fenris with an innocent expression, then grinned at the resulting look on Fenris’ face. “That central tent pole in our tent looks pretty sturdy, wouldn’t you say? Poses definite... possibilities.” His long legs carried him ahead of the elf. Fenris could have sworn that the blond apostate wasn’t swaying his hips as he walked.

“Ah, Anders!” called Nathaniel as he walked back towards the Wardens’ tent, a bundle of grey and blue fabric in his hands. “Your uniforms are clean - I’ll leave them on your bed in here.”

“Thanks, Nate,” called Anders with a grin as he ducked in through the command tent entrance.

“You can give them to me now, we’ll be busy after dinner, Warden Howe,” Fenris said as he passed.

“Oh?” said Nathaniel, and grinned. “Don’t let me keep you then! I’ll drop them off now.” He glanced after Anders and chuckled. “Some things never change,” he grinned.

“I don’t like him,” Fenris muttered under his breath as he sat between Zevran and Anders.

“Who, Nathaniel?” said Anders, distracted by the array of food on the table. “Oh, he’s alright. He used to be the only one who could talk me down from a panic attack after we’d been down the Deep Roads. Hello, Hal’s been talking to Solas from the looks of things.”

The formerly Tranquil mage had entered with the bald elf, both deep in conversation. Hal was talking quite animatedly, gesturing with his hands; Solas smiled indulgently as he patted the young mage on the shoulder.

“We’ll talk later,” Solas promised as he nudged Hal in the direction of Fenris and the others. The red-head nodded enthusiastically as he came to join them, dropping into the seat next to Anders.

“Looks like someone else is in a good mood,” smiled Anders.

“You have no idea,” smiled Hal. “Solas knows so much about the Fade! I can learn a lot from him.”

“You should take the chance whilst you can,” said Anders. “Not easy for apostate mages to find mentors, though perhaps that will change with so many mages finding refuge with the Inquisition. When we get back to Skyhold, we should talk to Meneris about setting up some sort of informal academy or something for all the apprentices and enchanters in need of guiding and teaching.”

“You’d be excellent at that,” said Hal. “You’ve got the patience to teach.”

“Perhaps,” said Anders with a small smile.

“He is too familiar with you but I know you are old friends, I don’t have to like it,” Fenris mumbled more to himself than anything as he filled his plate. 

Invictus was surprised at the slight flare of jealousy from the warrior but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Anders shrugged. “We saved each other’s lives more times than I could possibly recount,” he said. “You get pretty close to people under those circumstances.” He smiled. “You may as well be jealous of Varric, love; he’s saved my hide more than a few times as well. You don’t see me jumping into Varric’s bed though, or protesting my undying love.”

“You’re breaking my heart over here, Blondie,” smiled Varric from across the table.

“It would never work, Varric; Bianca would only be jealous,” replied Anders, enjoying the banter. The dwarf laughed.

Meneris and Dorian made their way out of the inner room and strolled over to take their places as Vivienne, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Leliana and finally Cullen arrived, the Commander a little out of breath.

“Apologies, Inquisitor; we intercepted a group of Wardens en route to the fortress. Belann, Loghain and Blackwall are interrogating them now; they send their apologies but I thought it best to get what intelligence we could from them right away.”

Meneris waved him to a seat, gesturing to everyone else to begin.

“I’d be happy if the dwarf remembered I have a name, and you could jump in his bed all you wanted then,” Fenris groused.

“I’d still have to contend with Bianca though,” shrugged Anders as he began to load his plate. “And Bianca gets jealous. Having been on the receiving end of her... _pointed_ remarks, I’m loath to get in her way again.”

Nathan hurried in through the door flap. “Sorry I’m late,” he nodded to Meneris as he took a seat next to Varric, directly opposite Anders. He began to help himself to food, passing a dish of potatoes to Varric as the dwarf gestured to them. “Belann and Loghain needed a little ... _assistance_ persuading one of the Wardens to talk.”

“I don’t want to know, do I?” said Anders, in a tone that suggested he knew only too well just how Nathaniel persuaded unwilling prisoners to talk.

“Probably not, no,” agreed Nathaniel. “He won’t need your skills, Anders. Well, not yet, anyhow.”

“What do you do to interrogate?” Vic asked worriedly.

“Usually the mention of my whole name works pretty well,” Nathaniel shrugged. “Sometimes I need to prompt their memory by mentioning my father’s name.” He drew a wicked looking dagger and pulled a whetstone from his pocket, starting to sharpen it whilst he gave Invictus a chilling look that promised a world of pain - and that Nathaniel would take a sadistic delight in inflicting it.

“Not at the table, Nate; people are eating,” complained Anders, pulling a face. Nathaniel grinned and speared a slice of roast beef with the tip of his dagger. “Did this one piss his pants like the last one?” continued the apostate, not looking up from his plate.

“He may have expressed a wish for a change of pants, yes,” replied Nathaniel as he tucked the dagger away again and addressed his attention to his food.

“My word, that look alone was quite disturbing,” remarked Dorian. “I have no idea who your father is, but I certainly wouldn’t care to face you in an interrogation.”

“My father _was_ Rendon Howe,” said Nathaniel bleakly, not looking up from his plate. “You may have heard him referred to as the Butcher of Denerim.”

Vic simply grinned back at Nathaniel and gave him his own version of that look. “That did nothing Howe, perhaps, try harder?” 

“If I wanted a dick waving contest over dinner I would have stayed in our tent,” Fenris whispered in Antivan to his Crow lover.

Zevran shrugged. “Usually I only have to tell people I am a Crow,” he whispered back. “I do not need to boast of such matters though. And I think perhaps the discussion is a little too dark for young Hal,” he added with a slight jerk of the head towards the young mage, who was still staring at Nathaniel with alarm.

“Gentlemen, perhaps we could not terrify Hal with who’s more frightening? Besides, we know who at this table is to be feared the most, right Pavus?” Fenris smiled as he reached for more meat and mashed potato.

Dorian studiously ignored Fenris as he reached for the wine. Cullen was staring at Fenris and Invictus with a frown.

“Gentlemen, there are _ladies_ present!” he exclaimed. “I hardly think this a conversation for the dinner table!”

Leliana hid a small smile behind her hand whilst Cassandra rolled her eyes and stabbed a slice of meat with her dagger. Vivienne merely looked down her nose as though there were an offensive odour irritating her.

“Lelianna - pardon, _Sister Nightengale_ is more frightening than many of you. I’m sure such machinations are par for the course in the Game, so I doubt Vivienne is offended. Don’t be such a wet sack Cullen,” Fenris grinned, enjoying giving the Ferelden commander a good verbal jab.

Cullen shook his head and sighed with a put-upon expression. “Can we not have one meal without discussion of interrogation techniques? At least not until dessert, anyway,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck briefly before reaching for his own glass of wine.

“I don’t think you, as a Templar really want to open that can of worms do you Cullen?” Fenris asked as blandly as if he’d asked the time.

Both Anders and Hal froze, Anders with a forkful of food half-way to his mouth.

“ _Ex-_ Templar,” replied Cullen, his eyes on his plate as he set his glass back down. “Now can we please talk about something else? I hardly think -” He broke off as he glanced up and saw the expression on Anders’ face. “Maker,” he said softly.

“What do you suggest then Cullen?” Fenris asked with a smile that had put the fear of the Maker into many a bandit.

“Anders?” said Nathaniel quietly. “Are you alright?”

Anders abruptly dropped the fork, pushing himself back from the table before rising and striding swiftly from the tent.

“You did this, you go after him Fenris,” Vic said as he pointed towards the flap.

Fenris didn’t argue, he just got up and went after Anders.

The blond apostate hadn’t gotten far; he was standing at the edge of the plateau the command group’s tents had been set up on; the rest of the army camp was spread out below upon the slope below the ridge. Anders stood glancing to left and right, as if unsure in which direction to run; he slowly wrapped his arms around himself as he stared down at the camp then to his left. 

“Anders?” Fenris called as he approached.

The apostate spun around; his chest was heaving as he took rapid, shallow pants, his eyes wide as he stared through Fenris. Each exhale was almost a whimper as it left his lips.

Fenris approached carefully and held his arms out if Anders wanted the contact. 

Anders’ eyes slowly focused on the elf and a little of the tension went out of his body, the shallow gasping slowing a little. He stood still, watching the elf, eyes still wary but he seemed less about to bolt at an incautious move.

“What do you need?” Fenris asked as he approached slowly.

Anders turned away, hunching in upon himself. He murmured something softly to himself, the words snatched away by the light breeze. He lifted a hand to rub at his face.

“Anders, please talk to me,” Fenris asked as he stopped and stared at Anders’ back.

Anders breathed a deep sigh as he tilted his head back to stare up into the evening sky. “I don’t know what to say,” he said in a soft voice, so quiet that Fenris had to step closer to make out the words. “Sorry, perhaps. Sorry I... I ran. Again.”

“No, the apology is mine; I went too far, again,” Fenris said as he stood there, unsure whether to approach or not. Anders turned his head a little to the side, not quite looking over his shoulder.

“Templars,” said Anders quietly. “It always comes back to them. Even when you’re no longer in the Circle, it doesn’t take much to put you back there. A look, a hint, a suggestion. A memory. In some ways I think perhaps I will never be wholly free of what they did. And wherever I look, I see it - the sunburst. Cullen’s armour is still Templar armour, no matter how he may dress it up with feathers and cloaks. He can’t leave the past behind any more than I can.”

He turned slowly. “He was too young to have been there at my Harrowing, but he was there each time they brought me back. He knows how Templars interrogate, Fenris, because he watched nearly every single one of mine once he'd joined Kinloch's duty roster. He was one of the guards assigned to me in my year in solitary. He may never have laid a finger on me - but he witnessed what they did, Fenris. I dare say the scars on my back are as familiar to him as the lines on his palms; he saw each one laid, after all.”

He dropped his gaze to the ground. “Cullen’s seen men broken. Including me.”

Fenris blinked tears away as he approached his lover. “I am sorry I was so careless with my words; I beg forgiveness - when, or if, you can do so. May I do do anything to help?” 

Anders rubbed his arm through his sleeve absently. “I don’t know,” he said. “Can you take my memories away? Can you drive every single Templar out of my life?” He shook his head and then rubbed his face tiredly. “No. You can’t help. I... I’ll be... well, not alright,” he shrugged. “But better shortly. I just need to pull myself together.”

Fenris stared at the ground and considered what else he could say. “Do you wish me to leave you alone to think?”

Anders appeared to ponder this for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “No,” he said quietly.

“What would you have of me?” Fenris asked as he finally came and stood before Anders, contrite as he worried for what he’d done.

“Hold me... please,” whispered Anders.

Fenris pulled the taller man into his arms and held him close as he apologized for his thoughtlessness. Anders rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder, silent.

After a while, Fenris became aware that the slender mage was shivering slightly; Anders pressed himself against the elf, almost curling around him as though seeking warmth as well as comfort.

“Let’s go back, you’re shivering and I’m hungry...somehow.” 

Anders held himself close to Fenris’ warmth for a moment, then pulled away slightly, shaking his head. “No. I don’t think I could manage to eat anything now. And... I can’t face them, not right now. I don’t want to sit at that table and see their pity.” He let Fenris go and wiped his face with one hand. “I think I’ll go lie down. Maybe sleep will help.”

“You...were so eager earlier, and I brought you down. They won’t judge you Anders, please come back with me?” Fenris begged.

Anders swallowed hard, then slowly nodded. He straightened his back as he shook his hair back over his shoulders. “Alright,” he said quietly.

Fenris took his hand and led them back to the mess tent, and sat quietly with Anders, one hand held while he slowly ate. 

Invictus drank slowly and watched them both look miserable before he tried to brighten his mage lover. “Varric wants to best me at Wicked Grace love, I’m sure it will cheer you up. I could never beat him at his own game.”

Anders gently disengaged his hand from Fenris’ grasp so he could lean forward to fill his wine glass. On his other side, Hal glanced up at him with a worried look.

“Are you alright?” Anders asked him gently. Hal nodded wordlessly.

Nathaniel poured himself another glass of wine; from the dregs already in his glass it was evidently not his first. “I owe you an apology, Anders; I should have restrained myself.”

“And I apologise if my presence or anything I said caused you further stress, Anders,” said Cullen, his brown eyes holding only concern for the apostate.

Dorian was watching Anders with a keen eye. “I suggest that if anyone else has apologies for our good Senior Warden they just hang onto that thought for now and give the man space,” he said in a slow drawl. “Let the man catch his breath and have a drink before you try to outdo yourselves with who’s the most sorry, hmm? We’ve all behaved abysmally this evening.” He downed his own glass and reached for the bottle in front of him.

“Dorian is right,” said Leliana. “Now is not the time for apologies. We should show our intentions by actions, not words.” She regarded Anders thoughtfully over the rim of her glass.

Fenris ate slowly and didn’t speak as others chatted amiably with Anders and the others. He got up and pressed a kiss to Anders’ temple before he left the tent. Anders had been quiet and withdrawn since they returned; he spoke little, sipping slowly at his wine. When Varric or one of the others made a joke, his smile was wan. He refilled his glass twice, and glanced up when Fenris rose to watch the elf. His eyes followed Fenris to the door flap then returned to his glass of wine, saying nothing.

“He has duty with the scouting party love, and I have a feeling he’s kicking himself for being stupid. Come on, let’s take a walk?” Vic said with a grin. 

Anders was aware of Nathaniel’s eyes upon him as he downed his glass of wine. He set down his empty glass then nodded, rising from his seat.

“I, too, must go,” said Zevran as he rose. He inclined his head towards the Inquisitor, the gesture stopping short of a bow, then followed after Fenris.

Vic frowned slightly before he slipped next to Anders and rested his head on the blond’s shoulder. Anders smiled faintly as he slung an arm around the Champion’s waist and they headed out of the tent. Anders took a deep breath of the night air as they emerged into the open, then shivered as the cold night desert wind cut through his thin linen shirt briskly, whipping his hair around his face.

“Come on, I’ll keep you warm.” Vic brushed his lips over Anders cheek before he tilted his head for a kiss. Anders moved into his arms, still with that faint smile, and inclined his head slightly to meet Invictus’ kiss, his lips parting willingly.

“I love you,” Vic whispered as he tugged Anders with him to their tent.

“And I, you, love,” murmured Anders, allowing himself to be drawn after the Champion into the comfortable warmth of their tent. The small stove near the centre of the tent had been lit whilst they dined, warming the tent against the chill of the desert night.

Vic knelt down before Anders and tugged at his clothing. “If you want love? Or would you be on your knees?”

Anders stared down at him, then wordlessly began to unlace the thin leather jerkin, shrugging it off his shoulders to the floor before slowly unlacing his shirt, never once taking his eyes off Invictus as he sank slowly to his knees.

“What do you want?” Vic breathed as he stared into Anders’ eyes, careful that he didn’t misread his lover.

Anders shrugged off the shirt, throwing it aside as he reached for the lacing of Invictus’ pants, still silent.

Vic got up, forced to do so in order to let his pants be taken off. He stood there, unsure of Anders mood. “Take me - or do you want to be taken?”

Anders leaned forward, lifting one hand to cup Invictus’ balls as he inclined his head slightly. He stroked his other hand slowly along Invictus’ cock, before lowering his eyes as he licked a long, slow stripe along Invictus’ member from root to tip then swirled his tongue around the head. His eyes flicked up to Invictus’ face as he parted his lips.

“Answer me, I would not misread your wants tonight,” Vic said before he rested his hand on top of Anders’ head.

Anders made a faint sound of irritation and tried to lean forward again, reaching out with his tongue to gently caress the tip of Invictus’ cock with it.

“Anders...please love I want you to get what you need. If you won’t speak at least nod?”

Anders lifted his eyes back up to Invictus’ face then slowly nodded.

“Do you want to be in control tonight?” Vic asked.

Anders shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment before glancing back up at the other man expectantly. 

“Nod once for gentle, twice for rough,” Vic asked as he carded his fingers through Anders’ hair. Anders gave a soft gasp, then closed his eyes as he nodded once - then, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded again.

“Very well...I worry when you get like this but I will give what you have asked.” Vic tugged his hair back hard and grinned at Anders as he had before. “Want my cock?”

Anders’ breath escaped from him in a hiss of discomfort, but he nodded.

“Open up then, be good.” Invictus relaxed his grip so Anders could go back to what he was doing. Anders willingly opened his mouth again, leaning forward to lick another long, wet stripe up the underside of Invictus’ cock before swirling his tongue around the head once more before he took the tip into his mouth, tongue pressing firmly against the underside of Invictus’ member as he took it farther in, eyes upon the other man’s face.

Vic stared into his eyes and slid his hips forward just enough to give Anders a hint of what he wanted. Obediently, Anders swallowed him farther in, relaxing his jaw so he could take in more of Invictus’ cock, eyes never leaving the Champion’s face as he cupped Invictus’ balls, massaging and gently squeezing them in his hands as he drew back a little then swallowed him back down again, working the cock with his tongue before he deliberately swallowed, eliciting a delicious sensation of a ripple of pressure along Invictus’ member, drawing him deeper into the inviting wet heat of Anders’ throat and mouth.

“Fuck… fuuuuuck.” Vic moaned as he snapped his hips forward as he tried not to scream. Anders lifted one hand up to brace against Invictus’ thigh as his head began to slowly bob, drawing back then swallowing Invictus back down again, swirling his tongue around the sensitive glans of Invictus’ cock on each upstroke before drawing him back in again until his nose was pressed against the thick dark hairs of Invictus’ groin. His eyes never left Invictus’ face, his lips reddening around Invictus’ heated flesh. 

“Faster...just..like that,” Vic gasped as he grabbed at air as Anders took him down slow and steady. “Not...ready to come, Maker Anders.”

Anders began to move faster, his hand on Invictus’ thigh shifting to his hip, encouraging him with the pressure of his hand to move his hips as Anders’ head bobbed faster, his breath coming as shallow pants now between strokes, his tongue still working hard at Invictus’ cock, sliding over his skin swiftly. Occasional small moans and whimpers escaped his throat between strokes on each upstroke, muffled by Invictus’ member as it thrust down his throat once more.

“St...stop, you’re gonna make me come too fast.” Vic pulled back slowly as he tried to catch his breath. “Get yourself ready… I want to watch.”

Anders sat back upon his heels, panting and breathless. He glanced down and began to unlace his pants, then shifted back so he could stretch his legs out and unfasten his boots. Kicking them off, he peeled off his pants and threw them aside. He turned around and leaned forward over the edge of the nearby cot and arched his back as he started to work a finger into himself slowly, glancing back with dark eyes over his shoulder, his long hair obscuring his face slightly. His lips were still reddened from Invictus’ cock, his face slightly flushed.

He slipped a second finger in beside the first and began to work them in and out of himself faster, thrusting deeper with low gasps. He scissored his fingers deep inside himself, then slid a third finger in, thrusting in as deeply as he could from that angle, never taking his eyes off Invictus as he moaned softly. He spread his legs a little further apart.

“Ready for me?” Vic asked as he let slick fill his palm as he walked over to palm Anders’ ass and drum his fingers thoughtfully.

Anders nodded as he withdrew his fingers, spreading his legs a little wider still as he arched his spine, canting his hips back further. Sweat beaded his brow, plastering long strands of dark gold hair to his face.

“Love, you forgot something...use a bit of oil so I don’t tear you,” Vic said, palm upraised.

Anders dropped his head onto the cot for a moment, then lifted up a hand. There was a whisper of magic and his palm filled with clear oily liquid. Leaning back, he began to slick himself slowly, the oil running down the inside of his thighs as he worked his fingers in and out of himself, and then he leaned forward onto the cot and glanced back at Invictus.

Vic grinned at him before he tapped Anders ass as if he were going to spank him while he slicked himself up. He nudged Anders legs further apart before he pressed the tip of his cock to his lover’s ass. “Want it, get me started so I can fuck you.”

Anders leaned back until he felt the head of Invictus’ cock sink slowly into him. He rocked back hard, sheathing Invictus fully inside himself in one hard move before slowly easing forward again until only the head of Invictus’ cock was inside.

“Bad...I wanted...I thought you’d go slower,” Vic said with a slap to Anders’ backside.

Anders gasped, then chuckled softly before bucking himself back hard again, impaling himself on Invictus’ cock again.

“So dirty...you missed me getting fucked while I took Zevran, you’d have loved it.” Vic moaned as he started to slap Anders’ ass hard each time he sunk down on his cock. Anders gave a little breathless cry with each slap as he snapped his hips back, driving himself back hard onto Invictus’ cock, panting with the effort, bracing his hands on the edge of the cot for extra leverage, the cords upon his neck standing out with the effort as he glanced back over his shoulder at Invictus. Sweat was beading across his skin upon his back, rolling slowly down over scar tissue until it pooled in the small of his back.

Vic gave him a couple more hearty slaps before he put his hands on Anders hips. “Lie down, on your back.” 

Anders held still for a moment as he stared at Invictus, then he shifted himself forward and rolled over onto his back, staring up at Invictus. His chest was heaving as he panted from the exertion needed to fuck himself on Invictus’ cock, his face flushed and sweaty, hair in disarray.

“So good, so very good working hard for me,” Vic purred as he rested on his elbows over Anders and kissed him slow, deep as he felt the other man’s legs wrap around his back. Anders leaned up into the kiss, running one hand slowly up over Invictus’ chest.

Vic pulled away slowly as he reached down and got back into Anders before he resumed kissing his lover, slow, deep while he stroked hard, but agonizingly slow for both of them.

Anders made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat even as he returned Invictus’ kisses with what felt like a touch of desperation. He finally let his head drop back and breathed, “Faster.” It was the first word he’d spoken since returning to the command tent with Fenris earlier.

Vic frowned a little at that, but stopped short of telling him to beg. He’d wanted to give Anders a slow, hard fuck for a while before he nailed him. Instead he stroked at a faster pace while he stared into Anders’ eyes.

Anders’ breath was coming faster; small, needy cries punctuated his breath with each thrust of Invictus into his willing body. He canted his hips up slightly so that each thrust would strike deeper as his fingers curled into the bedsheets, sweat sheening his body as his neglected cock wept slowly between their bodies.

“You know how bad I wanted you that morning when you were too sleepy? I was willing to just ride you until you woke up, suck you… Maker, the way you get to me Anders.” Vic moaned in his ear. “I love you...so much.”

Anders bit his lip, then turned his head aside, blinking rapidly as his breath hitched. He wrapped his arms around Invictus’ neck, burying his face against the other man’s shoulder. “Harder - please, love,” he begged.

Vic tugged Anders’ head to the side as he went faster, the sound of their bodies slapping together loud in the tent. Anders gasped, and closed his eyes, each breath now exploding out of him in a low, hoarse cry as Invictus pounded steadily into his body. His arms fell back upon the bed and his fingers clawed into the mattress. He shifted his hips, tilting them until each downstroke hit his sweet spot; he threw his head back and his cries grew louder.

“I ...love you so much.” Vic moaned with each stroke, his own cries were loud, on par with Anders as he snapped his hips faster as he got close to coming.

Anders’ body trembled beneath him as the blond apostate’s own climax built, hot and insistent as it coiled in his groin. He gritted his teeth, eyes screwed shut as he desperately tried to hold it off as long as he could, body quivering.

“Come...for me,” Vic whimpered.

Anders arched his back, his body spasming as he cried out, his climax overwhelming him as his seed spilled, hot and wet between their bodies; his tight passage clenched down hard upon Invictus. His body jerked and shuddered as he rode out his orgasm, head thrown back, until slowly he relaxed back onto the cot, his body still trembling with twitches and jerks in the aftermath. His near-scream tailed off into a low, breathless moan.

Vic smiled as he slowed his thrusts into Anders, his words of love mumbled against sweat slick skin. “I love you, I’m sorry… I love you so much.” 

Anders lay beneath Invictus, his legs sliding limply down off Invictus’ back to the floor as he lay supine, his eyes closed as his breathing came ragged, his heart still racing. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he blinked up at the ceiling, slightly dazed, before he managed to focus his eyes on Invictus.

“Why...” He had to pause, trying to regain his breath. “Why...sorry?” he managed.

Vic laughed weakly as he stopped moving. “I hurt you by being an asshole, and I ...my heart is really full right now. I just, I lost myself in the moment. I love you Anders, and I’m scared for tomorrow. I don’t want you going into battle with any regrets, or worries. I love you ok?” Vic kept kissing Anders’ face but didn’t resume his slow pace.

“You... you didn’t finish?” said Anders, frowning in slight confusion. “Love? You let me come but didn’t finish for yourself?” He reached up a hand that trembled slightly, cupping it against Invictus’ cheek. “Love, whatever happens tomorrow, I regret nothing tonight.”

“I’m going to finish, was just being emotional.” Vic twined the fingers of one hand with Anders as he resumed his languid thrusts. “Lightning, I ...like that when you do it.” 

Anders laughed breathlessly, then arched his back beneath Invictus, slipping a single finger inside himself as Invictus continued his lazy thrusting. A small frown creased his brow as he concentrated, and then a small spark of electricity danced from his finger into his body, igniting sensation that raced up into Invictus’ body as Anders spasmed beneath him, his body almost convulsing as his threw his head back, mouth open in a perfect, soundless O.

Vic moaned wantonly. “Want you to ride me, fuck me.” 

Anders slipped a second finger in beside the first as his breaths came ragged and uneven, his heart stuttering within his breast; on Invictus’ next thrust he let fly another spark of electricity that raced through both of them. Anders came hard a second time, his body convulsing up in an arc beneath Invictus with a hoarse scream.

“Maker man… “ Vic moaned as he clenched his fingers tighter around Anders’ fingers as he finally came hard. Anders was shuddering, his body twitching beneath Invictus, his heart stuttering as it beat erratically. The blond apostate’s eyes were rolled back, his face bathed with sweat, his blond hair darkened by it as he lay beneath the other man, utterly debauched and ennervated, his breathing little more than ragged, panting gasps.

Invictus let his forehead rest on Anders’ chest as he caught his breath. “Love you.” He could feel Anders’ heart, fluttering like a caged bird within the mage’s chest. Anders could only manage a faint groan in response as one hand twitched weakly.

Vic rolled over on his back and flopped. “I don’t want to move at all.”

There was silence from Anders; when Invictus finally rolled his head to look at the blond apostate, Anders was lying still with his eyes closed, his breathing slowly evening out into something approaching its normal cadence, lips slightly parted as his eyelids shivered.

Vic slowly got up and pulled a sheet over them. “Sleep well.” 

Anders’ eyes slowly opened at that, and he managed to turn his head enough to look at Invictus. He reached weakly for the other mage’s hand. “Love,” he whispered.

“Mmm?” Vic murmured.

“Thank you,” Anders whispered softly. His hand went limp in Invictus’ grasp as his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side.

“You’re welcome,” Vic whispered as he curled around Anders and held him close. Anders’ breath came softly, the mage slipping slowly into sleep, safe in Invictus’ arms.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a dragon.

Fenris was grim as they scouted ahead and no amount of cajoling or prodding from Zevran could break his mood. He stopped when the Antivan elf held his hands up and pointed to the old fortress.

What Fenris had at first taken to be a crumbling tower was shifting; as the two elves stared, a draconic head rose into the air on a long sinuous neck, one wing shifting slightly as the immense dragon turned a little on its perch on the battlements.

“That complicates matters somewhat, I am thinking,” breathed Zevran very softly into Fenris’ ear. “I do not think the good Commander anticipated _that_.”

“Why is it always dragons?!” Fenris said tiredly.

“Because the Maker hates us, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran with a shrug. “Come. Let us slip away as silently as we can. The Inquisitor and Cullen need to know of this.” He began to edge backwards slowly, his eyes never leaving the massive bulk of the dragon, silhouetted against the night sky.

“I haven’t forgotten the feel of it’s teeth Zev.” Fenris said fearfully as he followed his lover.

Zevran halted and stared at Fenris. “The feel of....” he echoed. “Beloved, when...? - no, tell me when we are far away from here and safely back in our tent with a bottle of wine. Let us not tarry here; I have no wish to feel those teeth myself.”

“Yes, wine...good.” Fenris said as they set off for the camp.

They found Meneris and Cullen in the command tent, going through reports from the other scouts and the sapper teams. Dorian sat in a chair nearby, more than half asleep, his head nodding.

Fenris headed off to the side of the command tent without speaking; ducking down the narrow space between their bell tent and the command pavilion, he sat down, staring back out at the desert behind the ridge, away from the camp and the sight of the fortress. He just needed to sit and think.

Zevran went inside to report. Meneris and Cullen glanced up as he entered; Cullen’s expression was welcoming at first until he noticed Zevran’s expression.

“A dragon,” the Antivan elf said without preamble.

Cullen swore softly. “Are you sure?”

“The eyes of a Crow are sure,” replied Zevran. “I am certain. It sits atop the battlements; had it not moved, one might think it a ruined tower.”

“Why is it always dragons?” Meneris asked in annoyance.

“No doubt the Iron Bull will be delighted to hear this, but that complicates matters greatly,” said Cullen heavily as he stared down at the maps and reports. “We’ll need all the support from the mages we can get. We _must_ get those siege engines in place and the ram to the gates. We’ll need them to provide covering fire and shields.”

“I’ll leave that in your hands commander. I think we should call it a night so we’re all well rested for what’s to come.” Meneris nudged Dorian as he passed. “Some of us have a headstart on the resting part; come along love.”

Dorian started awake and glanced around, blinking owlishly. “Did someone say something about a dragon?” he said as he got to his feet.

“I’ll leave you to rest, Inquisitor. We’ll start the assault at dawn,” said Cullen as he bowed. Zevran gave Meneris a nod of the head then followed Cullen from the tent.

Once outside, the Antivan glanced around for Fenris. Frowning, he stared at the ground for a moment before turning to his left. He peered around the side of the tent and was rewarded by the sight of Fenris sitting crosslegged, staring out at the desert sounds.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he called softly.

“Yes?” Fenris replied without turning. Zevran silently slipped between the two tents, halting a few feet behind Fenris.

“It is not good to be alone too long with one’s thoughts the night before a battle, and the assault will begin at dawn,” said Zevran as he crouched down. “Will you share your thoughts with me, beloved?”

“Do you want the honest, bald truth though I fear you will think me a fool?” Fenris asked.

“I do not think you a fool, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran gently. “I would hear the truth, if you would share it.”

Fenris took Zevran’s hand in his and stared out at the darkness as he spoke. “I am terrified, for Anders. For us. I feel as if Hal’s reappearance has me doubting my own mind again. I’m slipping back into habits that cause problems among us and for as much as I speak of Invictus sabotaging things without realizing it; I am doing the same thing. I nearly ran to Hal instead of here. I don’t even know why but I’m so scared Zev and if I show it out there, in front of them I’m not sure I’ll be able to hide it anymore.” 

“What do you fear most, _carissimi_? That this Corypheus will possess Anders? That we will fall in battle?” His fingers tightened upon Fenris’ hand. “That some ill will tear us all apart from each other? Beloved, none of us can know what the day will bring. But we do not face this alone. There is an entire army here, and it is not for us to lead it. It is for Cullen and his men to breach the gates; to them will fall the battle against the Wardens. We have already played our part; to us will fall only the task of being at Hawke’s side, to ground Anders, and protect Hal at need. It is for others to lead, to be the heroes.”

Fenris laughed, a dark sound that didn’t suit the elf. “My mind knows that, but my heart Zevran...it is hurting. You were not there when we had to turn against him as Corypheus took his mind. You were not there when we fought a dragon and I nearly perished...again. Too many close calls, and it worries me for how he may react Corypheus again. I want to just take you all and go home, but where’s home anymore?” 

Zevran lifted Fenris’ hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Home, for me, is wherever you are, my heart. It is true, I did not see how Corypheus possessed Anders. I saw how Solona’s blood magic possessed him however, and if it would ease your heart beloved then I shall watch him carefully. I have many poisons that may disable without killing, and my hands are swift and sure. Should he fall under any spell or power, I promise you I shall disable him and bear him safely away from that place. Would that ease your mind and heart, _carissimi_?”

“He’s free of her venomous hold. It seems she’s fallen to her hubris and answers a new master.” Fenris said dully.

Zevran started in surprise. “Truly? He can speak her name now without fear of harm?” he exclaimed. “Then... she is there within the fortress....” He turned and glanced over his shoulder, back towards the fortress. Fleeting, conflicting emotions flickered across the Antivan’s face; hope, despair, dread, resignation.

“I suppose, I don’t know. I can’t even look at him right now. After my mouth ran away from me earlier and I hurt him again. I forget sometimes that I can still be cruel without trying.” Fenris glanced over at Zevran briefly before he returned his gaze ahead.

“You should go look for him, _carissimi_ ,” Zevran said softly. “You should not let this thing drive you apart before tomorrow’s battle. Should something befall one of us... do not let your last words to one another be fear or regret. If you fear for him, how much more must he fear for his own sanity, _carissimi_?” He leaned over and gently kissed Fenris’ cheek. “I love you, my heart. But he needs you.”

“He needs someone without a sharp tongue and a dark heart.” Fenris replied as he curled against Zevran with a tired sigh.

“My heart, I know him. Perhaps not as well as you do; we are friends of old, but not lovers. But I have seen how he looks at you, even when you have hurt him. He loves you, _carissimi_ , and if he is hurting now then he only needs your love all the more.”

“I wonder why any of you do sometimes.” Fenris replied as he finally pulled away and got to his feet. “If he sleeps I will not wake him just to speak, that can wait until the dawn.” 

Zevran nodded as he rose to his feet. “Let us go see. And if he sleeps, I have a bottle of good wine that perhaps we should both share to aid our own rest, no?”

“Maybe, I am unsure if wine will make things worse or not.” Fenris admitted.

“Then perhaps you will forgive me if I drink myself, _carissimi_ ; I find that the sight of that dragon has unnerved me, and I think I need a drink.” Zevran shrugged as he led the way back towards their tent.

As they entered and their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the tent, they saw that Anders lay sprawled upon his cot, Invictus spooned up behind him; the blond mage was almost on the verge of falling out of bed, the cot not being built for two sleepers. His left arm and leg were draped over the side of the cot, his head half off the pillow as he lay upon his stomach, his other arm somewhere under the pillow. As they glanced over, he lifted his head slightly.

“Fenris? Is that you?” he asked drowsily. “Ow. Maker, my neck.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, wincing. 

“Yeah...I didn’t mean to wake you.” the elf said quietly.

Anders shook his head as he carefully sat up, trying not to disturb the other sleeping mage as he extricated himself from Invictus’ arm. He swung his legs to the floor then ran his hands through his hair with a yawn.

“No, I wasn’t really sleeping,” he confessed. “I woke up a while ago. Bad dreams again.” He grimaced.

“You had a nice night with Vic then?” Fenris asked as he noted Anders’ nakedness as he sat up.

“Hmm?” Anders glanced down, then his cheeks coloured slightly. “Oh. Yes. I... needed it. Something just to empty my mind and tire me enough to sleep.” He reached for his pants and began to tug them on; as he stood up to pull them up, he winced a little. “Maker, I’m glad we’re not riding tomorrow.”

“Can we take a walk since you’re awake?” Fenris asked as he glanced away from Anders and caught Zevran’s gaze. The Antivan nodded to Fenris as he continued over to his own cot, pulling a bottle of wine out from his pack. Anders glanced over.

“Zevran’s drinking? Maker, do I even want to know what you two found when scouting?” exclaimed Anders quietly.

“It’s not so much what we found, it’s...what’s on my mind. We can stay here, since I guess Vic is sound asleep.” Fenris said as he fidgeted.

Anders shook his head. “No, it’s fine; I could use some air to clear my head,” he replied as he picked up the jacket from his Warden uniform and tugged it on. He gestured for Fenris to lead the way.

The elven warrior led them back to the spot he’d left, and waited until he was resting against the mage’s chest, Anders’ arms pulled around him and his eyes closed before he spoke. “I needed to know we were alright before the battle. And to confess something to you, my heart.” 

Anders hugged him lightly as he rested his chin on Fenris’ shoulder. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I was... well, yes, I was upset earlier, but that wasn’t entirely your fault. You simply said something and my own bad memories did the rest. I think the whole conversation was just keying me up to that point really.” He shrugged. “What’s on your mind, love?”

Fenris repeated what he’d said to Zevran, his voice hitched near the end as he braced for Anders’ reaction to his fears, or worse thinking he was being coddled.

Anders was silent for a while. “Your fears are understandable, love,” he finally said quietly. “I shan’t deny I have shared them myself. The thought I might be possessed by Corypheus again and turn on you all....” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Bad enough you all had to take me down then; I still bear the scars from that one. I dread the thought of it happening again. But perhaps it would not be so easy this time; there must be close to a hundred mages enslaved to Corypheus through the blood magic ritual to bind the demons right now. Holding control of so many will be taking a lot of his power and energy; likely he does not have the power to enthrall anyone else who hasn’t opened themselves to him through blood magic first, or else he surely would have enslaved all the Wardens and wouldn’t need this ritual.” He pressed a light kiss to Fenris’ temple. “But in case I am wrong, then perhaps Zevran’s idea is a good one. He could take me down before I could do any harm, without the need to kill me.” 

He smiled wryly. “I’m rather keen on the ‘not dying’ part,” he added.

“I’m sorry I’m not stronger and none of us are keen on you possibly dying.” Fenris shuddered briefly as a chill ran through him. “I fear what his power might do to me, if my reaction to the Inquisitor’s mark is anything to go by.”

“I think that was a reaction to the rift energies, love,” said Anders. “The barrier I put in place should still hold though. I can check and strengthen it if you’d like though?”

“Tomorrow, right now I just want to be held and know we’re safe...just for tonight.” Fenris snuggled closer to his mage and tried to keep himself together. 

Anders held Fenris closer, burying his face against the elven warrior’s hair, his breath warm and comforting. Fenris could feel the bland apostate’s heart as it beat against Fenris’ back; its steady, even cadence was calming and reassuring.

“We are safe, love. No-one’s dying, and for tonight we have each other, no matter what tomorrow brings. And I don’t intend to die tomorrow, either.” Anders pressed a kiss to the snow-white hair. “And you’d better not die either, hear me?” Fenris could hear the teasing smile in the apostate’s voice. “Now. What else did you see tonight that has Zevran hitting the bottle?”

“Dragon...I told him about getting thrown around by one in the in-between and it disquieted him quite a bit.” Fenris said quietly.

Anders held still for a moment. “A dragon?” he said in a strangled voice.

“Yes a dragon.” 

“I really would rather not get turned into a dragon chew toy,” said Anders, still in that same voice. “I saw what it did to my counterpart, and _he_ at least had Justice to protect him!”

“Nor would I see it.” Fenris reluctantly thought of getting up and returning to their tent but remained where he was. “We should get sleep but I am comfortable in your arms.”

Anders laid his head on Fenris’ shoulder as he held him close. “Love you,” whispered Anders. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I hurt you. For all that I give Invictus grief over being thoughtless, I continue to do the same to you.” Fenris said.

Anders shook his head slightly. “No. I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault love; blame the Templars. It was their fault to begin with. You couldn’t have hurt me if they hadn’t broken me long ago.” His voice darkened. “It always comes back to the bloody Templars,” he said bitterly. “Much as for you, it always comes down to Danarius. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“As you say love.” Fenris turned so he could kiss Anders gently, slowly before he needed air.

As their lips parted, Anders frowned a little. “I don’t like it when you say that, love,” he said breathlessly. “It means you don’t fully believe me. I forgive you, Fenris; I hold no blame against you.” He stared into Fenris’ green eyes, his own a little mournful. “I wish you would forgive yourself, love,” he whispered.

“Later for that, it’s...complicated.” Fenris stared up at Anders, his eyes wide and guileless like a puppy as his lovers often said. 

Anders lifted a hand to gently trace a finger down the side of Fenris’ face, studying him as though trying to memorise the elf’s features, before leaning in to kiss him again. “I forgive you, I love you,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, Corypheus cannot take that away from us. No dragon could ever tear it from us. And tomorrow I can think of no-one else I would rather have by my side. I will likely have to harm, maybe even kill fellow Wardens, perhaps some I know. But it will be more bearable if I know you are by my side.” He smiled a little sadly. “And Zevran at my back to protect you from me if need be.”

Fenris sniffed as he felt Anders’ fingers tracing his features. “If we survive, I want to go. I don’t like it here with the Inquisition.” 

Anders glanced away, pulling away from Fenris slightly as his arms loosened. “I don’t think I can,” he said quietly. “There are too many people who want me dead. For better or for worse, I’m safest here in the Inquisition.”

“Very well.” Fenris said as he slowly got to his feet. “Come, we should get some sleep tonight.”

Anders nodded and got to his feet, shivering suddenly as a cold wind whipped up around the tents. “I wonder if Zevran has finished that bottle of wine yet,” he mused as they turned to go back inside.

The Antivan elf had, indeed, finished his bottle of wine; he was sprawled on his back atop the covers of his cot, still dressed, the empty bottle cradled in one arm. Anders raised an eyebrow as he glanced at him, then looked over at his own cot. Invictus had rolled over and was sprawled across the whole width of the camp bed. Shrugging, Anders went over to one of the remaining spare cots.

Hal had crept in at some point and was curled up on one of the other cots, little visible of the young mage save a hint of dark red hair poking out from beneath the blanket.

Fenris got Zevran under the thin covers before he curled up with Anders and tried to sleep. He could feel the apostate slowly relaxing until finally Anders began to snore quietly. Sleep came much more slowly for the restless elf however.

***

“We’ll have your breach soon, Inquisitor!” called Cullen above the roar of battle. A catapult hurled a boulder the size of one of the tents towards the heavily-defended walls; it crumpled against stone and then part of the wall started to fall away; the figures of armoured warriors could be seen falling, their screams drowned in the sound of the melee raging across the battlements as Inquisition troops scaled up ladders and engaged the Warden forces. 

Above the roar could be heard a ponderous booming noise as the massive battering ram steadily pounded a slow, steady assault upon the main gates. High overhead, the dragon wheeled slowly, keeping high above the range of the mages’ fireballs and lightning spells.

Anders watched, his fingers tapping restlessly upon the haft of his staff. He was acutely aware of Zevran standing just behind him; just as he was aware of the song in his head surging louder with every pass of the dragon overhead. Fenris shifted uneasily at his side, his eyes also upon the dragon.

The Iron Bull was grinning broadly as he watched the dragon. “It’s a beaut, Boss!” he called back to Meneris. “We’re taking it down, right?”

“Maker save us,” muttered Dorian as he rolled his eyes at the oblivious Qunari.

Invictus fingered his staff nervously as they waited to enter the stronghold. “I don’t know what’s worse the waiting or what’s to come.” 

“Waiting. Definitely the waiting,” said Anders. He lifted a hand as though to rub at his temple again, only at the last moment catching himself and running it distractedly through his hair instead. It had been neatly tied back in a half-ponytail this morning, but already flyaway wisps and long strands had worked loose to frame his face, mute testimony to his restlessness.

Hal was staring at the dragon, his eyes transfixed with a faint look of longing.

“I hate dragons.” Fenris muttered in Tevene.

Hal’s face fell, and he dropped his gaze to stare at the gate instead; one hand drifted up to rub absently at his sternum.

From their position on the hill, the sound of the gates splintering came distantly to them, the sound muffled above the shouts and screams of dying men, the whine of missiles, the twang and thud of catapults launching their lethal payloads. 

“Inquisition, to me!” roared Cullen. “On my mark - _charge!_ ”

The Commander drew his sword and led the charge upon the gate, the Inquisition forces flowing behind him like an inrushing tide, focused on the ruined gates as the breach widened.

“The Commander will give the signal when the breach is secure,” said Cassandra as she drew her own sword.

Fenris pulled his weapon and gave Anders’ hand a brief squeeze as they waited for Cullen’s signal.

“We’re together, no matter what.” Vic reassured them.

“There’s the signal, Inquisitor!” said Cassandra as the Inquisition banner was raised. “For the Inquisition!” She leapt forward, and the charge was on.

They raced down the hill, Inquisition soldiers fanning out to either side as they plunged on over ground already scattered with dead and wounded. The crumpled remains of one of the siege towers was burning to their right, and they leapt over the smashed remains of one of the siege ladders. The defenders upon the walls managed to loose arrows down upon them in spite of the fierce attack by those Inquisition troops that had gained the walls.

Cullen stood waiting for them in the main courtyard beyond the smashed gates.

“Inquisitor!” he cried, breathless. “There are demons all through the fortress. We’re dealing with them now; the way is clear to the inner courtyard. We’re securing the walls now.”

“Men, to me!” cried Cassandra. “We’ll take the inner courtyard, Commander.” She led another unit of troops in a charge upon the main gates leading deeper within the fortress.

It was pandemonium. Everywhere they looked, men were fighting; Wardens in grey and blue, the Inquisition wearing the eye and flaming sun. As Meneris led his group in a run towards the gates where Cassandra’s men were fighting for control, Anders had to duck as an arrow flew too close for comfort. A little in front, Belann and Loghain were having to dodge friendly fire.

“Maker, they’re shooting at our uniforms!” cried Nathaniel.

“Keep your head down!” ordered Dorian as he swiftly began casting shields; Anders, Invictus and Hawke did likewise as Belann cast haste spells upon them all.

As Cassandra’s men got the gates open, they raced through into a scene of utter madness. Inquisition forces here were contending with demons. As the Inquisitor and his group plunged into the fight, it soon became clear that the demons and Wardens were striving to keep them from reaching something.

Iron Bull led his Chargers in an attack ahead of the Inquisitor and his companions, smashing a path through. 

They were too late to prevent Warden-Commander Clarel from slaughtering an elven girl, sacrificing her for power to open the rift a little wider. It shimmered and danced, the energies bright actinic green. As Meneris and the others came to a halt, a force of Warden mages turned to confront them, each one with glazed eyes that glowed red.

“Enthralled,” breathed Anders.

“Solona!” hissed Zevran, his eyes widening as he recognised the Warden. She stared through them with no sign of recognition.

Meneris stepped forward. “Clarel! If you complete that ritual, you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants!” 

“What, fighting a Blight?” retorted the magister as he stepped out of the shadows to stand next to the grizzled Warden-Commander as she stared down at the Inquisitor. “The world saved from darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that!”

“We make the sacrifices no-one else will!” called Clarel, her eyes flashing anger as she stared down at Meneris. She glared at Anders, Nathaniel, Loghain and Belann. “Traitors! You should be standing _with_ us, not with _them_! Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Loghain shouted back, scowling.

Clarel’s eyes widened. “Corypheus? But he’s dead!” she said, shocked.

Erimond leaned over and whispered something to her; the shaven-headed Warden-Commander turned away, rubbing her forehead. Meneris and the others waited with bated breath, hoping she would see sense.

That hope died as she turned back, her face resolute. “Bring it through!” she ordered the mages.

“No, how could she agree with him?!” Fenris said as he watched the mages line up and begin their ritual.

“Blinded by her own narrow vision,” groaned Anders helplessly. “Blood magic never saved anyone or anything; it’s _never_ the answer!”

Meneris had drawn his sword; he now levelled it at Erimond. “Attack!” he roared.

“My Master thought you might come here, Inquisitor!” called Erimond with an unpleasant grin as he moved back, striking the foot of his staff upon the cracked flagstones of the raised courtyard. “He sent me this to welcome you!”

The immense dragon swooped low, circling around before hovering overhead, backwinging as it lowered itself to settle on the broken stones of the castle ramparts as it roared at them. This close, they could see the ragged wings and decaying flesh of the monstrous beast and smell the foul charnel reek of its breath.

“Maker,” breathed Nathaniel. “It’s an archdemon.”

“Andraste’s flaming tits!” Anders swore.

“Always did appreciate a challenge,” said the Bull appreciatively as he nodded at the monstrous beast.

“Clarel, she’s getting away after her!” Fenris called as he watched where she’d gone off towards the top of the fortress.

“No, wait -” said Anders as he saw the Warden-Commander turn, staring at Erimond as he stared triumphantly at the dragon. She raised her staff, and a bolt of bright energy shot out to strike Erimond in the back.

“Bastard!” she screamed at him as she raised her staff once more.

“Shit...that thing is going to take out half the courtyard when it hits.” Vic yelled.

“Look out!” called Dorian as the dragon took off, wheeling around to face towards them, swooping down with mouth agape.

Clarel managed to fire off a couple of lightning bolts then rolled out of the way as the dragon unleashed a blast of fire. It banked and turned; as Clarel raised her staff again, it dove down towards her, its fearsome jaws gaping wide in a horrifying grin.

She screamed once as its jaws closed upon her body then the dragon soared into the sky once more.

“Well that’s not good.” Vic said as he ran after the dragon. They pounded up the steps to the causeway between two towers, high over the inner courtyard where the sounds of melee could be heard, the Inquisition mages engaging the Wardens as the rift slowly widened beneath them.

Meneris was in the lead; they all stumbled to a halt behind him as the dragon circled around then glided down towards them. It backwinged to land curled about a tower as it spat out the broken body of Clarel; she struck the stone walkway hard, her body rolling over and skidding several feet.

To their amazement, she moved, rolling slowly over onto her back as the dragon stepped down from the tower onto the bridge and began to stalk her. She painfully pushed herself backwards as it advanced towards her.

“Maker, how can she possibly be still alive after that?” breathed Anders. He stepped forward, one hand raised as he gathered healing magic in his palm.

Before he could release it, Clarel gestured as the dragon pounced, and there was a brilliant flash of electric energy that struck the dragon full in the chest. It collapsed, spasming, onto the bridge.

Slowly, the stones began to crumble.

As the stones tumbled, they all took a step back then began to flee as stones continued to fall, the ancient bridge steadily falling apart. Hal slipped and staggered; one moment he was running beside Invictus, the next he had stumbled and then was gone.

Anders glanced back as Invictus suddenly lost his feet; he felt the other mage clutch at his sleeve and then with a yell he, too, was gone, tumbling out of sight even as Zevran sprinted past to hurl himself at Fenris, the two elves rolling to safety. Anders turned to stare at Fenris, his eyes widening as he felt the stone beneath him give way. 

“Fenris! _FEN-_ ” His voice was cut off mid-scream as he plunged out of sight.

Dorian turned as he heard Anders scream, and began to run back. “Meneris! Take my hand!”

“ _Doriannnnn!_ ” Meneris screamed as he barely touched his lover’s fingers, gripped them for a moment then he was gone, tumbling after Anders into the darkness.

“Meneris! _MENERIS!_ ” screamed Dorian as Meneris’ fingers were torn from his grip. He flung himself forward in vain, watching with wide eyes as his lover tumbled down into the shimmering green energies of the rift below. There was a brief, blinding flash of the mark in Meneris’ hand, and then he was gone.

Stunned, Dorian dropped to his knees on the edge of the broken stone, his eyes wide in horror. “ _MENERIS!!!_ ” 

His scream of heartwrenching grief and anguish echoed back hollowly from the now silent courtyard.

Meneris was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

“What hit me?” Meneris moaned as he opened his eyes and immediately regretted it when he seemed to be hanging upside down over Anders and Hal. The two mages seemed to be on a surface that stood at an angle to Meneris; Anders was flat on his back, eyes closed, as Hal crouched over him, frantically trying to wake him. The young mage glanced round and then gave a fearful cry before he glanced up and saw Meneris above him.

“Quiet man, you could wake the dead with that noise.” Meneris said.

Hal began to laugh weakly, almost hysterical as he sat down suddenly next to Anders, who was stirring slowly. The blond apostate opened his eyes to see Meneris above him at an angle, and promptly rolled over on his side to vomit.

“Where the fucking fuck void are we!?” Vic yelled from where he’d landed a few feet away.

Anders glanced blearily over towards Invictus as he sat up slowly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; the Champion stood on a rocky surface at ninety degrees to the Inquisitor.

“The Void isn’t far off,” he groaned. “Try the Fade.” He tried to get to his feet then fell back with a muttered oath.

“No... no, not meant to be here,” moaned Hal. “Not like this. It’s all wrong, wrong - this isn’t - I can’t be here!”

“None of us should be here.” Meneris replied as he made his way over to Invictus so he could help him up.

Anders managed to get up to his hands and knees and started crawling towards the surface Meneris was on, Hal following hesitantly. “Maker, I think I hate this even more than the Deep Roads,” the blond apostate muttered. “I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“We’re physically in the Fade, how?” Vic asked as he pulled Anders to his feet as well. Anders staggered and clutched at the Champion, his face pale and clammy.

“I’m guessing something to do with Meneris’ mark,” Anders replied. “I vaguely remember seeing a bright flash of light before I blacked out.”

“Well, this all started when I fell out of the Fade; I guess it makes sense it could take me back there,” said Meneris as he stared down at the mark in his hand. It was quiescent, pulsing only faintly.

Hal was clutching at his head and muttering to himself. “All wrong. It shouldn’t be this way...no, _I_ shouldn’t be this way. This is impossible,” he breathed.

“Hal?” said Anders quietly, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “Hal, are you alright?”

“ _No,_ ” replied Hal, his head jerking up as a hollow tone crept into his voice. His eyes glowed bright gold as scintillating, shimmering cracks broke out across his skin, the same golden spirit energy blazing forth. “ _We are very much not alright. We should not be here._ ”

“Endrin,” said Anders quietly.

“ _I had not thought I should ever return to the Fade this way. I am... not as I was. This feels... wrong. This is not how the Fade should be; it was never like this before!_ ” The golden-eyed spirit stared back at Anders; though it wore Hal’s form, the spirit’s movements and mannerisms were very different.

“Perhaps because we are here physically and not dreaming,” said Anders as he glanced around. “This is... more like that space between the two Eluvians.”

“ _I... **we** cannot stay here,_ ” said Endrin firmly.

“Hello Endrin.” Hawke said as he came up to them.

“Endrin? The spirit of the dead Hawke that inhabits your friend?” Meneris asked.

“The very same,” said Anders as the possessed mage turned glowing golden eyes to Meneris and Hawke.

“ _Hawke. It is... good to see you again,_ ” Endrin said hollowly.

“I...hello...Hawke.” Vic said in surprise. The spirit smiled; the expression looked strange upon Hal’s face, as though he had somehow forgotten how to do it properly.

“ _I am not truly Hawke any more,_ ” it replied. “ _I am...merely Endrin now. I am as much a part of Hal as he is of me._ ” The spirit cocked its head upon one side. “ _Hal is... terrified. This is not the Fade he knows, and he has terrible memories of his previous experience of a place such as this._ ”

“I see…” Vic said slowly.

“I don’t but that’s not important right now.” Meneris said.

Anders ran a hand through his hair, looking decidedly frazzled, before he shook a finger at the spirit. “There had better be no turning into dragons, or, or other things like that, understand? Once was bad enough!”

Endrin stared at him gravely. “ _There will be no transforming into other forms,_ ” the spirit intoned solemnly.

“I’m sorry did you say changing into a dragon?” Meneris asked in shock.

“It’s a long story,” said Anders. “ _Really_ long. If we get out of this alive, I’ll tell you later. For now though, we can’t afford to hang around. It looked like there was a really huge demon on the other side of that rift Erimond was trying to open. If that’s where we are, then that thing must be in here somewhere and I’d rather find a way out before we run into it.”

“Very well, let’s head ...which way should we go, it’s the Fade.” Vic said.

“I guess one way is as good as another?” said Anders, glancing round. “Void, I wasn’t even sure which way was really up when I opened my eyes.” He pressed a hand against his stomach, looking a little queasy. “Still not entirely sure,” he muttered.

“Endrin, do you know which way could be best?” Vic asked.

The spirit glanced up, looking around slowly, then pointed. “ _There._ ”

High in the green sky, they could see the swirling form of what looked like a vortex in the clouds, if the Fade could truly be said to have such things. It flickered with energy, high up by the pinnacle of a tower, distantly visible in silhouette.

“Then let’s get going before other things find us.” Meneris muttered tiredly.

“Fenris must be losing his mind with both of us here.” Vic said. Anders nodded.

“I saw his face as I started to fall,” the blond apostate replied morosely. “I dread to think what he must be going through.” His staff struck something and he glanced down, then recoiled. “Maker, it’s a skull - what are skulls doing in the Fade? Is that thing even... _human_?”

“I heard Dorian’s screams as I fell.” Meneris said.

Anders gave the elven Inquisitor a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. That must have been a hard thing to hear. The sooner we move on, the sooner we can hopefully be back with them.”

“I touched...I had his hand but he couldn’t keep hold.” Meneris said as they went on.

“Maker,” said Anders softly. He stared at Meneris then hesitantly reached out a hand to rest it comfortingly on the elven Inquisitor’s arm for a moment before letting his hand drop as he glanced away, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t seem trite.

“We won’t get back standing around here, Endrin lead the way.” Meneris said as he set off practically on the other man’s heels.

The spirit-possessed mage walked on ahead, unconcerned with their conversation. They walked for some time, past strange bubbling pools and glittering rocks that formed strange shapes. Odd staircases led here and there, some going nowhere in particular; the spirit seemed to have some sense of the correct path.

They climbed a set of stairs, and Endrin came to a halt, staring at the figure of an old woman in white and red robes. She turned towards them, her gaze going from Anders to Invictus.

“I greet you, Warden. And also you, Champion.”

“I saw you dead, you cannot be here!” Meneris exclaimed.

“Is that... the Divine Justinia?” murmured Anders. “Or is it a spirit?”

“You think my survival impossible, and yet... here you stand alive, in the Fade,” she said, her Orlesian accent light and lilting. “In truth, proving my existence either way would take time we do not have.”

“We’re physically in the Fade? How did that happen, and why aren’t we dead?” Vic said as they stopped around what seemed to be the Divine.

She inclined her head. “I cannot answer that. But I am here to help you.” She turned to Meneris. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.” She said it as a statement.

“No...that was a problem when I awakened. Do you know what happened to me?” 

“The memories you have lost were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus,” she replied. “It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling, that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

“Andraste’s flaming arse!” swore Anders, then blushed. “Ah, sorry, that... I didn’t mean....”

The woman inclined her head as she regarded him with pale, watery blue eyes.

“We can’t let Corypheus get away with this,” said Anders. “There are good, decent men and women among the Wardens. They’ve been mislead by their leaders, but they deserve better than this! That demon is going to regret tangling with the Wardens,” he added with a growl.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden,” said the woman. “This place of darkness is its lair.”

“I’m tired of demons, and the Fade. Can you help us ..to get there?” Meneris said as he pointed at the green vortex in the sky.

Vic frowned as he looked to the sky. “Maker save us.”

“That is why I found you,” replied the woman - spirit? Divine? There was no way of telling. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it. These are your memories, Inquisitor.”

Abruptly, several ghostly green wraiths erupted into view, each glaring at them balefully.

“They will not have me or my companions.” Meneris snapped.

“Oh, bollocks,” said Anders as he unslung his staff. “Anyone want to bet that wraiths here in the Fade don’t behave like regular non-Fade wraiths?” He began to draw on his magic, the magenta-hued energies of a spirit bolt coalescing with violent fury about his hand. He blinked, startled at the sheer raw power contained in the energy. “Hawke, Endrin - use spirit attacks! They’ll do more damage!” he exclaimed as he realised how the Fade was amplifying that particular school of magic. He gestured, and the spirit bolt blasted into the nearest wraith with devastating effect.

Meneris tackled anything that came within reach, his fury making short work of the demons that attacked from everywhere at once it seemed. Anders stood back to back with Invictus, blasting at the wraiths with spirit bolts and lightning. They rapidly worked out that ice spells did very little, fire spells little more, but Force magic and Spirit-based attacks were devastatingly effective. Endrin unleashed blast after blast of raw spirit force, seemingly inexhaustible.

The wraiths were destroyed steadily, one after the other, until the last dissipated before Meneris’ blade.

“Fuck I hate the Fade, and demons and everything. FUCK!” Meneris huffed.

“Why are you doing this? You, of all people!” The Divine Justinia’s voice rang out, echoing through Meneris’ head. He heard his own voice, bewildered. “What’s going on here?”

The memory struck him hard. The Divine Justinia, held aloft by columns of scintillating crimson energy, her face contorted by pain, surrounded by Warden mages that held her prisoner by their magic as she protested their actions.

“Now, is the hour of our victory,” said a deep, baritone voice; it echoed through Meneris’ skull. He had heard that voice before. _Corypheus._ “Keep the sacrifice still.”

There he stood; the sentient darkspawn - but no; Corypheus was far more than that, wasn’t he? The creature uncurled a clawed hand, a glowing green orb of pure Fade energy flashing and crackling in his grasp.

“Someone, help me!” screamed Justinia as the actinic green energies lashed out and engulfed her.

Meneris saw himself as though from a distance as the doors were pushed open; the elf stood there, glancing round. “What’s going on here?”

The globe, falling from Corypheus’ hand. Rolling across the floor. Meneris saw himself reach out for it... and then rememberance of agonising pain through his hand, a burning beyond all agonies....

“Meneris? Meneris!” Anders had a hold of him, a look of alarm on his face.

“No...no, this can’t be what happened.” Meneris gasped as he staggered to the first rock he could sit on. Anders moved with him, keeping his hands on Meneris’ shoulders as he stared at the elf.

“It makes sense,” said Anders gently. “You’re an elf. You don’t even believe in Andraste and the Maker; why would you bear a mark from a prophetess you don’t even believe in?” He tried to smile, though his eyes were troubled. “And it would explain why Corypheus seems to have a particular hate-on for you. Your mark came from that globe.”

As Meneris stared up at him, startled, Anders nodded. “Yes, we saw it too. Corypheus’ control of the Wardens goes far back. Farther than perhaps any of us realised.”

“I never said I was blessed by Andraste, I don’t even want this damned mark!” Meneris said as he struggled to his feet. “We need to go on.”

Vic touched Anders shoulder and nodded gently to leave off it. Anders snatched his hands away and glanced to the side, his expression deeply troubled.

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City,” said Justinia. “Not for the Old Gods - but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead.”

“Can we get rid of it?” Meneris asked hopefully.

Justinia shook her head. “That, I cannot tell you,” she said; her eyes were sympathetic. “I can only tell you what it is and why Corypheus desires it so much. It is not given to me to see the future.” She turned away a little as she paced slowly. “You cannot escape the lair of the nightmare until you have regained all it took from you,” she said. “You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.” She shimmered and then vanished.

Anders stumbled over towards a rock and sat down suddenly.

“ _Something troubles you, Anders,_ ” said Endrin.

“Those were Grey Wardens in that vision,” said Anders hoarsely. “Their actions... they led to her death. He took their minds.” He glanced up at Invictus, his expression haunted. “As he did mine, once.”

“We will kill him for good this time love.” Vic said softly. 

“Yes, we will.” Meneris swore.

“Do you think that was really her? The Divine Justinia?” asked Anders softly.

“I have no idea,” shrugged Invictus. “If it was a spirit, it certainly wasn’t acting like one - no demon would have been so helpful without asking something in return.”

“ _Not all spirits are demons,_ ” said Endrin pointedly.

Anders cleared his throat. “Yes. Present company and all that,” he said. “And no matter what you might think, Justice was no demon, Hawke.” He glanced away. “At least... not in the beginning,” he added softly.

They headed on towards the spiraling green maelstrom ahead. 

A voice echoed out of the emptiness. “ _ **Ah, we have a visitor.**_ ”

They glanced at each other, readying weapons and staves as they stared into the green mists around them, on their guard.

“ _ **Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me, and left your fear where it lay, forgotten.**_ ”

Meneris glanced around, his face darkening with anger.

“ _ **You think pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is**_ me.” There was a disquieting chuckle. “ _ **But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means let me return what you have forgotten.**_ ”

They were surrounded by more wraiths. “Maker, do these bastards never give up?” groaned Invictus.

It was a short, messy fight. They took down the wraiths swiftly, though one darted in as Anders turned to cast healing on Meneris, and struck him with its ghostly hand; the mage dropped to one knee with a scream. 

Invictus turned and slashed out at the wraith with his staff then reversed it and blasted the wraith with a spirit bolt; the wraith dissipated with a thin wailing cry.

“Anders! Are you alright?” called the Champion as he turned back to the Warden. Anders was hunched over on his knees, clutching his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, just... just give me a moment,” he managed between gritted teeth. 

Meneris shook his head. “Why do they always go for the healer?” he growled. “Maker knows there are few enough of them!”

“ _Anders is a spirit healer,_ ” said Endrin. “ _Spirits are drawn to him. Likely the demon can sense this._ ”

Anders’ hand was glowing blue as he healed himself; after a moment he straightened and nodded to the others. “Thankfully the Fade seems to amplify my healing abilities,” he said tersely. “Let’s get moving.”

Invictus helped Anders to his feet as Meneris nodded and they headed off again.

“ _ **Perhaps**_ I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” Mocking laughter echoed around them as they raced up a twisting spiral staircase. “ _ **Are you afraid, Hal? Or should I say... Endrin? We are not so different, you and I....**_ ”

“ _We are nothing alike, demon,_ ” stated Endrin flatly. “ _You were never mortal._ ”

They took down more wraiths. Meneris’ wrath was growing as they dispatched every last creature the demon threw at them.

“ _ **Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it. As will Anders. You couldn’t protect him, could you? And you can’t save him. You never could. Anders is going to die. Just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.**_ ”

Invictus was aware of Anders staring at him, wild-eyed.

“Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly,” Invictus quipped, trying not to let the demon’s words rattle him.

“ _ **And Fenris, of course. He will die too, just as they all do. Perhaps he will live long enough to witness Anders dying in agony first as you both watch.**_ ”

“Stop it,” hissed Invictus. “Stop this! Show yourself, you fucking _coward!_ ”

“Of course, a fear demon would know where to hurt us most. You have to ignore it, Hawke!” hissed Meneris.

“Easier said than done,” breathed Anders. “Maker, I think I’m going to be sick....”

“I’m going to enjoy killing this thing,” said Invictus grimly.

“Throw up later, for now use your power.” Meneris hissed as he waded in to the last of the creatures and destroyed them as if they had mortally offended him by existing.

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Anders grimly as he clutched his stomach even whilst hurling lightning bolts at the wraiths. “You can’t see the images it’s trying to put into my head... Maker, get _out!_ ” He clutched at his head then directed a spirit bolt at a wraith about to strike down the Inquisitor from behind; the wraith was ripped apart by the force of the energies.

Meneris snarled as he pivoted in a perfect whirlwind attack to dispatch the last demons. “I’m going to tear that thing apart with my bare hands.”

“The nightmare is closer now,” said the Divine, her voice echoing eerily. “It knows you seek escape. With every moment, it grows stronger.”

“Then let us hurry up and get out of here.” Vic said as he held Anders up. “You alright love?”

“No,” whispered Anders as he clutched at his head. “Not alright. We have to keep going though. Maker, stop it _talking_....”

Meneris dispatched the last wraith and suddenly reeled as he heard Justinia’s voice like a bell through his head. “ _The demons!!_ ”

Climbing a staircase. Spiders scuttling after him, huge, bloated... no, not spiders.

Demons. Fear demons.

He could see it; the breach back in Haven. “That’s how we - how _I_... escaped,” Meneris said distantly as the memory replayed itself.

Justinia reaching her hand for him.

“Keep running!” Meneris urged her as he ran, hearing her panting close by him. The demons were closer; he could hear their chitinous legs scraping upon the rocks as they surged in a dark tide after them. She screamed as they clawed at her, dragging her back; he whirled to reach for her hand.

He stared into her eyes; she whispered to him, “Go.” Then she was gone, dragged back into the heaving mass of arachnid bodies that swarmed over her.

He turned and leapt through the rift....

...and staggered as he returned to awareness, staring around at the others.

“I...Creators, nothing is as I thought. We...need to hurry out of here so her taking the brunt won’t be in vain.” he whispered.

“She really _was_ the Divine,” said Anders quietly as he clung to Invictus.

“ _She died that you might live,_ ” said Endrin. “ _She is the spirit of the woman that was._ ”

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” said the spirit softly. The form of the Divine began to glow brightly, until the golden form of the spirit hovered before them.

“Come on, we need to get out of here before Fenris and Dorian kill each other, or the wardens or something.” Meneris said as he trudged on with a heavy heart.

They turned to head on upwards towards the glowing rift, but suddenly found the way blocked by chittering fear demons in the form of giant spiders.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” moaned Anders as he grasped his staff with white knuckles.

“The nightmare has found us!” exclaimed the spirit.

“Good, I could use a fight.” Invictus snapped as he let his power flow freely in a cloud of fire and lightning. “Come and get it demons.”

The voice of the nightmare laughed, the sound echoing around them as they launched themselves at the demonic spiders. 

“ _ **I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it! They are all bound through me!**_ ”

As Invictus took down the last screaming fear demon, he glanced round in time to see something far larger, far more immense rear up before them. Their minds could barely comprehend the horrors of the monstrosity that reared before them; afterwards, in nightmares, they might recall a glimpse of writhing tentacles, veiled eyes, insectile legs. Their minds seemed to skitter away from beholding the true horrific form of the nightmare however.

Anders recoiled with a bloodcurdling scream, dropping his staff as he turned his face away, covering his eyes before he retched. Endrin stared up at the demon impassively.

“Shit...I’m glad Fenris isn’t here, he’d faint dead away.” Vic said in awed disgust.

The golden form of the Divine’s spirit rose up before them. “If you would, please tell Leliana: I am sorry. I failed you too,” she called softly. She headed for the nightmare, and unleashed her power against it.

There was an explosion of brilliant golden light; they recoiled, then stared in dismay as the demon emerged to plant itself squarely before the rift and their sole chance of escape.

“One of us needs to clear a path,” said Anders desperately.

“Well, Vic,” said a voice. “Never thought I’d see you here.”

They turned to see a tall blond mage looking almost like he could be Anders’ twin, regarding Invictus with a grin. The newcomer wore Champion’s armour almost identical to that of Invictus.

“Hello, Vic,” said Arden Hawke.

“Oh fuck me..” Vic said before he staggered back into Anders’ arms.

“I’d like to, but sadly no time,” grinned the other Hawke. He glanced at the nightmare and squared his shoulders.

“Go. I’ll cover you,” he said grimly.

“No… you’ll die!” Vic and Anders called out.

Arden shrugged and gave them a sad smile. “I have nothing left to live for,” he said softly. “Go.”

“Hal! TELL HIM TO COME WITH US!” Vic yelled.

Endrin turned and regarded him dispassionately with emotionless golden eyes. “ _We must go,_ ” the spirit said flatly.

“Fucking _go_!” yelled Arden as he pushed forward suddenly, shoving Anders hard so the blond mage staggered forward then fell through the rift with a terrified scream.

Endrin grasped Meneris’ sleeve and leapt after Anders, dragging the Inquisitor with him.

Arden turned to Invictus. “Go. Fenris is dead. Maker knows what happened to Anders. No reason for us both to die,” he said quietly. “Take care of Hal. He’s better off in your world.” He grinned sadly, then suddenly punched Invictus hard in the gut.

As Invictus doubled over, breathless, he felt Arden shove him hard; and then he was falling.

There was a flash of bright green light, and then he knew no more.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repercussions.

Invictus sat up with a groan, clutching his stomach. He was still sore from Arden’s punch, his mind reeling over seeing his mirror self so unexpectedly. To meet Arden, only to know with certainty that the blond Champion must have given his life to buy them precious minutes....

He scrubbed at eyes that were suddenly stinging with tears. Arden had said his Fenris was dead, his Anders likely as good as. He wondered how Hal would handle that, once Endrin let him go again.

He glanced around, and swore. Fenris was cradling Anders in his arms, the blond apostate far too still, too pale. There was a ragged gash over his right eye and temple; the flesh torn, a faint gleam of white bone visible. The wound was bleeding steadily, the right half of his white face plastered in blood, the dishevelled blond hair streaked with it as a small trickle of blood wended its way down the side of his face from his nose. He must have struck his head hard on the broken flagstones of the ruined great hall as he tumbled from the rift.

“Maker, Anders, _no!_ ” exclaimed Nathaniel as the Grey Warden rushed past Invictus to throw himself down upon his knees next to Anders and Fenris. The elven warrior was too distraught to even snarl at Nathaniel as the Warden began to hastily hunt through his pouches for a healing kit. Invictus knew he should go to them, but he was frozen to the spot, the nightmare’s words haunting him. _Anders will die._

Zevran helped him to his feet, the Antivan’s eyes on the drama unfolding before them. “I dreamed this,” the elf said shakily.

“Not you too!” groaned Invictus.

To his right, Dorian had his arms wrapped around Meneris as the two men clung to each other; the Tevinter altus was shaking hard as he muttered “ _Amatus, mi amatus,_ ” over and over and Meneris tried to calm him.

Solas abruptly shouldered past Invictus and Zevran, reaching down to grasp Meneris’ left wrist. He yanked the elven Inquisitor to his feet, wrenching his left hand into the air, palm facing towards the rift.

“Close it, before that demon comes through!” the elf ordered. A stream of brilliant green-white energy shot out from the anchor in Meneris’ hand and the rift began to close.

“No,” said a voice behind Invictus, then louder, “No! I have to go back!” Hal tore past the Champion, flinging himself desperately towards the rift as it snapped shut. “ _NO!!_ ” he screamed, dropping to his knees where the rift had hung. “No,” he whispered, as he dropped to the cold flagstones and curled in upon himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, shivering.

“Hawke, we need help!” called Nathaniel. “This is bad - very bad.”

Invictus finally found himself able to move and threw himself down beside the small group that had gathered about Fenris as he still cradled the deathly still apostate in his arms. Anders’ head hung limp over Fenris’ arm.

“Hal... we need Hal,” said Fenris shakily. “He, he can heal him, bring him back!”

“Hal’s not going to be helping anyone,” the Iron Bull said from where he was crouched next to the red-haired mage. “He’s catatonic. Can’t rouse him.”

“There has to be a healer here somewhere!” exclaimed Meneris, glancing round at the others. “Vivienne?”

“I am sorry, Inquisitor; I am a knight enchanter. My skills do not extend to healing,” she said with an apologetic look.

“Belann?”

The Warden shook his head. “I’m sorry, Meneris. Arcane Warrior. My talents lie in taking life, not saving it.”

As the Inquisitor’s eyes fell on Solas and the elf slowly shook his head, Meneris swore. He glanced around at the few Warden mages who still survived, guarded by Inquisition forces. “And you are all blood mages,” he growled, his lip curling in a bitter sneer.

“Vic,” said Fenris. “You’re the only one here with any healing ability. You have to help him - he’s _dying!_ ”

“Maker, I can’t heal that!” Invictus exclaimed, staring down at Anders in panic. The apostate’s breathing was slow and stertorous, his chest labouring painfully.

“Hawke, you have to try - at least give Anders a fighting chance,” said Nathaniel.

Invictus swallowed hard then nodded as he reached inside himself for his meagre healing ability. He laid a hand over the ragged wound and winced as he felt broken bone shift beneath his hand. Swallowing hard, he poured his healing magic into the wound, clumsily trying to repair the damage as best he could and give Anders’ own innate healing ability a chance to work.

“Fen, I need you to deal with the pieces of broken bone,” Invictus said shakily. Fenris made a choking sound, but obediently phased his hand through the unconscious mage’s head, plucking out small fragments and shards of bloodied bone.

“I don’t know how much of the damage I can heal,” said Invictus. “I... I’ve done my best but... _he_ was the healer, not me! I can’t do this!”

“ _Is_ the healer, Hawke,” said Nathaniel firmly. “He’s not dead yet.”

Invictus concentrated on the wound and finally sat back. “That’s all I can do,” he said brokenly as he scrubbed at his face with his hands. The wound was no longer bleeding, a thin layer of pink, raw skin drawing the edges of the wound together, the scar fragile and taut.

“It’s a better chance than he had before,” said Nathaniel as he carefully set to work with the healing kit, bandaging Anders’ head gently. Anders’ breathing had evened out slowly, his chest rising and falling steadily as he lay in Fenris’ arms.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” said Cullen’s voice from behind them; Meneris turned. “I’m sorry to interrupt. We’ve secured the fortress; the remaining Wardens have all surrendered. What are your orders?”

Meneris pinched the bridge of his nose with a frown. “We need litters for Anders and Hal. They need to be taken back to camp; there’s nothing further we can do for them here. Tally up the wounded and get them back to camp as well; I need reports on all the wounded, who can walk, who will need to be carried.”

“And the Wardens?” asked Cullen quietly.

“Disarm them, put them under guard for now. Relieve the mages of their staffs, put them under templar guard. Magebane if need be, and bind their hands. I want no chance of any further blood magic. I’ll decide what to do with them later.”

“I’ll see your orders are carried out, Inquisitor,” nodded Cullen.

Anders and Hal were carried back to the camp, the former Tranquil still catatonic and unresponsive. Belann walked beside his litter, holding a limp pale hand and quietly talking to him though Hal showed no sign of even hearing him. Invictus and Fenris walked either side of Anders’ litter as Nathaniel and Loghain carefully carried the unconscious apostate.

They had won the battle, thwarted the Venatori’s plans, sealed the rift. There was little celebration in the camp that night however; there had been heavy casualties on both sides, a once-respected order cast down and dishonoured, and the inner circle were preoccupied with the fate of two of the Champion’s companions. No-one felt much like celebrating; it had been too costly a victory, and it was a long way back to Skyhold.

**

Fenris sat by Anders, clad only in a tunic and pants as he watched the apostate for some sign of coming around. He’d been unconscious during their travel and no matter what he or Invictus did roused him. He wanted to lie with Anders but the other man’s stillness unnerved him. “Come back to us...please.” he finally said as he tried to stop another round of tears.

Anders’ limp hand twitched briefly in Fenris’ grasp; at first, the elf thought he had imagined it, until the mage’s hands twitched again. His eyelids shivered and then slowly drifted half open.

“Fen?” he murmured weakly.

“Anders? Anders… please don’t let me be dreaming.” Fenris took Anders’ hand in his and was relieved to find the apostate warmer to the touch than he’d been in days. The blond apostate rolled his head slowly on the pillow, his eyes seeking out Fenris, his gaze unfocused.

“Fen? It’s really you? I’m not still dreaming?” he managed, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “Maker... my head aches. What...what happened?”

“You’re alive and awake. You’re not dreaming, neither of us.” Fenris hastily got water for his lover and held the glass to Anders’ mouth. “Here, I’ll tell while you drink this.”

Anders sipped slowly, too weak to hold the glass himself. When Fenris lowered the glass, Anders glanced down at his thin arms, his wrists as delicate as a bird’s, and frowned. “How long have I been unconscious?” he asked, voice still weak.

“Almost three weeks; we sat vigil and the healers made sure you were moved around so you would be able to use your limbs when you woke up.” Fenris realized his own hand shook as he went to refill the cup.

“You must have hit your head on the flagstones as you tumbled out of the Rift. We...we could see the bone and you were nearly gone. Vic had me, he had me help and he did what he could but it was just enough to keep you alive. Hal ...he’s gone into himself, it’s the best way to describe it.” Fenris said tiredly.

Anders weakly put a hand to his head, feeling the soft bandages. “Three weeks... that explains why I feel so weak,” he said quietly. He tried to draw on his mana and frowned as it responded weakly, sluggishly. A faint blue glow suffused his fingers as he attempted to concentrate and channel it into healing. “Hard to think straight,” he confessed. He could feel his body responding to the magic as he closed his eyes, feeling the extent of the damage, the shattered skull that had been slowly healing. He reached inside, realigning bone and accelerating the healing, gently restimulating the fragile soft tissues beneath.

He tired swiftly, even that little effort taxing his already-weakened body, and he let his hand fall away. “Too tired,” he breathed softly. “My body doesn’t have the strength to handle it much.” He opened his eyes. “Where is Hawke?”

“I made him go bathe, both of us have not...really left your side if we can help it. He should be back soon.” Fenris raised their joined hands and kissed the back of his lover’s hand. “Will lighting my brands help?”

Anders shook his head. “Not really, love,” he said tiredly. “It’s less a lack of mana, more a matter of the toll that accelerating healing takes on my body as it heals; I suspect my body just doesn’t have enough reserves to handle being taxed like that at the moment. I can feel I must have lost a lot of weight - and Maker knows I had little enough of it to spare to begin with.” He grimaced. “I should eat; I doubt you were able to get much into me whilst I was out?”

“Just enough to keep you with us. I haven’t had much either.” Fenris admitted.

“I doubt my stomach will handle much at the moment, but some broth would be good,” said Anders. “And yes, you should eat too.”

Zevran pushed the door open and glanced around, curious at hearing voices; his eyes lit up when he saw that Anders was finally awake.

“Ah, good to see you awake, my friend!” grinned the Antivan elf. “You must be hungry, no? I shall go find the kitchens and fetch food for us all. I shall also inform the good Inquisitor and the Commander that you have awoken; they will be gladdened to hear the news.” He smiled at Anders. “Many have been worried for you, my friend.”

“So I gather,” said Anders. “I’m sorry to worry you all.”

“Don’t you dare say that word.” Fenris said quietly before he turned to see Invictus in the doorway.

“Love?” Vic said before he slipped to the other side of the bed and held his hand over Anders heart, a grin on his face.

“Still alive,” Anders said with a small smile. “I don’t die that easily. Though Maker knows, my head is splitting.” He winced. “Willowbark and elfroot tea would be a really good idea I think.”

“I’ll get some for you...after I’ve had a wash up myself.” Fenris said with a grimace.

As Fenris rose and headed in search of the bathing chamber, Anders tried to push himself up against the pillows then grimaced as his arms couldn’t bear his weight. “A little help, love?” he asked Invictus.

The other mage gently lifted Anders, rearranging the pillows so that the blond apostate could sit up more easily. By the time he had done, Anders was out of breath and sweating a little.

“Thank you, love,” he said quietly.

“Welcome love, can I do anything for you?” Vic asked

Anders held a hand out to him with a soft smile. “Talk to me, love. Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Vic took his lover’s hand, curled up with Anders and filled him in on everything that had gone on in the past few weeks as well as he could. He held on to the other man gently, glad he was awake and talking.

As Invictus talked, Anders’ eyes grew heavy, the mage’s responses slower, his voice more drowsy. By the time Zevran returned with a tray laden with food, both Meneris and Cullen in tow, Anders was half asleep, Invictus gently trying to rouse him.

“Love, I’m not that boring come on wake up so you can get something to eat in you.” Vic prodded him again.

Anders managed to open his eyes with an effort. “Sorry,” he slurred sleepily. “So tired.”

“Anders, glad to see you’re back with us,” said Cullen. “We were afraid for a while we might lose you.” He glanced to the Inquisitor.

“Very glad you’re awake, I…” Meneris’ voice fell quiet as he realized he didn’t know what to say. “I dare say I’m at a loss for words.”

Anders blinked as he stared from Cullen to Meneris.

“Most men wouldn’t have survived a head injury that grave,” said Cullen quietly. “And we have no healers of your caliber here in Skyhold. Hal is... well. Little better than Tranquil, to be honest.”

Zevran set the tray down on a table he dragged over beside the bed with a hook of his foot. “Perhaps it would be best to let our good Warden eat first? He has much strength to regain after all,” suggested the Antivan.

“Yes, we can fill you in on that after you’ve had something to eat.” Vic said as he took a mug of tea from Zevran.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have reports I must attend to,” said Cullen. “I, ah, just wanted to see for myself that Anders was finally awake.”

“Don’t tell me you were actually worried about me, Cullen?” asked Anders with a wry smile. Cullen paused in the doorway as he glanced back.

“I am very glad you didn’t die, Anders,” he said quietly. “Your welfare is important to me, as is that of any member of the Inquisition. We look after our own.” He turned and left, leaving Anders with a thoughtful look.

Fenris passed Cullen on the way but said nothing at the other man’s expression. He slipped into the room, snagged a mug and thick slice of warm bread before he took a corner of the bed where he could see his lovers.

“I am glad you are still with us, I’ll get out of your way gentlemen. If you are up to it later, I would like it if you came to my rooms for dinner.” Meneris gave them a bow and headed off to the war room.

Zevran perched on the edge of the bed and held a bowl of thick broth for Anders. The blond apostate attempted to feed himself, but when his hand began to tremble after the third or fourth spoonful, the elf gently took the spoon and fed him.

When the broth was gone, Anders rested back against the pillows with a look of faint frustration. “I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to walk to Meneris’ rooms,” he confessed.

“We’ll help you love.” Fenris said lightly. He felt better after a hot bath and food.

“You need to get up and about and more food in you. It will be good to get out of these rooms.” Vic added.

Anders nodded, closing his eyes. “So tired,” he whispered.

“Nap for a bit, we’ll wake you in time to get cleaned up and head out of the rooms.” Vic said.

Fenris stretched out next to Anders finally and closed his eyes for a nap alongside his lover. The last three weeks had been hard on the elven warrior; with his mage finally awake he let his own exhaustion take over.

Just as Fenris was on the verge of drifting off, he felt something land on the bed then prowl around him. Small paws patted at his leg, and then he felt the weight of a cat on his abdomen. The feline stalked over Fenris’ body before launching itself from his chest to sprawl across Anders, its paws draped upon the sleeping mage’s shoulder as it nuzzled his jaw, purring softly.

“Damn beast… I am not a walkway.” Fenris griped with each press of tiny paws across his body. “That beast is remarkably heavy for such a small thing.”

Anders shifted slightly in his sleep, one pale hand drifting up to rest upon the ginger tabby. It settled down, purring louder.

“Let them sleep, I am restless enough for everyone else.” Vic said as he kissed both men on the forehead and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a while, I need some air.”

***

When Anders awoke later, though he was still weak, he felt more himself. As he stirred, the cat booped noses with him then headbutted his chin with a small chirrup. It was the sound of his quiet laugh that woke Fenris, the elf sitting up sleepily.

“What...hmm?” Fenris asked as he sat up and found the cat had stretched out towards him, eager for more petting.

“What time is it?” asked Anders as he attempted to stretch. The cat jumped down off his chest to perch on Fenris, one paw batting at the elf’s hand for attention. In the nearly two months they’d been away, the cat had filled out more; evidently someone had been spoiling it in Anders’ absence. It miowed at him imperiously and Anders laughed.

“Fine, I’ll pet you.” Fenris idly scratched the cat behind it’s ears as he tried to wake up. “I don’t know, I apparently fell deep into sleep with you.”

“Evidently you needed it then,” said Anders. He glanced around, wondering where Invictus and Zevran had gone.

“I could sleep more, didn’t rest well while you were still...out of it.” Fenris said as he stretched out again and chuckled as the damn cat followed him in the search for attention. “Cats are vermin in Tevinter.”

“Hey, traitor!” Anders said to the cat, pouting. It lifted its head and stared at him, then bounced back over to curl up on his lap, purring softly as he stroked it gently. He chuckled quietly. “I don’t really mind,” he confessed. “Maker, but I’ve missed having a cat. And sleeping in a real bed,” he added.

“Could you not walk on me, beast.” Fenris groused as he laid there and stared at the ceiling. “I’m glad you’re alive. I thought...we’d lose you.”

Anders reached out a hand to hold Fenris’ fingers. His grip was still weak, but his hand was steadier.

“Fuck, I thought I was done crying when you woke up earlier.” Fenris sniffed.

“Love?” said Anders, worried; he tried to tug the elf towards him. “Fen?”

“Sorry...don’t call me Fen, I hate that.” Fenris sniffed and tried to hide his face against the covers. “You waking up, knowing you’re going to be alright...it’s been hard while you were out of it. I might have had a bit of a breakdown when we got back to Skyhold. Zev had...he oh you’re alive, you’re alive…” Fenris lost his composure as the slight hold he’d had on his emotions shattered.

“I’m sorry,” said Anders, abashed. “I didn’t know you didn’t like it. I’ll try to remember.” He tugged at Fenris’ hand again, trying to coax the elf to him. “I’m alive, love. I’m going to be OK. It’ll take me a while to regain my strength again, but I’ll be fine in time.” He tilted his head a little to one side. “What were you going to say about Zevran?”

“He had to put me down a couple of times. I kept dreaming that I’d woken up to find you dead in my arms, or Invictus’. Nothing would calm me so he’d put me to sleep. I’m sorry, I should tell you this. Just keep hold of me, please?” Fenris said as he curled next to Anders and rested his arm across his mage’s chest.

Anders curled his arm about Fenris’ shoulders. He was at a loss as to what to say, unable to do more to comfort the elf than simply holding him. “I’m... I’m here, love. I’m alive. I’m not going to die,” he said softly. “You... you’re not going to lose me, love, I swear.”

“Sorry, I’m being stupid. I guess it’s gotten to me now that you’re awake and back with us.” Fenris gave him a weak smile as he got as close to Anders as he could without smothering his mage. Anders rested his head against Fenris’ white hair and closed his eyes.

“Sometimes we don’t realise how afraid we are of something until the danger is past,” he said gently. “It may sink in at some point that I nearly died, and then I imagine I probably won’t react much better for a little while. I can only barely begin to imagine how you and Hawke must have felt, watching me, not knowing if I’d ever wake again.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the soft hair.

There was a knock at the door. Anders lifted his head. “I wonder who that is?” he mused. “Hawke or Zevran wouldn’t knock.”

The knock was repeated.

“Go away.” Fenris yelled at the door.

“I’d appreciate a hand here,” Dorian’s voice came muffled through the door. “I have a gift here for our good Warden, only my arms are rather full.”

Anders glanced at Fenris. “A gift?” he said, surprised.

Fenris glared at the door for a moment before he took his time to wash his face and brush some of the fur off him. He opened the door and stared at the Altus at their door.

“Sorry to disturb you both,” said Dorian smoothly as he side-stepped Fenris and entered the room. His arms were full of fabric; Fenris thought he spotted something that looked like black feathers.

“What did you bring and why did you come yourself? There’s plenty of servants here for this sort of thing Pavus.” Fenris said.

Dorian shrugged as he laid the bundle of clothing on the end of the bed. “Some things I prefer to do myself,” he replied diffidently. “And a gift should _always_ be given in person; wouldn’t you agree?” He bestowed one of his dazzling smiles on Anders, who blinked at him.

“Your Warden uniform would be far too loose on you at the moment, and in any case I thought perhaps you’d appreciate something a little less... _formal_ whilst in Skyhold, certainly while you are recovering, at any rate,” the Altus went on, gesturing at the clothing. “I took the liberty of commissioning a few outfits for you. Nothing too ostentatious,” he added with a glance at Fenris from below lowered brows before turning back to Anders. “Vivienne chose the fabrics, I ... advised on the cut and some of the embellishments. I didn’t think you’d appreciate the latest Circle fashions from Orlais.” He smiled again.

“You’d be right,” said Anders faintly. “I’m not a Circle mage, nor do I ever intend to become one again.”

“Quite right too,” agreed Dorian as he lifted up a dark blue tunic in the Tevinter style with a high, wide collar, the shoulders adorned with black feathers that flared out almost like raven’s wings. “I believe you mentioned a desire for feathers? I do hope this is perhaps what you had in mind?”

Anders blinked. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that’s ... how did you know?”

“Varric may have slipped me the odd hint,” Dorian smiled. “There’s an undershirt in a pale blue, and the pants are dark grey - thought they’d make a nice ensemble and set off your eyes,” he went on. “You have the most remarkable eyes; very striking, did anyone ever tell you that?” He turned back to the pile of clothing, unaware of the spots of pink that flushed Anders’ cheeks slightly.

“N-no, I don’t believe they ever have,” the blond apostate said faintly.

“Well, they should,” shrugged Dorian. “There’s a couple of other tunics here and a warmer jacket for the evenings; Maker knows we can’t have you catching a chill whilst you’re still recovering, and with so little weight on you, you’ll....”

Dorian’s words tailed away as he felt a surge of power behind him and the room lit up with brilliant white light.

“Oh dear,” he said quietly. “Have I overstepped my mark here?”

“Fenris,” said Anders quietly, his eyes fixed on the angry elf. “Fenris, they’re just gifts. Love?”

“He wants to make you look like a damned magister,” spat Fenris.

Dorian frowned as he turned to stare at Fenris. “I am doing no such thing,” he said quietly. “I am _trying_ to endeavour that Anders has a suitable wardrobe that doesn’t remind him of that damned fortress every time he looks in a mirror; I would have thought you would appreciate that?” He leaned closer; he and the elf were both the same height, their eyes on the same level. Dorian’s eyes were a steady, steel grey. “Do you honestly think the cut of a man’s garb is all that’s needed to make a man a magister, Fenris? In which case you’re more of a damned fool than I thought. Anders is no magister, and no-one with eyes to see could ever mistake him for one.” He stepped back and glanced to Anders.

“My apologies if I have caused any awkwardness, Anders,” he said with a stiff bow. “I do hope you will be well enough to join us in Meneris’ quarters later.” He turned towards the door, favouring Fenris with an icy look before he stalked out.

“Fenris... he was only trying to be nice,” said Anders softly.

The elven warrior didn’t hear Anders, he stared at the door as he debated how long it would take to catch him and make him eat his words.

“Fenris. Please love. Don’t,” said Anders as he stared at the elf. He threw back the coverlet and swung a leg to the floor.

“Don’t try to get up, you couldn’t even feed yourself earlier.” Fenris replied as he turned around. “Seemed like he wanted more than to be nice, with the custom clothes and compliments.” he snapped.

Anders stared at Fenris, shocked. “Fenris. You’re jealous,” he said softly.

“Of that peacock! Hardly, he already had a round with Invictus, now it seems he wants to covet you as well. He could have sent a servant and not try to dress you like one of his countrymen. I don’t need you _looking_ like a damned Tevinter mage. I’m not foolish enough to think dressing as one makes you a magister, despite what he said.” Fenris snarled as he started to pace between the bed and the door.

Anders reached for the tunic, his fingers slowly stroking the soft black feathers. “Covet me? Am I then an object to be fought over?” he asked softly, not looking up from the feathers as he pulled his fingers slowly through them. “Do I have no agency in this at all?”

“I didn’t say that and you know it.” Fenris snarled. “Fine, do as you wish Anders since I’m just being jealous.”

Anders flinched at Fenris’ words and slowly hunched in upon himself, fingers curling into the feathers as he held still.

Fenris stopped his angry pacing when he turned and saw how still the other man had gone. “What did I do now?” he approached as Anders seemed to turn further in on himself at his tone. “I’m sorry, what is it?’

Anders swallowed hard, wishing he could be anywhere but there at this moment. If he thought his legs would have born him and not given way the moment he stood, he would have fled.

“You’re angry with me,” he said softly.

“I’m angry at Pavus. You hurt me by calling me jealous,he insulted me and I’m still a wreck from you nearly dying in my arms. I am not angry at you Anders.” Fenris crossed his arms as if to protect himself as he waited for Anders to respond.

“You’re angry at him but it’s me you’re taking it out on,” said Anders softly. He stared down at the feathers, then closed his eyes. “I think... I would like to be alone. Please.” He wrapped his arms around himself as he lowered his head. “I...I can’t handle it when you’re like this. Not right now.”

Fenris made a choked noise as he stared at Anders. “But…”

Anders clutched at his head as it began to throb again, one hand pressed over the healing scar. “I’m not strong enough for this yet,” he whispered. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Do you really want me to go? Please don’t send me away, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll just sit here with you and be quiet, please don’t make me go.” Fenris begged.

Anders shook his head, biting back a whimper as it made the pain pulse stronger. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to go. I just can’t handle your anger right now, love; I’m just... I can’t.”

He lifted his head and looked up at Fenris, his eyes dark with pain. “Please hold me, love,” he begged quietly.

“Of course.” Fenris crawled back into bed with his lover and held him close while he apologized over and over to Anders.

Anders rested his head on Fenris’ chest, his eyes closed. Invictus found them there like that a short while afterwards, Anders still clutching the tunic to his chest, lightly drowsing in Fenris’ arms.

The elven fighter hadn’t slept at all, instead he’d been staring off towards the wall as Anders slept. He glanced up when Vic entered but remained quiet as not to wake his lover.

Anders stirred slightly as he heard the door open, his eyes drifting half open. “Vic?” he slurred softly.

“Yeah, don’t get up if you’re resting love. I daresay Fenris could use a break in case his arm has fallen asleep.” Vic said with a raised eyebrow at the their elven lover. Something had happened but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Where did those clothes come from anyway?”

“Gift from Dorian,” Anders mumbled as he slowly stretched then turned his head slightly to look at Invictus. “Varric told him I like feathers.”

“I see, well I came to see if you felt like a bath and then I’ll help you to dinner at the Inquisitor’s quarters.” Vic said as he watched Fenris get up slowly, a grimace at how he had to shake his limbs to get the feeling back in them.

“A bath sounds good,” Anders nodded. He sat up slowly, setting the tunic aside as he swung his legs down from the bed. Without thinking, he pushed himself to standing, then let out a startled cry as his thin legs gave way beneath him.

Vic scrambled over to catch him before he could crack his head open again. “Easy love, you’re not quite up to walking on your own. Alright there?”

Fenris had jumped at the sound of Anders cry, tripping himself up in the process. “Venhedis.”

Anders clutched at Invictus’ arms, breathing hard. “I hadn’t realised just how weak I am,” he admitted. “Maker, I can’t even stand properly. How on earth am I supposed to make it to the Inquisitor’s rooms?”

“I’ll help you there, but first a bath alright love?” Vic said as he looked over to see Fenris getting up and giving them an embarrassed look.

“I’ll...I need air. I’ll see you later.” Fenris left before he lost his composure again and upset Anders further. Anders watched him go, and gave a soft sigh, then nodded.

“Yes; I’ll probably feel more myself after a bath,” he agreed.

“Maybe you can tell me what happened while I get you cleaned up.” Vic got them to the bathing chamber and helped Anders sit against the wall while he got the pump going. “Let me guess, it’s about those gifts from Pavus?”

Anders nodded. “Dorian brought me some new clothes, and Fenris took offence over it. Accused Dorian of trying to turn me into a magister. And then he... he took it out on me a bit afterwards, because he was so angry.” He started to unwind the bandage about his head. “I just couldn’t handle it,” he said quietly.

“Took it out on you...how?” Vic asked his voice gone flat.

“He ranted at me. He... didn’t like the way Dorian had behaved, suggested he... coveted me, and I pointed out I’m not an object to be argued over. I suggested he was jealous and...” Anders covered his face with one hand. “He got even more angry. And I know it was really Dorian he was angry at, but I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for his anger love, you tell me that remember. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll talk to Fenris later if he comes back to the room. When he gets like this he might just hide from us for a while.” Vic said as he warmed the bucket of water and held it up.

“Let me rinse you off first, close your eyes.” Vic said quietly. Anders finished tugging the bandage free, wadding it up in his hands before he set it aside and nodded, closing his eyes.

He tilted his head back a little as Invictus carefully poured the water over him, enjoying the warmth of the water running through his hair. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly. “The scar.”

“Pretty bad, not sure if you can do anything with it at this point. I’ll get a looking glass once you’re done bathing.” Vic said with a slight frown

Anders gave him a worried look. “That bad?” he said quietly. “I’m... not sure I want to see it yet.”

The Champion lifted Anders up gently and laid him in the tub, inwardly a little horrified at how thin and light the blond apostate was. Anders groaned with pleasure as he sank into the hot water.

“Oh, that feels good,” he groaned.

“I hope you’re hungry, you need to put some meat back on you love.” Vic said quietly as he washed Anders quickly as he could before his own feelings could overwhelm him. Anders only hummed agreement, his eyes closed as Invictus carefully washed his hair. Once it was done, Anders opened his eyes and smiled.

“Skyhold’s not really home, but Maker it’s a damned sight nicer than a tent in a desert,” he remarked.

“Yeah, I’d rather we were on our way to Nevarra as planned. I’m not a fan of this place to be honest. It’s bringing out the worst in some of us. I know Fenris upset you, but I’m really worried about his state of mind while we remain here. He’s asked more than once to leave.” Vic said as he gently towel dried his lover’s hair.

“Still set on Nevarra then?” said Anders as he sat up. “I was thinking... Vic, when the Inquisition has done... well, whatever it’s meant to do - dealt with Corypheus and all the rest of it - could we... go to Ferelden? For a little while?” He glanced up at Invictus, a faintly troubled look in his eyes. “There’s... someone I want to look for.”

“I suppose but are you sure about that? I mean...why there?” Vic replied in confusion.

Anders twisted his fingers together under the water. “Because that’s where I lived before they took me away to the Circle,” he said quietly.

“Alright...but who could you possibly look for in Ferelden?” Vic asked.

“My mother,” said Anders very softly. “I lost her pillow; the last thing I had of her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. But... I want to look for her,” he said as he glanced up. “I never had the chance - not during any of my escapes; and then I was with the Wardens and wasn’t free to look. And then Justice ... and Karl was sent to Kirkwall....” He lowered his eyes. “I just want to find out what happened to her,” he finished quietly. “I dreamed of her, before I woke.”

Vic nodded, throat tight as he reached for a towel. “Of course..let’s get you dried off yeah?”

WIth the Champion’s help, Anders was able to step out of the tub, though his legs were trembling and he was glad to sit down again. Once he was dry, Invictus carried him into the bedroom where Invictus helped him to dress.

Anders stroked the black feathers adorning his shoulders as Invictus bent to help him put on his boots then laced them firmly. When he stepped back, Invictus had to admit to himself that the cut of the tunic suited Anders. The wide collar allowed Anders’ loose hair to tumble down about his face; it was similar in style to the collar on his old feathered coat. And blue was definitely Anders’ colour.

Anders brushed his fingers over the scar over his right eye, then finger combed his hair to the side to hide it. He glanced up at Invictus. “I think I’m ready,” he said.

Vic wrapped his arm around Anders waist and kissed his cheek. “Blue looks good on you and the feathers are definitely a plus.”

“I feel a little more me with them,” Anders confided with a small smile. “Silly, I know.”

“Not silly at all, come one let’s go love I’m starved.” Vic kissed him again before heading to see Meneris.

Anders clutched tightly as they headed off down the halls, leaning heavily into Invictus’ support; even then, the Champion had to sweep him up into his arms when Anders’ trembling legs threatened to give way again.

“This is embarrassing,” muttered Anders as Invictus carried him through the halls. He rested his head on the Champion’s shoulder, closing his eyes until Invictus paused before Meneris’ door. He glanced round, then lifted a hand to knock on the door.

It was Dorian who answered; he blinked at the sight of Anders being carried, then gave a charming smile. “Do come in,” he said, stepping to the side with a wave of his hand.

Vic set Anders down so he could seat himself rather than being coddled in front of the others. “Alright then love?”

Anders clutched at the arms of the chair then sank down into it gratefully as he nodded. “Yes, I’m fine,” he nodded. “Thank you, love.”

“I’m glad to see the clothes fit,” said Dorian as he made his way over to them. “The cut suits you.”

“He wears it well that’s for certain.” Vic said as he poured drinks for himself and Anders. Anders took his glass, cradling it with both hands as he coloured slightly over their compliments.

“Varric was right about the feathers,” said Dorian as he folded his arms. “He’ll be glad to see you up again.” He glanced to Meneris. “I believe Iron Bull will not be joining us; he is preoccupied with young Hal. But the Wardens should be here shortly, as will Leliana and Josephine. I do hope Cullen can pull himself away from reports for one evening.”

“I told him that he had to be here Dorian.” Meneris sipped his wine and glanced at his guests. “You seem to be missing Zevran and Fenris.”

Anders glanced at Invictus. “I haven’t seen Zevran since he brought us food earlier,” said Anders with a small frown. “Fenris....” He glanced away.

“Sorry I’m late, Inquisitor,” said Cullen as he was let in by a guard. “I was dealing with paperwork regarding the former Hero of Ferelden; she’s giving me quite the headache right now.” He glanced at the blond apostate and smiled tentatively. “Good to see you up, Anders. Not overtaxing yourself I hope?”

Anders contented himself with taking a sip of wine as he regarded the former templar over the rim of his glass. He was rewarded by Cullen’s sudden blush as the Commander rubbed the back of his neck, discomforted.

“Ah, yes. No coddling,” he reminded himself. “Sorry.”  
“It’s fine Cullen, I’d rather have a nice relaxing dinner with ….friends if I may be so familiar with those gathered?” Vic said as he took Anders’ hand in his.

“I do hope Fenris will join us, he seemed to be in better spirits with you awake.” Meneris said with a glance to his lover. For all of Dorian’s ability to deflect he’d gotten the truth from him, and he wasn’t happy over the loss of trust when things were getting harder.

They all glanced round at the unexpected sound of the door to the balcony opening; Cullen reached for his sword then relaxed when Zevran strode in, unconcerned. The Antivan glanced around and smiled.

“Friend Anders, I am glad to see you up - and in such finery too!”

Anders couldn’t quite hide a small smile.

“What’s this? Blondie up and about? Glad to hear it,” said Varric as he came to join them, the Ambassador and the spymaster just behind him. “Hey, you took my advice about the feathers, Sparkler!”

“I would not have thought of them myself but they do add a certain something to the whole effect,” said Dorian as he helped himself to a glass of wine.

“Told you love.” Vic said smugly as he had more wine.

“I’m glad you’re here, I hope you’re hungry. I had the cooks prepare something hearty for us.” Meneris smiled as he sat with Dorian and took his hand under the table. Anders nodded.

“I have a lot of meals to make up,” he agreed. The others took seats at the table.

“Where is Fenris?” asked Zevran. “Is he not joining us?”

“I doubt it, he...was not feeling well earlier.” Vic replied. Zevran frowned, a worried look crossing his fine aquiline features.

“I do hope it is nothing serious,” he said. “I shall go seek him afterwards.”

Invictus was spared any further explanations by the arrival of the Wardens.

“Anders!” said Nathaniel with a broad smile. “Maker, man, you do know how to frighten the life out of people. I swear I have more grey hairs now than I did a month ago!”

“Glad to see you on your feet again, Anders,” said Loghain with a nod as Belann gave him a friendly smile.

“Maker, this is... is everyone going to do this?” muttered Anders as he hid his face with one hand, blushing.

“Yes, because we care for you love.” Vic gave him another kiss on the cheek before he reached for a plate and began to fill it.

The conversation at the table was convivial, Leliana sharing a story of some foolish noble who’d gotten himself into trouble of an embarrassing sort whilst Josephine shared the latest gossip heard from Orlais. Cullen interjected occasionally with remarks on the latest crop of recruits.

“Another group of mages arrived this morning, half of them only apprentices,” he remarked. “We really need to sort out some sort of Circle system or something for them. Not with Templar guards or anything like that,” he added hastily as he glanced at Anders. “But the apprentices do need training and guidance; they can’t be left to their own devices. One lad nearly set the barn on fire this morning.”

“Perhaps Anders could help with that?” Meneris asked as their plates were cleared and dessert brought in.

“Perhaps,” said Anders noncommittally. “I don’t think I’d have the strength to handle apprentices just yet, but maybe when I’m more recovered.”

“We have received invitations to the Ball at the Winter Palace in halamshiral, Inquisitor,” said Josephine smoothly, drawing attention away from the blond apostate. “We should discuss our response. We have uncovered interesting intelligence, and the Inquisition should be there.”

“Good luck, the Game is something terrible to behold and nothing I ever want to try my luck at.” Vic murmured.

“I’ve heard reports of a dragon sighted to the north of us; the Bull has indicated a wish to go hunt it and asked if you would join him, Inquisitor,” remarked Cullen.

“Perhaps, I’ve had quite enough excitement for a while but their scales and bones do make good armor.” Meneris pondered.

Anders had just taken a sip of wine but suddenly choked, coughing as it went down the wrong way. “Y-you... you hunt-” He tried to catch his breath.

Vic passed him water instead. “Alright there?”

“Yes, we hunt dragons. Bull is particularly proficient in taking them down.” Meneris replied.

“Maybe he should bring Hal along; perhaps that will help bring the poor boy out of his fugue state,” said Leliana softly. “Did you see his face when we saw the dragon at Adamant? He seemed... enamoured of the beast.”

“What exactly is wrong with Hal?” asked Anders when he could finally draw breath.

“Ah, that is a good question,” said Zevran quietly. “He has withdrawn into himself. After the Inquisitor closed the rift at Adamant, we were rather preoccupied with your injury, Anders; it took us some time to realise that Hal had collapsed and was unresponsive.”

“He was catatonic until about a week out from Skyhold,” said Cullen. “And then he acted for all the world as though he were Tranquil again. Solas assures me he’s not, but couldn’t be any more helpful than that. Bull seems to have taken him under his wing though - I have no idea why. Hal spends the nights with him, and generally tags around after him during the day. Won’t speak, barely eats.” The former Templar shook his head. “The man’s barely alive at all really.”

“Maybe we could see him, let him know he’s not alone? I don’t think seeing Fenris would help since Arden informed me that his version of our warrior didn’t make it.” Vic fell silent as he wondered how he’d fall to pieces without his lover.

“What?!” exclaimed Anders as he stared at Invictus; belatedly the Champion remembered that Arden had pushed Anders through the rift and Endrin had dragged Meneris through after him. He and Arden had been alone when the other Hawke confided in him that both his lovers were likely dead.

“Yeah… it’s part of why he was so insistent on making sure we made it through. He wanted us to get the chance he didn’t get. I haven’t told Fenris that.” Vic looked up and gave a wan smile. “He’s resourceful, maybe he made it back. I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Belann was staring at Invictus with a strange expression on his face. “Arden Hawke is dead?” he said softly. “I am sorry. He was a brave man, and though I did not know him long, he was a man of honour. I am grieved to learn of his sacrifice, though it... fits what I knew of the man.” The Warden stared down at his wine glass before refilling it. He lifted the glass aloft. “To Arden Hawke, a man worthy of the name Champion,” he said.

The others raised their glasses, echoing, “To Arden Hawke.”

Anders took a sip from his glass then set it down, lowering his head to one hand. “I’m sorry... I’m very tired,” he said apologetically. “Hawke....”

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t want to ruin things.” Vic said softly.

Belann pushed his chair back. “I apologise, Inquisitor, I... I find myself at a loss. Please excuse me,” he said as he got to his feet, his high tenor softening and wavering slightly. He turned towards Cullen. “Commander, if I may... where may I find your chantry here?”

“Ah, hang on,” said Cullen as he got to his feet. “Inquisitor, it’s probably faster if I show the Warden. Please excuse us.”

“I’m sorry Meneris, I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.” Vic said as he offered Anders his arm. “Do you need to leave?”

“It’s fine Invictus, take care of Anders would you?” Meneris replied, his gaze sad as he watched the blond warden struggle to his feet even with Vic’s help.

Nathaniel stared at Anders and Invictus as the Champion scooped the blond apostate up into his arms. “Do you need a hand, Hawke?” he asked softly.

“No but if Anders would like your company I would not object to it.” Vic replied.

Anders glanced back, his eyes seeking out Nathaniel; wordlessly, he nodded, then turned back to rest his head on the Champion’s shoulder.

“Please excuse me,” said Nathaniel as he rose from his seat. He hurried to hold open the door for the Champion as Invictus carried Anders carefully from the room, then he walked alongside Invictus.

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Vic said quietly as they walked. Anders shook his head.

“No. I... I’m glad I know, though... Maker. I wonder. Vic, whenever Justice took me over, I was still mostly aware of what was going on, even though I couldn’t do anything about it. I think... maybe Hal knows. Maybe that’s why he’s withdrawn from everyone. Maybe he knows Fenris is dead - and he can’t go back.”

Nathaniel pulled open the door of their suite, holding it open for Invictus before moving to the bed to fold back the down comforter. “Lay him down, I’ll get his boots off,” he suggested.

Vic did as he was asked and once Anders was comfortable and under the covers, Vic stepped behind a screen to get into a tunic and soft leather pants that he preferred. “Care for a drink Howe?”

“Maker, yes,” sighed the Warden as he leaned over Anders and gently brushed the hair out of the apostate’s eyes. He dropped his gaze to meet that of Anders.

“You should sleep,” he told him softly.

“Nate... don’t go,” Anders said quietly. Nathaniel smiled gently as he stroked Anders’ hair again.

“I’ll be right here,” he promised. “You’re exhausted. You should try to sleep.”

Anders stared up at him, then slowly nodded. He turned his face away, eyes closing; as Nathaniel continued to stroke his hair, Anders slowly drifted to sleep.

The Warden straightened to find Invictus staring at him, holding two glasses.

“Sorry,” said Nathaniel as he straightened. “I’ve... seen him like this before. After we lost a group of young recruits one time, he took it pretty bad. He takes a lot of things to heart.”

“Believe me, I know.” Vic said as he offered Nate a drink and settled in at the table. “You were close then in the wardens?”

Nathaniel sighed heavily as he dropped into a seat and accepted the drink with a nod. “Very close,” he agreed. “We... were bed partners a few times. Did he ever tell you?” He studied Invictus’ face. “Ah, no. He wouldn’t have,” he mused as he stared into his wine. “Anders was very free with his affections back then. He was in Solona’s bed as often as mine.” He took a sip then sat back, his gaze distant. “Solona. She.... I can’t believe the woman in that prison cell is the same woman who led us against the darkspawn,” he said slowly, shaking his head.

“Or that she’s my cousin and I’m related to such a vile person.” Vic said as he sipped his drink. “No, he never told me.”

“Ah,” said Nathaniel. There was a world of meaning in that single syllable. There was silence for a moment. “No reason he should, really,” said Nathaniel quietly. “After all, it was a long time ago. But... yes. We were close, for a time.” He looked wistful as he took a swallow of wine. “You’re a lucky man, Hawke,” he said after a moment. “If I couldn’t see clearly how much he loves you and Fenris....” He sighed.

“Do go on warden.” Vic said without heat. He didn’t think Nate would try to lure Anders back to his bed, nor did he have room to talk about anyone’s dalliances even if he had.

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and sighed as he glanced over to Anders, sleeping peacefully. “There’s nothing to say,” he said with a shrug. “I know Anders would never stray. He’s not the man he was in the Wardens. I shan’t deny I still... think about him. A lot. But he has you and Fenris; he doesn’t need me.” He glanced back at Invictus. “He doesn’t need me - at least, not like that. But he does need friends, and I know him well. I know the things that give him nightmares; they’re the same ones that keep me up at night.”

“I see, well I can’t say anything if he did want to rekindle something with you. Fenris would be another matter however. I can’t understand what he went through or what haunts him as a warden so it is good he’s found you again.” Vic said as he pondered his drink.

“We thought him dead,” said Nathaniel quietly. “There was a burned body dressed in his robes, an arrow through the throat. And then later, this wild story after I got back from patrol about templars ripped apart, some pieces found with toothmarks, and Justice was gone. It took me a long time to put the pieces together, and by then there was no chance I could have tracked him down. And perhaps that’s for the best; Anders evidently didn’t want to be found.” He shook his head sadly. “But I am so glad he lives. I could never bring myself to believe he was truly gone. He had so much _life_ in him. Always did.”

The ginger tabby bounded over and twined itself around Invictus’ feet then leapt up onto Nathaniel’s knee, and the Warden chuckled. “Just like Pounce,” he smiled. “Always knew he’d find himself another cat. Anders without a cat just wouldn’t be right.”

“Thank Cullen for this little beast joining us. I could do without fur in my mouth when I wake up.” Vic said as he watched Nate give the needy little thing a tummy rub.

“Cullen? What’s the Commander got to do with cats?” asked Nathaniel, then chuckled as the cat wriggled on his lap, inviting him to tickle its tummy. “Oh no, wee beastie,” he chided the cat. “You’re going to get me with those claws, aren’t you?” He flicked its ear and the cat shook its head, watching his fingers before pouncing; Nathaniel laughed.

“He gave one to Anders so he could withstand being put in a cell for a while.” Vic said before he yawned. “Apologies, I think the wine just hit me.”

“Cullen put Anders in a cell?” exclaimed Nathaniel. “Maker. I remember how he used to be if we were in the Deep Roads too long.” He glanced at Invictus. “You know he’s claustrophobic, yes?”

“Yes, but that’s behind us and if you’d keep it down so he isn’t woken up I’d appreciate it.” Vic finished his drink and rose in a blatant hint for Nate to leave.

Nathaniel rose to his feet. “You’re a lucky man, Hawke,” he said quietly. “You have the love of a good man. Be sure you treat him well.” He gave Hawke a wistful smile. “Goodnight, Hawke,” he said as he nodded to the other man. He set down his empty glass and headed towards the door. He glanced back at the sleeping Anders. “Goodnight,” he repeated, then left, pulling the door closed quietly behind him.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris discovers Belann Amell's secret.

Fenris had found a spot to hide out in, well away from the others. He didn’t want to face his lovers, not when he was still off-kilter and ready to take someone’s head off. It had been two and a half days since he’d left their rooms. If not for a desire for a hot meal, and a long soak he would have remained hidden. After he made his way to the courtyard, he hurried inside towards their quarters in the hope it would be empty.

He found Anders deeply asleep; various books scattered around him upon the bed suggested the blond apostate had been overcome by exhaustion in the midst of some research.

He didn’t notice Hal at first. The young man sat in a chair in the corner of the room, silent and unmoving, staring ahead like some strange statue.

Fenris jumped slightly when he did notice Hal there, the way he seemed to just not pay attention to anything. “Hal?” he queried softly.

The young mage turned his head slightly to one side, not looking quite at Fenris, his eyes still blank as he remained silent.

“Hal? Please say something, this is unnerving,” the elf said as he approached and crouched down in front of the young mage. Hal’s eyes seemed almost to follow his movements; as the elf crouched down before him, Hal seemed to gaze through him, his expression blank - almost mask-like.

“This is frightening me Hal, please say something!” Fenris said as he tried to not panic at how hollow the other man’s gaze was on him.

“What would you have me say?” Hal asked, his voice colourless, as lifeless as the eyes that gazed through Fenris.

“Hal, you sound Tranquil; please don’t do this. Don’t talk like that!” Fenris pleaded as he resisted the urge to shake the red-head to get a reaction out of him.

“I’m sorry,” Hal said mechanically, his eyes slowly focusing on the elven warrior. “How would you prefer me to talk?” He laced his slender white fingers together and rested his hands listlessly in his lap as he tilted his head slightly to one side. His golden eyes were dull and lifeless as they regarded Fenris emotionlessly.

No.... not quite emotionless. Fenris had at first thought so, but as he stared up at Hal he realised that what he saw was not the absence of emotion but instead a deep, soul-wearying sadness and hopelessness.

“Speak _normally_. Please, tell me what’s wrong, Hal. Something has shocked you terribly; what is it? This worries me, this turning in on yourself. I’ve done it far too many times and it’s...I know how it doesn’t feel,” Fenris said as he stared into his friend’s eyes.

“You speak with his voice and you have his eyes, but you’re not him,” said Hal distantly, lifting one hand to brush a lock of white hair out of Fenris’ eyes. “Are you, then, a demon sent to haunt me? To remind me of how I failed him?” Hal’s voice remained soft, quiet, hopeless. “It won’t work. I won’t let you in.”

Fenris stumbled backwards from Hal’s words. “I’m not a demon, I’m the Fenris that belongs here. Why are you saying these things?” 

Hal let his hand fall. “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “None of this matters.” He glanced away.

“Hal...Hal, what are you saying? I’m not a demon, dammit look at me!” Fenris got on his knees before the other man, took his face in his hands and made him keep contact. “I am not a demon, stop saying these things, _please_!”

“But that’s just what a demon would say,” Hal said quietly. He blinked, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Don’t you see? I can’t trust anything you say. Because if you’re a demon then you’ll say anything to get me to let you in. And if you tell the truth....” He tried to pull away. “No. Easier to bear the thought you may be a demon,” he breathed. 

“No, No…. no… this is all wrong. Hal! _Stop._ Please. Please, this is scaring me, please just look at me, I’m real, I’m real… Maker, _please_ believe me!” Fenris had raised his voice as his worry started to go through the roof. The young mage’s answers scared him.

“No... no, don’t... shout....” Hal put his hands over his ears slowly and curled in upon himself as the elf’s voice rose. 

Behind them, there was the rustle of papers moving on the bed and then Anders’ drowsy voice slurring a half-articulated query.

“I’m sorry, I...why are you saying I’m a demon? I’m not a demon, Hal, you can use magic on me, see that I’m real, stop saying this, I’m begging you to see and hear me!” Fenris tried to keep calm even as he was nearing his own threshold before panic kicked in.

“No, no!” said Hal, curling up in the chair away from Fenris. “No magic. Never again. No. I can’t. I mustn’t.”

“Fenris?” Anders sat up slowly, one hand rubbing at the scar over his eye. “What’s going on?”

“Hal thinks I’m a demon - what’s wrong with him?” Fenris said as he backed away and looked to Anders for help.

“The same thing that makes him think I’m a ghost over half the time,” replied Anders as he stared over at the red-head, who was now staring at him, white-faced. “ Before you came back, I was vaguely aware of him staring at me. I think in the reality that exists in his mind, I am either dead or dying - and you are dead. So if I am awake and well, and you too, then he can’t be in his own reality... and he can’t handle that. So we must be demons taking the likeness of the ones he knows and cares for, otherwise....” Anders sighed. 

“Dead...the other me?” Fenris said as he reached for the bed or something so he wouldn’t hit the floor.

Anders dropped back onto the pillows with a low sigh. “Of course, you weren’t there at dinner.... We saw Arden in the Fade. He shoved me out of the rift - which is how I got closely acquainted at high speed with a rock, I think - and Endrin dragged Meneris out, leaving Invictus and Arden to exchange a few words. He said that the Fenris in his world was dead and he had no idea what had happened to their Anders. From what Belann has told me, their Anders stayed behind in Kirkwall; it’s generally believed he’s dead - either never survived the war between templars and mages in Kirkwall, or maybe Sebastian caught him. Belann said that if you ask any five people you’ll get ten different stories, and the only thing they agree on is that Anders is dead. Arden punched Invictus before kicking him out the rift.” He glanced over at Hal, who had returned to sitting still, eyes staring sightlessly before him, face blank and mask-like.

“Everyone Hal ever loved and cared for is dead and he’s trapped in the wrong world with no way to return. It’s no wonder his mind comes up with fantasies allowing him to cope.”

Fenris had sat on the corner of the bed, hand clutched in the bedding with his own look of shock. “No, please don’t tell me that. The nightmares I’ve had of you dead, dying on us - nearly seeing it happen, and now I find that ...I can’t deal with that!” 

Anders stared at Fenris. “Yes, you can,” he said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. “You can and you will, Fenris, because I’m having a hard enough time dealing with Hal in that state without you checking out on me too, Fenris. You hear me? I need you to stay with me and hold it together, Fen!”

The elven fighter jumped and fell off the bed with a rather undignified squeak. “Anders...why is he in here? Why is he here if he thinks you’re a ghost and I’m a demon? I can’t … this is too much, he’s ... _look_ at him!” Fenris said as he remained on the floor instead of bothering with getting up.

Anders lay back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling, a pained expression on his face as he pressed a palm over the scar across his forehead. “Because the Bull has gone to hunt a dragon with the Inquisitor and it wouldn’t have been safe to take Hal with him. So Bull figured maybe I might be able to find some way to help Hal. But I can barely concentrate enough to read even half of this stuff and my head is splitting, and I need you to please keep it together, Fenris. I can’t handle it if you go to pieces on me as well.” He let his hand fall back down onto the covers and closed his eyes.

“I can’t always be strong, Anders. This is too damned unnerving to return to,” Fenris said as he glanced up at the bed and debated if he wanted to get up.

Anders’ answering laugh was tinged with exhaustion and just the tiniest hint of hysteria. “ _You_ think this is unnerving? I’ve barely been awake three days and all of this lands on me....” He winced as a particularly painful throb pulsed through his head and he groaned quietly.

Fenris fell silent as he glared up at the bed before he finally pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll leave you be then so you can go back to sleep. Apologies for not being as put together as I usually am.”

Anders threw his arm up over his eyes and turned his face away, his expression pained.

Fenris sighed as he looked at both men. “What do you wa---, need from me then? He doesn’t believe I’m not a demon and I’ve upset you, again. So what do you need, should I take him to Belann or leave him sitting like a statue until Bull returns?” 

“I don’t know,” said Anders in a small voice. “Can barely think straight. Hurts.”

“Do you need anything for the pain? I can get you a potion?” Fenris asked. Anders held still for a moment then nodded minutely, biting his lip against the pain.

Fenris got him a healing potion, and quietly set about getting willowbark to make tea. He gave Anders the potion silently, unsure what he should do other than just not talk.

Anders drank the potion, not opening his eyes as he drained the bottle, his face lined with pain. He lay back and turned his face away from the light with a low whimper.

The elven fighter didn’t know what do other than make the tea, and sit quietly as he tried to get Anders to take it. “Willowbark should help, shouldn’t it?” Fenris asked.

Anders was silent for a while then managed to whisper hoarsely, “Yes... it should.” He managed to push himself up a little against the pillows, holding out a trembling hand for the cup.

Fenris held the cup for him, still silent as he waited for Anders to finish. “I’ll let you rest now, I’m sorry for ... being ... for earlier.”

Anders sank back against the pillows, face almost as pale as the white linen. “I don’t know what to do for him, Fenris,” he whispered quietly. “I just... don’t know....” 

“What did you do when _I_ went away like that?” Fenris asked. Anders opened his eyes with an effort.

“It was... different, with you,” he said softly. “There were certain objects you had to ground yourself with, It just took time. You weren’t in the wrong world, with people who were dead in your own, no-one and nothing in common with that other world.”

“I don’t know what to do either, and clearly I don’t have the right words. You should sleep, Anders, I’m sorry I woke you,” Fenris said quietly.

Anders nodded, exhausted by pain. “Maybe... Belann,” he suggested, voice already slurring.

“I’ll get him then.” Fenris said as he slipped from the room with a last sad glance to Hal and then Anders. Once he had fetched Belann, he was going to go and get very, very drunk - perhaps with Cullen.

The door to the Wardens’ quarters - a small dorm with four beds at the opposite end of the corridor to Cullen’s office - was just off the latch; as Fenris entered, he heard the sounds of soft splashing coming from the attached bathing chamber.

“Hello?” Fenris called out but wasn’t sure he was heard over the sound of water hitting the floor. There was the sound of a wet foot upon damp tiles.

“Pass me a towel would you, Nate?” called Belann from the bathing chamber.

Fenris came in and had a towel out, but stopped short when he saw Belann standing up for it. The Warden turned with a hand out then froze.

“Fenris.” The Warden’s voice came out strangled, the hazel eyes following those of Fenris as they slowly travelled down Belann’s body then back up to Belann’s face. “Give me the towel.”

The elven warrior handed him the towel and turned to give a semblance of privacy. “Apologies, Warden”

The Warden wrapped themselves in the towel and stood silently for a moment. “So. Now you know.”

“I know nothing; your secrets are yours, Warden Amell,” Fenris replied. 

Belann exhaled slowly then turned to face Fenris again, a faint smile on his lips. “Thank you, Fenris,” he said quietly. He headed through into the dormer room, closing the main door firmly before going to sit on his bed. He sat with his back to the room as he lowered the towel and took up a length of broad white cloth. 

“What brings you here, Fenris?” asked Belann as he began to dress, covering the scars across his back with each winding pass of the cloth.

“Hal is still checked out and Anders isn’t well. He thinks I’m a demon, so I’m out of ideas. Anders thought you might have ideas to help him.” Fenris said.

“I see,” said Belann thoughtfully. He rose to his feet, tugging up his pants and lacing them before he reached for his shirt and tugged it on; finally he turned to face Fenris. “You think talking to someone who shares something of his experience, who came from that same world, might help?” He picked up his leather jerkin and pulled it on, lacing it up slowly.

“I hope so, I was of no use and probably did more harm. I didn’t take the news of my counterpart’s demise particularly well. If you can help, it would be appreciated,” Fenris replied before he gave Belann a sad smile. “I need...to go somewhere and think.” 

Belann gave him a shrewd look. “And would that _thinking_ involve the sort you find at the bottom of a bottle?” he asked as he finished tightening the laces of his jerkin. He ran a hand through his hair briefly and frowned at Fenris.

“If it was?” Fenris asked with a scowl.

“Then I know a good place up in one of the ruined towers where there’s a spot out of the wind and a good few bottles stashed away, where a soul can be undisturbed for a few hours,” replied Belann as he strapped on his belt and slid his fighting knives into their sheathes on his hips. He bent and tugged his boots on swiftly then straightened, his eyes on a level with those of Fenris. The elf wondered how he’d never noticed before that Belann was short for a man, perhaps a similar height to the Tevinter mage.

Belann gestured towards the door. “After you,” he said.

“I...thank you.” Fenris slipped away once Belann explained which tower to find the warden’s bounty. The Warden watched the elf go before making his way to the set of rooms that had been assigned to Anders, Fenris and the Champion.

Some hours later, Fenris was deep into his third bottle when he heard the quiet tread of a light foot upon the rickety ladder that led up to his hidden vantage point.

“Go’way…” Fenris slurred.

Belann’s head appeared over the edge of the trapdoor and the Warden glanced round at him. “Are you seriously telling me to go away from my own hidey-hole?” He laughed as he hoisted up a satchel that made a clinking noise as he slung it onto the rickety floor. “And after I brought extra supplies, too.” He scrambled up the last few rungs then lowered the trap door. He moved around the ramshackle room and lit various small candles and lanterns that the elf hadn’t noticed.

“There, that’s more homely, don’t you think?” He winked at Fenris then made his way to the fireplace where he started to build a fire. “So, what do you think of my little hidey-hole then?”

“Nice...don’t wanna leave,” Fenris said as he watched Belann move around quickly. “Hal?” he asked as he took the proffered bottle.

Belann shook his head as he opened a bottle for himself and sat down near Fenris. “Not good I’m afraid,” he sighed. “He’s pretty deep in shock. I think the Bull’s way of bringing him out might be for the best - slow and gentle. Shame he picked now, of all times, to go chasing that blasted dragon, though Leliana says the hunt was a success and they should be back soon.” He took a pull of his wine, looking pensive. “He and I were pretty much thrown together through circumstance really. I think maybe the Bull will bring him out of himself in a way I can’t.”

“How’s that?” Fenris asked as he cradled his drink. “How...are you? No one’s asked have they?”

“No, they haven’t,” said Belann slowly. “Bull has... something I don’t.” He shrugged and took another swallow of wine. “As you saw for yourself.”

“That...wait is that how he’s helping Hal? How does that help?” Fenris asked with an angry burr to his voice. 

“I don’t know, but it seems to,” replied Belann shrugging. “Hal goes to him of his own free will and seeks him out. I can’t pretend to understand, but... well. If it comforts him....” The Warden took another mouthful of wine. 

“He’s ...bloody hell, I offered him that kind of comfort if he wanted it. What’s Bull got that I don’t?” Fenris glared at the empty bottle next to him and scowled. “Fuck...hate being drunk like this, I get so low.”

“Be thankful you actually have ...that,” said Belann, then hastily took another drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think it’s more that right now, Hal looks at you and sees his dead lover. Maybe it’s better he gets that particular itch scratched by someone who looks nothing like him. And Bull’s always made it clear he’s open to all comers where that form of comfort is concerned.”

“Can’t do anything right lately. I hurt Anders, hurt Hal by being alive...not enough for Vic. He fucked that Altus!” Fenris said halfway between a choke and a sob. “I want to go home.”

Belann blinked at him, then hesitantly put an arm around Fenris’ shoulders. “Hey! Hey. It’s OK. I don’t know what happened between you and Anders, but I do know he’s still not well, and he obviously adores you. Hal... Hal’s got his own world of problems. And Vic... well, Vic’s a dick.” Belann hiccupped, the sound surprisingly high and almost feminine, and he giggled. “Sorry. Vic’s a dick,” he repeated. “That wasn’t actually supposed to rhyme. Seriously though. He doesn’t deserve you.” He took another pull of wine. “I hear you about wanting to go home though.”

“I don’t deserve Vic or Anders, or Zevran. I’m fucking broken even with all we’ve done. I’m still full of hate and anger. They have loved me, yet what do I do to them?” Fenris hiccuped mid-ramble then started to laugh. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve hit my limit Belann, they think I’m so strong and it’s like I can’t …”

Belann eyed the elf thoughtfully. “That tower Cullen’s office is in - it looks pretty firm and strong, doesn’t it? Nothing’s getting in there without a fight, wouldn’t you say? After all, that’s why you, Anders and Hawke were shifted next to it, right?”

“Yeah...what does that have to do with anything?” Fenris asked as he tried to glare at Belann and failed. Instead he curled up in the warden’s arms, glad for the other man’s warmth.

“Come on, up on your feet. I want to show you something,” said Belann as he pulled Fenris up with him. As the elf complained, Belann snatched up a fur from the bag he’d brought, and wrapped it around the elf’s shoulders before guiding him over to the window and unfastening the shutter. 

“See that tower down there?” he said, pointing far below. “That’s Cullen’s bedchamber, right above his office. Notice anything odd about it?”

“N..no.” Fenris said.

Belann leaned a little closer to the elf. “You’re sure?” he said softly. “Look at how the snow drifts down, covering everything in white. Everything except... that one small corner there. See it? A hole in the roof.” Belann turned to look at Fenris, his breath warm and sweet on the elf’s face. “Commander Cullen makes sure there is a roof over the head of every person in the Inquisition - a safe place to sleep for everyone... _except himself_.” He arched an eyebrow. 

“What does that mean...about ...us? Me? I don’t understand, Belann,” Fenris said as he stared into the other man’s eyes. 

“I’ve been watching Commander Cullen for a while now,” said Belann as he leaned against the window frame. “He’s sick, Fenris. Very sick. He tries to hide it, but it’s there... if you know where to look. And it’s not caused by that hole in the roof.” He glanced down at the roof far below; now Belann had pointed it out, Fenris had to wonder how on earth he hadn’t spotted it straight away.

Belann glanced back at him. “We all have our secrets and our weaknesses, Fenris. None of us is the tower of strength the others take us for. The Commander who runs the Inquisition forces - the backbone of Meneris’ army: a man who sleeps in a rickety tower with a hole in the roof, who fights a near-perpetual headache and sometimes far worse. You’ve already seen my secret. So, Fenris. Maybe you’re not as strong as others think you are.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you’re stronger than you realise. Who knows?”

Belann reached out and drew the shutters closed then turned back to find Fenris standing very close behind him. He held still and returned Fenris’ gaze steadily.

Fenris moved forward, and took the half-empty bottle of wine with a mischievous grin before he took a swallow. “You’ve got very pretty eyes, Belann,” he murmured.

“You wouldn’t be the first man to tell me that,” said Belann quietly. He arched one eyebrow. 

Fenris threaded his fingers in the other man’s hair and closed the gap between them, and hesitated for just a moment before he kissed Belann tentatively.

Belann’s indrawn breath was a faint gasp of surprise as his eyes widened; he pressed his hands against the wall at his back as he held still.

Fenris felt how the other man stiffened against him. “I...apologize, I’ve overstepped with you.” The elf stepped back, mortified at himself for doing the very thing he’d railed at Vic for.

Belann stared at him, his own breath coming faster. “I...I thought... after what you saw- that you wouldn’t....”

“Don’t assume...I am not fussed about that,” Fenris said with a grin at Belann before he pulled the slighter man towards him again. “Are you...I mean, I’m an elf.”

“The... ears give you away, yes,” nodded Belann, the slightly bewildered tone in his voice betraying his uncertainty. “Are... elves... different in some way that I ought to be aware of?”

“Not really.” Fenris laughed slightly and rested his forehead against Belann’s. “I’m messing this up, like everything else.”

“I... don’t understand,” said Belann softly.

“I want to kiss you, I need to feel something right now and I worry I have offended you too.” Fenris pulled back and took another drink. “Can’t blame you if you don’t want to.”

“I’m...I’m not offended,” said Belann quietly. “I just worry that I may... disappoint you.”

“We only go as far as you wish, and no further,” Fenris said as he leaned in again for a kiss. Belann blinked nervously, then hesitantly leaned in closer, tilting his head a little to one side as their lips met; this time his eyes fluttered shut as they kissed.

Fenris pushed Belann until they were flush against the wall, his hands roaming no further than the other man’s neck and shoulders. He pulled away only for a moment before pulling the warden close as he could with needy little sounds. Belann responded with light, biting kisses along the line of Fenris’ jaw before claiming the elf’s mouth for a deeper kiss, his own voice little more than breathless exhalations as he threaded his hands into Fenris’ hair. He pulled away to breathe.

“Maker!” he exclaimed softly.

“Just Fenris will do.” the elf huffed before he gently tugged at the other man’s hair. “May I explore further or do you want to keep this to kissing?” Fenris asked as he stared into Belann’s eyes.

“That depends,” breathed Belann.

“On what?” Fenris asked as he went back to nuzzling at the other man’s neck.

“On whether you see me as a man... or woman,” said Belann quietly.

“You’re a man, it’s how you’ve introduced yourself, it’s who you are, right?” Fenris said in confusion. 

Belann smiled wryly. “You’d think that was all that mattered, wouldn’t you?” he said as he tugged at the laces of his jerkin slowly. “But no, all too often it seems what’s between my legs - or, in this case, _not_ \- that is important. I’m more used to men trying to kill me for deception than any form of affection.” He paused and held Fenris at arm’s length. “Truly - this doesn’t bother you? I would have the truth from you. You don’t see me as just a girl dressing up? You don’t consider me an abomination, unnatural, wrong?”

Fenris tilted his head and stared at Belann. “No, I have spent time with Cremisius, and he and I are both of Tevinter. I’ve known men and women who claim their true selves and I would never take that from you. Nor would I argue your truth. If you wish me to stop, I will do so if this is too much.” 

Belann stared at him, his eyes widening slightly. “Truly?” A faint, hopeful smile dawned on his face. “Then... I would go further... if you would?”

“Yes, I know the pain of ...being unwanted or spurned. If you would have me, I would enjoy an evening with you.” Fenris said with a grin.

Belann finished unlacing his jerkin, then stripped off his shirt, revealing his torso wound tightly with cloth bandages. Belann’s arms were well-muscled for a mage, though Fenris reminded himself that as an Arcane Warrior the Warden were undoubtedly the equal of any man of the Inquisition with a blade. As Belann bent to remove his boots, the elf could not help but compare the pale scars criss-crossing what he could see of the Warden’s back with those he had seen upon Anders’ skin.

Belann glanced over his shoulder at Fenris. “The view can’t be _that_ good from there, surely?” he teased.

“Incredible from where I stand,” the elf replied as he started to pull his clothes off. “My...lyrium, it might affect you so I apologize.” Fenris approached the warden cautiously with just his trousers on, unlaced so they hung low on his hips.

Belann straightened as he kicked off his boots, his back to Fenris as he unbuckled his belt then carefully laid his knives aside. Fenris could see each one had a gem set into the hilt - a deep ruby-red for one, a silvery-white one in the hilt of the other. Belann unlaced his pants and turned towards Fenris, his head a little inclined to one side as he took a shy step towards the elf.

“What is it you wish of me Belann?” Fenris asked as he leaned in for more kissing putting the other man’s hands on his hips.

“I... cannot offer to let you ride me, I’m afraid,” Belann smiled, a little wistfully. “But I can... receive, even if I can only give with my tongue.” He kissed Fenris gently. “Which would you have of me?”

“Too bad we’re not back in our place in Nevarra, we could give you a way to ride me if you wished.” Fenris kissed Belann again as he pulled his nails down the other man’s back. “If you will let me have you, it would mean a lot to have your trust.” 

Belann lifted a hand to gently cradle Fenris’ cheek, careful not to inadvertently brush any of the swirling lines of lyrium. “I trust you,” he said gently.

“Thank you” Fenris grinned as he took Belann’s other hand and kissed the mage’s palm. “Feel free to take the lead in this. I want you to enjoy this.” Belann chuckled quietly.

“Just a minute,” the mage suggested as he pulled away a little, turning his back to Fenris as he loosened his pants more, then began to slide them down over his hips. “I’d prefer it it you took me from behind,” he said quietly. “Then there’s less to... distract you from my... lack in certain areas.” He kicked his pants off, then moved his hands to the white cloth wrapped around his torso. “Do the scars... bother you?”

“No, considering how I look I can’t judge. Also, Anders and Vic have their share of marks.” Fenris wrapped his hands around Belann from behind. “If it makes you comfortable you can leave your bindings.” 

“Thank you,” said Belann softly. “So you’ve seen Anders’ scars then? I’m afraid most of us from Kinloch share them. The Templars were not sparing at Kinloch. Not to those of us who wouldn’t give in easily. For some of us, our scars are a badge of courage. We survived. Many didn’t. And fewer still, after the uprising. Though Anders and I were well gone by then. Cullen was the only Templar who survived that, as well. Strange, really.” Belann chuckled quietly. “Cullen was... kind of sweet on me back then. He’d run a mile now if he knew who I really was.”

“I don’t think so,” Fenris said as he pressed kisses along Belann’s neck and shoulders. “How do you wish me to take you?” 

Belann shivered lightly at the touch of Fenris’ lips on his skin. “On my hands and knees, in front of the fire,” he said softly.

“I meant if you wanted me to take your ass or not,” Fenris said as he nudged Belann down to the floor, after he grabbed the fur throw. 

Belann chuckled quietly. “My... _arse_ and my mouth are the only parts on offer,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “You’re behind me, so take a wild guess.” He winked, seemingly beginning to get over his nerves. “You’ve been with guys before, you know this territory, right?”

“I do, just wanted to confirm so I don’t make you uncomfortable.” Fenris pressed his fingers between Belann’s shoulders and nudged his legs apart. “Know that spell for slick?”

Belann chuckled. “I don’t think there’s a one of us that was at Kinloch that didn’t. You _do_ know that was Anders’ own invention?” He held a hand back towards Fenris, the clear oily liquid already pooling in his palm.

“Figures it was him,” Fenris chuckled as he slicked his fingers and began to stretch Belann open. 

Belann reached down between his legs and moaned softly. “Ohhh... yessss...”

“Talk to me, I want to be sure you’re happy with this,” Fenris said as he added another finger.

“Oh Maker yes, yes, very happy,” purred Belann as he pushed back onto Fenris’ fingers. He shuddered with a low moan. 

Fenris stopped only to slick himself up, and slowly entered Belann. “So tight...Maker.” 

Belann cried out as Fenris entered him, his voice rising high as he panted out. He held still for a moment then began to rock back onto Fenris’ cock very slowly. “Oh...oh... oh Maker....”

“I’m just Fenris,” the elf moaned as Belann began to rock back and forth against him. “Fuck...fuck.”

Belann began to rut harder against Fenris, rocking back onto Fenris’ cock at a fast pace; somehow, Fenris wasn’t sure _how_ , the mage was actually clenching down on him inside on every thrust, even as Belann’s hand moved faster between his legs and the mage’s breath came as explosive pants. 

“How.... how do you feel... about magic?” Belann managed to gasp.

“Al..right with it, used...to Anders,” Fenris panted. Belann chuckled, then reached farther back. Fenris felt the light tough of a finger against his cock as he thrust into Belann, and then the mage let a small spark of electricity fly into them both with a small cry.

The elven warrior cussed as he felt the jolt against his body. “Maker… again!” he moaned.

Obediently, the mage slipped the tip of his forefinger inside his entrance and on Fenris’ next thrust, he let a sharper spark of electricity fly, crying out as his body shuddered beneath the elf.

“Bel...Belann, fuck...can’t, hold back,” Fenris panted harshly with each thrust as he tried to make sure his partner came first.

“Then... then come with me,” panted Belann, his hand moving faster.

“Yes...yes!” Fenris called as he lost his rhythm and climaxed along with Belann. “I hope ...you enjoyed …” the elf was cut off as he felt another spark of power as his partner shuddered under him. Belann gasped near silently, letting his head drop to hang between his arms as he braced himself, chest heaving as he panted.

“Alright there?” Fenris asked softly as he pulled out and flopped on his back. Belann sank slowly down onto his stomach with a soft moan, face buried in his arms; a slow shiver ran through his body.

“Are you alright Belann? I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Fenris rolled over and touched the other man’s shoulder. 

Belann managed to raise his head a little and nod. “I’m... I’m OK,” he panted. “It’s... just been a while for me.” He rested his forehead against his arms, waiting for his heart to stop racing. “Just... just give a moment here.”

“Alright. I don’t suppose you have water in here?” Fenris asked as he flopped down and tried to catch his breath.

“Hang on,” said Belann as he grabbed his smallclothes and tugged them on. He reached over to his daggers and drew the one with the silvery gem, then snatched up one of the empty wine bottles. With a grin at Fenris, he touched the tip of the dagger to the neck of the bottle then channelled a little magic through the blade; ice water began to pour from the tip of the dagger into the bottle. Once it was full, he handed it to Fenris with a smug grin.

“That’s useful,” the elf said with a grin. Fenris drank half of it then passed it to Belann. “Can you do that with hot water so we can clean up?”

Belann reached over to draw the other dagger, kicking a wooden bucket over towards himself. Channelling magic through the dagger with the red stone, he swiftly filled the bucket with steaming water.

“This dagger is enchanted for fire; channel ice through it and I can get hot water,” he explained. “The other is attuned for ice; careful application of heat and an ice spell generates iced water. It’s all down to control really - which is the one thing the Circle drums into you really, _really_ well,” he added. “But using attuned blades instead of a staff - that was something I figured out on my own, with help from Nate and Sigrun. She came up with the daggers, Nate taught me how to use them. Of course, Nathaniel here isn’t the same as Nate back home - which is why you’re only the second person in this whole world to know my secret,” he added as he glanced at Fenris. “I... forgot myself, and he saw me stepping out of a bath tub. Much as you did. You, ah, took it rather better than he did - at least at first,” he added hurriedly.

“Do I need to have a word with him?” Fenris asked with a rumble of annoyance.

Belann shook his head. “There was a little confusion at first; he didn’t understand why I needed to ‘hide myself away’ and pointed out there are plenty of female Wardens. I pointed out I’m not one, and... he seemed to get the message eventually.” He sat back and ran a hand down over the bindings across his torso. “My body may say otherwise... but whatever else I may be, I _am_ a man, Fenris. And it is as a man I will live and die.”

“I am glad I’ve met you, though it is sad that you have been pulled from your home Belann. Thank you for your trust and...your help tonight,” Fenris said as he finished washing up and offered the remainder of the hot water and cloth to the other man.

Belann smiled. “Maybe we helped each other tonight, Fenris,” he suggested quietly. He held a hand out to the elf, and Fenris grasped it, the two men regarding each other thoughtfully.

“Maybe we did at that,” agreed the elf.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birds come home to roost for Fenris, and the Iron Bull has a problem on his hands.

Dorian trailed his fingers over the spines of the books and sighed. The one he wanted wasn’t there; and he’d been standing there, staring at its empty place, for several minutes. It wasn’t going to appear for his merely wishing it, of course; and he already knew where it was - in the possession of a certain blond apostate. He knew because he’d lent it to Anders himself.

He _could_ go fetch it, but that would require traipsing over to the other side of the keep - not to mention having the attendant risk of running into Hawke or Fenris. And Fenris made no secret of his desire to rip the Altus’ heart out.

Not that Hawke would necessarily be much better in that regard.

Dorian sighed and grabbed a book at random, not particularly paying attention to the title as he dropped into his favourite chair in his little nook in the corner of the library. He flipped it open to a random page, but the words barely registered as he stared down at them.

He’d thought it merely a game, seducing Hawke for a quick tumble; a game that both men should have known the rules to - after all, Hawke had started it, that morning out by the well at the Grey Warden waystation. It had taken Dorian most of the journey back to Skyhold to decide that maybe the game would be worth it - and after all, since he and Meneris had taken up together, he’d begun to wonder if he might be slowly losing his touch.

The way Hawke had responded that morning had reassured him that he’d not lost it at all; it hadn’t occurred to him that Hawke might have viewed it as more than a casual fling however.

Or that he, himself, would unexpectedly find himself wanting more. He’d told Hawke it would be foolish to expect that, but he’d been telling himself as much as Hawke. After all, Hawke had Fenris and Anders, and he had Meneris.

And Hawke had been so damned _understanding_ when he left Dorian’s chambers - or at least, had given that impression. Since then, he’d given every impression he hated Dorian’s guts every bit as much as Fenris did. 

Dorian had ignored it, as far as he was able; it wasn’t the first time someone had blown hot and cold towards him, after all, and he _had_ tried to push the Champion away and make him think it had been only a casual fling. Maybe Dorian could have been a little gentler over letting him down - but when Fenris had started in on Hawke, he’d decided it were best to overplay exactly how little it had meant to him in an effort to get the irate warrior to lay off the Champion somewhat. His way of mutely apologising and trying to help, really, except it seemed it had worked only _too_ well, and now Hawke appeared to rival the elf for hatred of the Tevinter mage.

He’d amused himself flirting with Anders - after all, the blond Warden _was_ very easy on the eye, even if Anders had turned down flat every attempt - without even realising he was doing it, it seemed, which was really most unfair. But Dorian persisted because he loved seeing the pretty blush that would steal across the blond apostate’s features (and dash it all, it was a crying shame how unaware the man was as to just _how_ devastatingly attractive he was with those gorgeous eyes the colour of honey and that very faint dusting of freckles across his nose that only really showed when he blushed and oh _Maker_ hadn’t he had some lovely fantasies about the two of them...) and because he knew how much it got under the skins of both Hawke and Fenris. And he was determined to get under Hawke’s skin one way or another.

And damn it, really, that infuriating elf had no right to keep throwing their infidelity in Hawke’s face when it seemed the elf was determined to shag his way around the rest of the Inquisition. First that young mage, Hal (and oh, but Dorian was angry over that one; the former Tranquil was little more than a boy, and a traumatised and hurt boy at that - Dorian had seen too many older men take unfair advantage of inexperienced young men that way, even had his own unfortunate awakening of that sort; it could ruin a young man’s reputation before he had barely had a chance to make it whereas for the older, more powerful magister it would be seen as no more than a minor indiscretion), and now he was well aware that something had occurred between the white-haired warrior and the mysterious Warden who had tumbled through the rift with Hal.

Even Anders had returned the flirting of Nathaniel, that other Warden with whom he seemed to have more than a little background history. 

And yet it was Hawke who had been made the martyr for one little indiscretion. Dorian had tried to make that easier on him by making it deniable but even that had backfired. And after all that, Meneris hadn’t even particularly minded!

Dorian gave up on the book and leaned on his hand, staring unseeing out of the window. It was snowing again; the flakes whirled thick and fast in the darkness of the overcast day. The gloom outside seemed to suit his mood.

**  
Hawke had come back to the room after Belann had gone. He found Hal still sitting like a stone and Anders out for the count. He sighed as he realized the other mage must have been sitting like that for hours. 

“Hal, you should lie down and not sleep in a chair. Come on, up with you.” Vic said gently.

The red-haired mage looked in his direction. “Hawke,” he said quietly, his voice toneless. “I don’t know what time it is.”

“Far too late for you to still be sitting there like a statue. Anders is asleep and I care for you but I might be a little creeped out if I wake up in the middle of the night for a piss and see you still sitting like this.” Vic helped Hal to stand, and kept the young man from falling over.

“I think my legs have gone to sleep,” said Hal quietly. He glanced over at Anders. “Is he still breathing?” he asked softly.

“Yeah he’s just sound asleep, come on let’s get you to bed. Where are you staying?” Vic said quietly.

“I... don’t know,” replied Hal, looking a little lost. “Normally I sleep with the Iron Bull, but he’s not here. He went to hunt a dragon with the Inquisitor but told me to remain behind.”

“Can you get into his room? Perhaps you can rest there until he returns?” Vic said as he shut the door behind them and let Hal get his bearings.

“Perhaps that would be for the best,” nodded Hal as he folded his hands within the sleeves of his robes. Invictus couldn’t help but notice that the moment they’d returned to Skyhold, the young mage had returned to wearing robes once more. It seemed he was falling back on what seemed familiar and therefore safe.

“Come on then, let’s get you settled till Bull comes back. You should also eat when you wake up. I’m guessing you haven’t had much today without someone prompting you.” Vic said as they walked to Bull’s chambers.

“I... no, I haven’t,” replied Hal in that same lifeless voice. “Anders ordered me to eat earlier before he became too exhausted.”

“Well it’s too late now, but I’ll make sure you get some breakfast if Bull hasn’t returned by the morning meal.” Vic sighed as they walked towards the room the Ben-Hassrath had claimed for himself. 

“As you wish,” replied Hal with a small shrug. They passed the library; it was deserted, save for a figure sitting in a chair by the window, seemingly absorbed in the book held upon upon a knee. A single candle set in an alcove by the window cast a pool of golden light over the lowered head of the Tevinter mage, who didn’t look up as they passed. Hal continued on, not glancing at the Altus.

Hawke ignored Dorian, he didn’t have it in him to bother with the other man. He had enough on his plate with being forced to join the Wardens. He stopped when they arrived at Bull’s door, and found the guard already had orders to let Hal in if he wished. 

“Sleep well, and if Bull isn’t back in the morning find me.” Hawke said as he helped the young mage get his boots off and pulled the covers back for him. 

“If that is your wish,” replied Hal dully. “Thank you.”

“No, if that is what you need, don’t do that alright?” Vic bit back another sigh as he left Hal to hopefully sleep on his own. He took his time heading back, worry for the other mage on his mind.

Dorian glanced up as Hawke reappeared and slowly headed back past the library. Dorian sighed; the other mage had ignored him earlier, he was likely still avoiding Dorian. And yet, the man looked tired, concerned. The Tevinter mage felt the urge to do, say something.

“Hawke.”

Vic stopped and glanced at the Altus. “Pavus.”

Well, it was a start; Hawke hadn’t simply walked past ignoring him. Dorian decided to take heart from that. He rose to his feet, tucking the book he’d been failing to read for the past hour back onto the shelf by his chair. 

“You look like a man weighed down and troubled by a great many things,” said Dorian quietly. “I’m possibly the last person you’d wish to share those cares with - but I have wine here and time free, if you wish to talk?”

“What’s your game Pavus? Isn’t it enough you told everyone how I was an easy fuck and don’t care ..” Vic cut himself off before he let slip how much Dorian had hurt him. 

A flicker of pain crossed Dorian’s fine features. “No game,” he said simply. “Not this time. I... erred. I thought that perhaps if your companions and Meneris though it was just a simple fuck with no strings attached, it would... lessen their censure of you. It was thoughtless of me. It was a heartless attempt to spare both myself and you any further trouble, but I fear it only caused more, and for that I am truly sorry.”

“I doubt you could be sorry about anything unless it involves making you look better. Why should I believe you suddenly care about my problems Pavus?” Vic asked as he leaned against the railing and stared at Dorian as if he wanted to punch him.

“I suppose I deserve that, really,” said Dorian quietly. “I really must seem that shallow to you. But if I were, then why would I care about how others have treated you over what happened between us - or why Fenris seems to be intent to start working his way through his fellow members of the Inquisition yet still holds you to account for one indiscretion? Why would I care for how Nathaniel dances attendance on Anders yet Hawke is still expected to be whiter than white after blotting his copybook with the damnable Vint, hmm?”

“What do you mean by Fenris is working his way through the Inquisition? You mean Hal?” Vic laughed at that. “Hal and the other, now deceased Fenris were lovers in that version of Thedas. He offered someone suffering some peace, and only if Hal wanted it which he doesn’t. He can’t bear to see Fenris now. I don’t understand the rest of what you said, explain Pavus.” Vic scowled at Dorian’s intimation though he had to admit he’d had the same thoughts. He didn’t like hearing them from the other mage however.

“Was he _comforting_ the Warden Belann as well then?” asked Dorian as he leaned on the railing, folding his arms.

“I… what are you talking about?” Vic asked in a low whisper.

“There’s a near-ruined tower in the south-west corner of the keep; I can see it from my window. Fenris went up there last night, Belann a short while after. They spent the night together and left this morning - together,” replied Dorian quietly. “I see by your expression that this is news to you.”

“No...you’re lying, you’re lying to make me hate Fenris because you do. He wouldn’t do that to us.” Vic replied in disbelief.

Dorian regarded him sadly. “I don’t hate Fenris. And I wish I were lying - but I’m not, Hawke. And you can be certain that my eyes would not have been the only ones that saw them. I’m sure Sister Nightingale knows full well what happened between Warden Belann and Fenris.”

“You do hate him, I know you do. You’re...lying.” Vic repeated even as he knew that Dorian had no reason to make such a thing up. He sunk to the ground and tried to come up with any reason for it to be a lie.

Dorian dropped down into a crouch after briefly looking around to be certain they were alone. He stretched out a hand to rest it lightly on Hawke’s shoulder. “Hawke. Please believe me. I tell you only the truth. What would I profit by lying to you?”

“I...don’t know. How, why would he do this to me after he was ready to kill me because of you?!” Vic snapped.

“I have no idea, any more than you do,” said Dorian gently. “I wish I had answers for you, but I must confess I am as much perplexed as you are, given the way he has treated you.”

“No, no I’m dreaming. This is a bad dream and I’m going to wake up next to them and this will be a lie.” Vic said as he started to struggle for breath.

“Easy, easy there, Hawke,” said Dorian as he took hold of the other man’s shoulders. “Just take a deep breath. Easy there....”

“Is there a problem here, Dorian?” called a heavily-accented woman’s voice, and then the spymaster herself stepped into view. “Ah, Champion? Are you unwell?”

“Leliana,” replied Dorian as he glanced up at her. “He... is not taking some bad news well I fear.”

“Ah. Then you have told him of the Warden and Fenris?” she asked. “I did wonder if you might have seen them also from your room?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied Dorian. “Though I fear he doesn’t believe me, and I can’t blame the poor sod,” he added as he looked down at Invictus.

“No...you’re both...no, this can’t be.” Vic wheezed as he clutched at his chest, and stared ahead.

Leliana crouched down in front of Invictus and laid a hand upon his arm. “Champion, listen to me. You need to breathe. With me - in, slowly. Hold. Now out - slowly, slowly! Good. And in again....”

She continued to talk him through breathing as Dorian rubbed comforting circles over Invictus’ back, until finally the Champion’s breathing returned somewhat to normal.

“There is good wine or brandy in my office upstairs; I think you two gentlemen should come up with me and you can sit down for a little while until you feel more yourself, Champion, hmm?” suggested Leliana.

“That sounds an most excellent idea, my dear,” replied Dorian. “Come, Hawke, what do you say, hmm? Somewhere to sit in comfort, a glass of wine whilst you sort yourself out a little, yes? Got to be better than sitting on this cold stone floor.”

“I’m going to kill him, slowly. Use every pain point on his body to make him suffer.” Vic muttered angrily as he was helped up. “He fucking threatened to kill me, yet he did this to us?” 

Dorian and Leliana exchanged a look over Hawke’s head as they helped him up to Leliana’s office. The spymaster’s quarters were sparse yet tastefully decorated in such a way that gave nothing away of the occupant apart from a lute in its case on a shelf behind Leliana’s desk. One end of the room was given over to perches occupied by several large ravens which eyed the incomers with shrewd yet alien eyes.

Leliana and Dorian helped Hawke over to a chair then Dorian took another whilst Leliana poured them all a glass of wine.

Hawke’s hand trembled as he took the glass. “I’m going to kill him.” was all he repeated as they fussed over him.

“And what would that do to Anders?” asked Leliana. “Or Zevran? I suspect Zevran at least may know - or at least have his suspicions.”

“Don’t care...he was going to rip my heart out. Zevran’s the only reason I’m breathing. I’m going to kill him.” Vic repeated before he set the glass aside and put his face in his hands.

Dorian and Leliana exchanged glances. “Should I go fetch Anders?” asked the Tevinter mage quietly.

“No...find Zevran, and make Zevran bring him to me. I won’t upset Anders until I’ve had my say.” Vics slumped down before he started to laugh. “All the screaming, yelling. He goes and fucks someone too. I’m going to make him wish he was dead if I don’t incinerate him on the spot.”

“Zevran is here,” said a voice from the shadows near the perched ravens. A darker patch of shadow shifted, and Zevran lifted his head so the light from the candles fell upon his dusky face, his golden eyes flat and angry. One of the ravens half-spread its wings with a low, harsh cry; Zevran gently ran his fingers over its back and the bird settled, glancing to the Antivan then back to Leliana as the elf moved out to stand upon the balcony in the moonlight.

“So. He has betrayed us all, hmm? I look forward to hearing his excuses,” the Crow Master said darkly. “Leliana, I think we must beg your indulgence to use your office; we will disturb others the least here, yes?”

“Of course, Zevran,” she agreed. The Antivan glanced to Invictus. 

“I will bring him. But you will not kill him. Not before he has given a full accounting of himself to us - and craved the pardon of Anders.” He turned and swung himself over the railing of the balcony and was gone.

“My word, but that Crow fellow is quite unnerving at times,” remarked Dorian as he helped himself to another glass of wine. “Do you wish me to remain here whilst you confront him, Hawke, or would it be simpler for me to be gone? Leliana saw him as well as I did, and I dare say Fenris would argue less about the evidence as presented by our good spymaster than he would if it were to come from one such as myself.”

“Oh no, he’s going to be dressed down right in front of you. After the way he acted about me fucking you and he spends the night with Belann? I am going to make him pay.” Vic snarled as he realized smoke was starting to come from his hands. “I don’t even care.”

“Dorian, I would welcome your presence should Hawke’s anger get the better of him; I’d rather my quarters were not incinerated. Perhaps you might run a little damage control?” suggested Leliana.

“A pertinent idea,” agreed Dorian.

They waited in a tense silence for a while, Dorian at a loss for what to say whilst Leliana was quite comfortable with silence. Invictus merely sat glowering, his anger visibly growing as the minutes stretched out.

Then they heard voices on the stairs leading up towards Leliana’s quarters.

“...you will see soon enough, Fenris. But it is important. This is something you must see,” said Zevran as he climbed the last few steps then stepped to one side, deftly circling behind the other elf as Fenris emerged and glanced around.

Dorian called up ice swiftly as he saw the heat haze dancing around Invictus’ hands as the mage rose from his chair and turned to glare at Fenris.

“Hello ...love. Have a seat, we need to talk.” Vic said without a trace of humor or warmth.

“Invictus, why is Dorian here and why did you have Zevran bring me here like a recalcitrant whelp?” Fenris asked.

“Dorian is here as a witness and as... potential damage control,” said Leliana calmly as she leaned against her desk and folded her arms. Dorian’s attention was entirely upon Invictus and the aura of growing power he could sense within the other mage, barely leashed and held in check.

“Witness? For what, why of all the people here he’s here as a ‘witness’” Fenris snarled. 

“So I don’t murder you out of hand before you answer us. Zevran, want to explain, I’m afraid I’m having a hard time not screaming or crying right now.” Vic said.

“Perhaps the good spymaster should go first,” said Zevran as he circled around the room towards the ravens. He began to move from one group of birds to another, murmuring something softly to them before all the birds took wing, streaming out into the night sky.

“Fenris, you were observed going to the southwest tower where you met with the Warden, Belann. You spent the night with him. You exited the tower together in the morning. What say you to that?” asked Leliana.

Fenris glanced down and frowned. “I say that it is true. Why did you all descend upon me like this? Could you not give Pavus more fuel to hate me Invictus?” 

“Why should I hate you, Fenris? Other than you seem to have taken almost malicious delight in throwing my name at Hawke to punish him whenever you saw fit - whilst transgressing just as badly. And not only with Belann - the Warden, at least, is a grown man. You couldn’t resist throwing yourself at a boy though, could you?” Dorian straightened, his tone growing cold with anger. “You accuse me of being a magister but the way you pawed at young Hal was worthy of any magister back in Minrathous, eager to get their hands on some poor young Altus too green to know what he was doing!”

“You know nothing of what I offered Hal, Invictus saw me and spoke to me as did Zevran. Do not add on to this Pavus! He was missing home and I offered, nothing more. I’ve already been spoken to about it and he can’t stand to look at me. He thinks me a demon now, a spectre of his dead lover so do not accuse me of being something I’m not.” Fenris snarled as his brands lit up.

“Don’t you dare play the martyr with him. Hal is off the table, leave off of that. I’m more interested in what you did with the warden. Why! Why did you do this after you were ready to kill me over one night with Dorian, one time. Yet you spent the night with another man, without a care in the world for what it would do to me or Zevran or Anders. Did you think about that?” Vic screamed.

“Yes, Fenris,” said Zevran softly from his position upon the balcony, his face in shadow. “Did you think what effect your actions would have on any of us?” He bared his teeth in mockery of a grin. “ _Carissimi...._ ” The endearment was a drawn-out hiss, no trace of affection in the Antivan’s voice.

Fenris backed up from Zevran, fear showing as well as hurt. “N..no. I wasn’t thinking of you, Anders or Invictus.” he whispered.

“Of course not,” said Zevran as he slowly traced a gloved finger along an empty raven perch then picked up a feather. He twirled it slowly in his fingers, then tossed it in the air. There was a flash of silver and then the feather fluttered to the ground in two separate halves. Zevran’s eyes never left Fenris.

“Why?” the Crow Master asked flatly.

“I...must we do this in front of them?” Fenris said shakily as he glanced at Dorian then Leliana. “Please Zevran, I will confess but do not--” his words were cut off by a fine blade at his neck. The Crow Master stared him down along the length of the slender yet razor-sharp blade.

“You were so eager to _transgress_ against us before them. You will _confess_ in front of them. We will have no more weasel words or half-truths in dark corners, _amatus_ ,” he bit the word off with a bitter snarl. “We will have this out here, now, in the open. Or else I leave this room and we are done. Finished. Understand? If you have any love for me left in your heart you will do this here and now before witnesses, Fenris.” 

Fenris didn’t nod he just swallowed and stared in Zevran’s eyes as he spoke. “I...I was feeling vulnerable, and grieving over the other me that has fallen. I was drinking and scared and lonely. I knew, I shouldn’t have but--” 

“You knew you shouldn't have but you did! What even sent you off to the warden’s hiding place? Three days you’ve been away from us in this damned place. Have you been fucking others while you were gone? Still felt so alone when you have ..had three men who loved you? That’s not good enough Fenris!” Vic stuttered as he fought the fireball he wanted to let loose.

Zevran had dropped his blade and turned away, facing out of the balcony over the fortress below. Dorian’s eyes were fixed upon Invictus’ hands, ice magic dancing at his fingertips ready to negate the fire wreathing Invictus’ hands.

“Why did you not come to one of us, Fenris?” asked Zevran softly. “Why did you not come to _me_?”

Leliana regarded them all silently, not moving from her position leaning against her desk.

“I didn’t think of it, and sometimes I cannot take your way of being honest with me though I need to hear it.” Fenris felt at his neck and blinked at the red on his fingertips. “I...have no excuse that will suffice Zevran or Invictus. I was scared and took comfort in someone who did not rebuff me or my advances. I did not wish to bother Anders further due to how exhausted he is. Hal...unnerved me and the knowledge that the other version of myself is no more...it was the final straw.” Fenris blinked away tears as he continued to stare at his bloody fingers.

Dorian was staring at Fenris, his back stiffening as he steadily bristled. “You bloody hypocrite,” he said quietly. “You had me on my back, halfway over that bloody railing, ready to pitch me down onto the rocks below because _your boyfriend fucked me_ , and then you go prancing off to shag the Warden! You’re no better than I am and a damned sight worse - at least I was honest about what I’d done! I didn’t go wallowing in a vat of self-pity! But no, because _I_ dared to play around a little with Hawke, _I’m_ the one you wanted to kill - tell me, should Hawke and Zevran go and throw Belann off the top of that bloody tower you were busy making the beast with two backs in, do you think? Would that be a suitable punishment? Or are you just going to wallow in self-pity some more because you got caught?” Dorian’s voice dripped with bitterness as he slowly circled around the elf, angry enough now for himself that his attention was no longer on the magic coiled around Invictus.

“No..whatever they say is my punishment, I’ll accept it. I am a hypocrite for this. I have no excuse.” Fenris went to his knees and sat there, sure he was about to be burned on the spot, or pushed off the rail, to land in a broken heap on top of Solas’ desk.

“No, you don’t get off that easy. When Anders is well enough you will beg his forgiveness. Until then you sleep out in the damned stable with the other animals.” Vic snarled as he let his hands blaze with arcane fire.

“One moment, Hawke,” said Dorian quietly, lifting a hand wreathed with ice. “I’ve yet to hear a word of apology from Fenris for how I was treated. In that respect, I’m as much a wronged man here as either you or Zevran; he threatened my life, after all.” He stared at Fenris.

“You heard the man, apologize. THen to me, then to Zevran.” Vic said.

Fenris looked up at Dorian and his expression crumbled. “I am sorry Dorian I nearly brought you harm and have done you wrong. I don’t know if you will accept my apology but you have it.” Fenris knelt until his head touched the floor and he waited.

Dorian stared down at Fenris. He recognised the posture of a slave waiting for his master’s punishment, and he could feel his gorge rising. He had thought he had left all that behind in Tevinter, but here it was in front of him once more. He thought he might be sick.

He swallowed hard, then gestured at the elf. “Get up,” he ordered Fenris curtly. “Your apology is accepted. I never want to hear you speak of this to me again, do you hear? Never again.” He turned away and snatched up the bottle of brandy Leliana had produced from somewhere; retreating to the chair he’d claimed earlier, he splashed a couple of fingers of brandy into the wineglass he’d emptied earlier then swiftly downed it.

Fenris didn’t rise he just replied brokenly to Dorian before he looked to where Zevran was still standing, his face stoney. “Zevran, may I approach you to apologize?”

“You have two legs, they function, you may go where you please,” said the Crow tersely, not turning around as he stared over the balcony.

Fenris went to stand behind Zevran, his voice soft as he begged the other elf to look at him. “Please Zevran, I want to apologize looking at you,” he spoke in Antivan, softly each word a plea as his voice roughened.

“I am angry, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran softly. “More angry and hurt than I have been in a long time. Not that you have done this thing, but the lies and deceit and the way you have taken out your guilt upon others. The way you took yourself to a stranger instead of coming to me.” He finally turned and stared at Fenris. “And now you come to me with an apology upon your lips - but is it truly upon your heart, _carissimi_?” His golden eyes bore into Fenris, the white-haired elf unable to look away. “Can you tell me this will never happen again, and have it be the truth?”

“Yes, I don’t want to do this to you, or Invictus or Anders again. I don’t want ..I don’t want you to look upon me like this ever again. I didn’t think and I will pay whatever price you name Zevran, _amatus_ if I can still call you that. I beg you, please allow me to make this right if I can, please.” Fenris slid to his knees again, shaking before Zevran’s fury.

Zevran stared down at Fenris, then slowly shook his head. “I cannot give you an answer now,” he said softly. “I... must think on this.”

He turned, resting a hand upon the railing of the balcony, then threw himself over the edge and was gone.

Hawke said nothing as he watched Fenris crumple to the ground. “Save your words Fenris, I can’t hear you now. I’ll tell Anders what you’ve done and you’ll be sent a message if he wishes to see you again.” Invictus stalked off past Fenris without another word.

The elven warrior sat there, motionless as he stared at the floor beneath him. He didn’t know if he could move at all, nor did he want to.

Dorian poured himself another glass of brandy; Leliana cast him a sympathetic glance. “Dorian, why don’t you take tomorrow off? I know Meneris has asked you for that report on your offensive spells and that research you’ve been doing, but I am sure he will be prepared to wait an extra day for it.”

“I think you may be right, Leliana,” replied Dorian quietly. “I doubt if I’d produce anything worth reading tonight.”

“Go, take the night off, relax. Maybe Cullen will play chess with you tomorrow.”

“He’s over that chill then?” asked Dorian. He was well aware they were both deliberately ignoring the elf, leaving Fenris with at least the illusion of privacy whilst the elf pulled himself back together again.

“Mostly, I believe, though Cassandra told me she will only permit him light duties for a day or two. I am sure he would welcome the distraction.”

“Indeed,” replied the Tevinter mage. He finished the last of the brandy then rose to his feet. “A most excellent vintage, my lady; a shame the company could not have been more convivial, but thank you for your assistance.”

“No thanks needed, Dorian. Do drop by again some time?” Leliana suggested.

“Dear lady, you always know where you may find me,” smiled Dorian. He took his leave then, hastening down to the relative safety of the library without a backwards glance. He paused, looking at the bookshelves thoughtfully, then shook his head. Leliana had told him to take the rest of the evening and the morrow off, and that was what he would do. He headed down the stairs and off in search of his own rooms.

Leliana walked past the elf still huddled upon the floor, and waited by the balcony for her ravens to return. They came at her whistle, swooping in on silent wings.

Fenris dragged himself to his feet and headed out of the Keep at a fast clip, unsure where he was going just that he needed to leave. He was so intent on running that he didn’t glance up until he ran at full tilt into something large and warm that grunted when he struck.

“Now where would you be going in such a hurry, little wolf?” asked a familiar voice, and Fenris looked up into the face of the Iron Bull.

“A...way. Please leave me alone.” Fenris stammered as he tried to pick himself up and keep going. The Iron Bull was rather hard to evade however; whichever way Fenris tried to dart, somehow the massive Qunari was there, seemingly without effort. 

“Woah there. How about you calm down and tell the Bull what’s going on, hmm?” said the Bull in a calm, reasonable tone. “Let’s go find somewhere I can stash this dragon head, and then we can find some beer and you can tell me what’s got you so fizzed up, alright?”

As Fenris glanced up, he realised the severed head of a dragon was somehow lashed onto the Qunari’s back. “Quite the beaut, isn’t he? Put up one hell of a fight. You should have been there.”

“No...no, I need to go, leave me be.” Fenris panted as he tried to get away.

“Now, come on, Fenris. You know you’re not going anywhere right now - not in that state. Come on, I’ve got a room at the tavern; we can go have drinks in peace and quiet and you can tell me what’s got you ready to run as though you had half the magisters in Tevinter on your tail, alright?” The Iron Bull stared at Fenris with a look that would brook no argument.

“Please don’t do this, I can’t right now.” Fenris’ voice trembled as he tried to back away but feared being picked up by the scruff of his neck if Bull had his way.

“Come on now, Fenris. We can do this the easy way, or I can do it the embarrassing way. I’m sure you’d rather walk in on your own too feet instead of being carried in like some stray alley cat, but it’s no skin off my nose either way.” The Iron Bull arched his eyebrow, leaving the elf in no doubt that the Qunari warrior would indeed follow through on his threat.

“Doesn’t matter, I have no dignity left. I can’t let you drag me in like that.” Fenris said brokenly before he turned to flee.

The Iron Bull’s large, heavy hand came down on Fenris’ shoulder, pinning him to the spot. “now come on. You really want to lose what dignity you have left? Come on. Man up. We’re going inside, and I’m not taking no for an answer. Oh, hey, Varric! be right with you in a while, OK? Fenris and I just need a little time to chat. Go line ‘em up and we’ll be there in a while.”

“Sure thing, Bull,” called Varric. “Don’t take too long - looks like we’ve persuaded the Inquisitor to loosen up a little and come join us!”

The Iron Bull waved back to the dwarf with his free hand, then firmly marched Fenris into the tavern and up the back stairs until they reached a private room at the far end. The Qunari didn’t release Fenris until he’d shut the door firmly and dragged a chair over in front of it, then he finally let go whilst he started freeing himself from the dragon head lashed to his back.

“So. You going to tell the Iron Bull what has you tearing off in such a hurry from Skyhold in the middle of what looks to be a pretty bad snowstorm blowing up, and you in bare feet and no winter gear?” he asked.

“No, please Bull just let me alone. I’ve got nothing left right now and I just need to go.” Fenris had curled up in a chair and had wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Ah. Tell you what, why don’t I make this easier on you,” suggested the Bull as he divested himself of the last ropes and bits of harness, then rested his massive sword against the wall next to the dragon’s head. It really was a hideous, ugly brute. “They found out about you and Belann, and seven shades of shit kicked off. I’m guessing Hawke’s majorly pissed at you, Zevran did a runner, and Anders -” The Iron Bull broke off and turned to look at Fenris. “Of course. No-one’s told Anders yet, have they? And you’re terrified that when he finds out, he won’t want anything to do with you either. So you figured you’d take yourself out of the equation rather than risk having to face that, huh?” 

“How did you know? How does everyone know, we were in a fucking tower...Maker I need to just throw myself off the closest roof.” Fenris laid his head down on his knees and started to laugh hysterically. “I’m such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Well, you _have_ screwed things up pretty bad and yeah, the way you’ve laid into Dorian and Hawke then gone and done this has been pretty shitty. But I’m Ben Hassrath, remember? It’s my job to know stuff like this. Besides, you weren’t exactly being subtle about it the following morning.” Iron Bull shook his head as he reached into a corner and pulled out a couple of bottles of wine. “Here, you look like you could use a drink.”

“I didn’t go fucking telling everyone, I don’t want a drink I want to leave. No one will give a damn if I go now anyway.” Fenris turned as far from Bull as he could and glowered at the dark fireplace.

“And where exactly are you going to go? On a night like this, a snowstorm coming down, and you not even halfway prepared for snow weather. You’d be dead before the night’s out - and for what? Taking a tumble with the wrong guy? Trust me - no fuck is worth dying for.”

“Why are you talking to me? No one would give a damn about me now. I’ve fucked up and broken their trust so it doesn’t matter. It would be a fitting end for me. Just let me out of here, I don’t do well being locked up.” Fenris said.

Iron Bull set a hand lightly on Fenris’ shoulder. “I’ll let you go when you start making sense, my friend,” he said quietly.

“Don’t call me that, I haven’t earned it.” Fenris shrugged and curled away from Bull as much as he could.

“Why not? We’ve fought together, Fenris. We’ve shed blood on the same field in the name of the Inquisition. That makes you as much a friend as any of my Chargers, Fenris - and in fact, I’d gladly take you on as one. And that’s not an offer I make often. So I call you ‘friend’ because you’ve _earned_ it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Fenris over to sit down next to him. “Come on, what’s this all about really? You’ve all had your fallings-out before. You got over that whole thing of Hawke and Dorian. Why shouldn’t you get over this whole thing with the Aqun-Athlok Warden?”

Fenris turned away and fell silent, he didn’t want to confide in Bull. “It’s not your concern.” 

The Iron Bull raised his eyebrow. “It concerns you, which concerns Hal - and if it concerns Hal then you better believe it concerns me, Fenris,” he said softly. “It also concerns a _friend_ who seems determined to kill himself over having stuck his dick in the wrong guy. Last I looked, that was an embarrassing mistake to make but not exactly one worthy of death.”

“Hal can’t look at me for seeing his dead lover. Just stop fucking pitying me, I want to go why can’t I just go.” Fenris said as he jumped up to pace. 

“Does this look like the face of a guy who pities you?” asked Bull. “Because if so then maybe you need to have Anders check your eyes out. I don’t do pity; pity’s for kittens and lovesick maidens, not a warrior who freed himself from his bastard of a Vint slavemaster and earned the right for a Ben Hassrath to call him ‘friend’. So cut the crap, Fenris.”

“Stop being kind to me, and I have earned no such thing. I broke my lovers trust, I betrayed them and was a hypocrite of the highest order. I had to beg pardon for my trespass in front of Pavus and they made me apologize to him. Any respect Leliana had for me is gone and I just want to leave why is this so fucking hard to understand?” Fenris said angrily.

The Iron Bull got to his feet and loomed over the elf. “ _ **I** decide who has earned the right to my respect and who has not!!_ ” he roared, the first touch of anger Fenris had ever seen creeping into his terrifying visage as the elf dropped into the nearest chair, stunned. “You pissed people off and had to apologise - so man up and accept you were wrong! That’s not a reason to curl up and die - that’s a reason to _prove_ yourself worthy of regaining their trust, man! Or did they love a lie from the start? Your words insult them as much as you insult yourself!” The Qunari jabbed a huge finger back in the direction of the fortress. “Anders lies in that keep completely oblivious of the fact you are casually deciding his future without so much as asking him how he feels. Is that fair on him? Would you leave him not knowing your fate, all because you had to fucking _apologise_???” 

The Bull’s eye glared into Fenris from scant inches away.

“No ser.” Fenris said meekly as he tried to control the trembling that had started with Bull’s yelling. “I’m sorry ser, please.”

“Please, _what_?” growled the Qunari mercenary, straightening and folding his arms across his immense chest.

“Please ser, stop yelling. I’m sorry, I’ll behave.” Fenris had backed away from Bull and tried to claw his way to safety from the giant, furious Qunari.

The Iron Bull grunted. “Well, that’s a start,” he said. “You can _behave_ by pulling yourself together and stop running away from everything. It never works; you’re only running from yourself, and wherever you go you’ve still got to face yourself at the end of the day.” He thrust the opened bottle of wine at Fenris. “Drink. You need it,” he growled.

The elf took a drink and handed the bottle back with a shaking hand. “Please ser, don’t hit me. I’ll be good, I’ll do what I’m told just please don’t yell at me.” Fenris didn’t dare close his eyes but he wanted to get out of the room and far away from the angry Qunari.

“Ah, shit,” muttered the Qunari and pushed the bottle back at Fenris. “Drink it. I’m not going to hit you. You just need to start facing up to your mistakes and....” Iron Bull stared at Fenris. “Asala-taar,” he muttered under his breath, then quietly swore. He crouched down in front of the traumatised elf.

“Fenris. No-one’s going to hit you, no-one’s going to hurt you. You’re going to stay here tonight, get drunk if need be, and we’ll sort this out in the morning. For now you’re safe, my friend. Do you understand?” The Iron Bull laid a hand very gently over Fenris’ as the elf stared at him with eyes that were too wide.

“I don’t want to drink ser, please just let me go. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Fenris pleaded as he stared through Bull rather than at him.

“Shit,” muttered the Qunari. “Fenris. You don’t have to drink. But it’s not safe for you to go - do you understand? You need to stay here, where you’re safe.”

He stepped to the door and wrestled it open a little. “Krem? Krem!” he bellowed. “Get your ass up here, I need you!” He stared back at Fenris.

Fenris had sunk to the ground and finally closed his eyes. He was terrified and didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave.

Krem pounded up the stairs and staggered to a halt outside the door, slightly out of breath. “Boss?”

The Iron Bull jerked a head at Fenris. “Asala-taar,” he said softly, and Krem’s eyes softened.

“Shit,” the Charger said. “You need me to take care of him Boss?”

“Yeah. He... he ‘s shit-scared of me, Krem. Just keep him safe, don’t let him go outside, get a few drinks into him if you can. And Krem?”

“Yeah boss?” 

“That Warden who came through the rift with Hal... he’s Aqun-Athlok. He and Fenris....” The Iron Bull gave Fenris a meaningful look then glanced back at Krem. “You know? So maybe he’ll... I dunno, relax around you.”

“I’ll take him to my room, get him settled boss,” said Krem with an understanding nod as the Iron Bull let him in. “Hey, Fenris! Been wanting to talk to you for ages. I want to ask you about your sword technique - come with me, I really want to know more about it,” said the Charger as he took Fenris’ arm and coaxed the elf to his feet. “Man, you look like shit - look, my room’s got this hot tub with - get this - _dwarf plumbing_. Come on, it’ll make you feel a new man,” grinned Krem as he coaxed Fenris out and down the hall.

The Iron Bull watched his trusted second-in-command take over with the traumatised elf, and sighed. Whatever had happened in Skyhold, he needed to get back there as swiftly as he could. Fenris was safe with Krem.

The Qunari headed back down to the common room to speak to the Inquisitor.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic calms down, but it may be too late.

Anders blinked as he stared at Invictus, his fingers curled tightly in the folds of the down comforter.

“But... I don’t understand,” he breathed as he stared at the Champion. “Why... why didn’t he just tell us? This... he... Hawke, I don’t understand!”

“Nor do I, he had a lot of fucking nerve after the way he raked me over the coals. I told him sleep in the stables with the rest of the animals.” Vic snapped as he sat in a chair.

“Oh Maker, no,” breathed Anders softly. “I can’t imagine he took that well. But Hawke, I just don’t understand - if I could forgive you, why couldn’t he? Why did he have to do this?” Anders glanced away as he swung his legs down from the bed then rubbed his forehead slowly. “None of this makes sense,” he confessed.

“You think I care about how he took it? He can twist in the Void for this for all I care. You want to forgive him, that’s on you. I need time, if I can ever do so. I don’t even know where Zevran went but he was deeply hurt by this as am I.” Vic poured himself some tea as he glanced up at Anders. “What?”

“How can I forgive him for something when he’s not even told me what he did?” said Anders quietly. “The first I knew of any of this was when I woke up just now to you ranting. I have no idea where Fenris is. I guess... maybe he decided he didn’t need to apologise to me,” he said slowly, and then he wrapped his arms around his waist. “Oh Maker. That hurts. That he wouldn’t even tell me to my face....”

“I told him to come to you but last I saw he was in a pile on the floor of Leliana’s office. Maybe he’s still there, I don’t care.” Vic crawled into bed with Anders and pressed a kiss to his lover’s temple. ”Sorry, I’m still hurting; I’m not angry with you. He’s probably somewhere hiding and ashamed as he should be.”

Anders fell back onto the bed and curled around Invictus. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me,” he whimpered softly. “And another Warden at that! Vic, I don’t understand!” He clutched his head. “And my head hurts so much... I hoped he’d be here when I woke, but... I guess now I understand why I was on my own. Vic, what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’ll even face us with how I left him or how broken he was at Zevran’s leaving him there on the floor. I’m so done in but I said I’d send a message to the stables if you wanted to see him.”

Anders pulled away slightly and stared at Invictus aghast. “You called him an animal. Oh Vic, he was a _slave_! What would he have thought at that?” He pulled away and rolled out of the bed, stumbling a little as he reached for his staff to steady himself. “This is all so wrong, so bad... I’d almost think Corypheus were at work within our ranks if I didn’t know better,” he breathed as he grabbed pants and hastily began to dress.

“He acted like one, going off to fuck the first person he saw when he had three lovers. You’d feel bad for anyone.” Vic said as he watched Anders dress.

Anders glared back at Invictus. “There’s far more to Belann than you know, Hawke,” he said. “I knew it the first time I touched them. Belann may look like any other man, but under that armour there’s a woman’s body, and the thought that Fenris sought out a woman instead of one of us... that there maybe was something he needed that he just couldn’t get from us....” The Warden turned away as he pulled on a clean shirt and tunic. “And yes, I feel sorry... Maker, Vic, don’t you think I’ve seen enough death and dying? I’m tired of it. I’m _sick_ of it. I’ve had enough. I....” The mage tailed off and dropped into a nearby chair. “Vic, I’m tired of all this fighting. It’s just what Corypheus wants.”

“I doubt Corypheus wanted Fenris to go off and shag Belann, who is a man as far as I know. Go on, look in the stable if you want, but I don’t have anything to say to him yet.” Vic glanced at Anders and shrugged. “This time I won’t be as forgiving if at all. you want him back, so be it.”

“Vic,” said Anders in a small voice, staring at the Champion. 

“Anders.” Vic replied evenly. “What do you want from me? He was going to kill me over sleeping with Dorian and then he goes off and shags the warden and everyone knew Anders. He made fools of us, at least until I confessed no one knew what I’d done.” 

Anders glanced away, face pale. “I... he really did it? Behind our backs? You’re absolutely certain?” whispered the blond apostate.

“Yes, but let him tell you himself. He should answer to you. I’d wanted to spare you this but I figured you’d ask where he was after a fourth day gone.” Vic sighed and pulled Anders to his feet. “Come on let’s find him.”

Anders allowed Invictus to pull him to his feet. “Four days? Has it really been four days?” He stared at Invictus, eyes pleading, but slowly he slumped as he realised Hawke was telling him only the truth.

“Yeah come on, let’s get this over with.” Vic headed towards the stables with Anders in tow.

Anders allowed himself to be drawn along by the charismatic other man; he couldn’t entirely bring himself to believe that Fenris had actually been sleeping around behind their backs after the hell he’d put Invictus through for his indiscretion with Dorian. Anders had found that relatively simple to forgive Hawke for - particularly in light of everything else that had happened since; he was still more than halfway in denial over what the Wardens had done, even though every time he looked out their windows he could just make out the limits of the wardens’ prison camp where the warden mages were kept. He had been to see Solona precisely once, and Invictus still wouldn’t tell him what had happened afterwards.

What had Fenris done that could be so terrible that he would be banished to the stables? As Invictus led him there, the blond apostate found his breath was beginning to speed up, his heart beginning to race.

What had Fenris done?

**

The elf was laying on top of the bed staring out the window, listless after Krem had left for a bath. He heard shouting from downstairs but paid it no mind as he tried to find some reason to get out of bed. That changed when he heard Invictus’ and Anders’ voices outside his door.

He scrambled backward when the door opened, Anders in the lead and Vic behind still furious as he had been the night before. Fenris got into the corner and looked down, unable to face Anders' hurt.

“Don’t you dare play hurt with him too. Look Anders in the eye when you confess.” Vic snapped.

The elven warrior glanced up then hung his head again as he waited for Anders to have his say.

"Hawke," said Anders warningly. "I don't think you're helping. Why don't you go talk to Varric and make sure half the hold isn't gossiping about all of this, hmm?”

Invictus glared at Fenris, but after a moment he slowly nodded. "I'll be downstairs, love," he told Anders as he gently patted the blond apostate’s shoulder before leaving. 

Anders stared at Fenris, then lowered himself to the floor to sit just in front of the elf. 

“I couldn't believe it when Hawke said he'd banished you to the stables,” he said quietly. “I was rather relieved not to find you bedded down with the animals. Love.... please tell me what happened?" Anders' eyes were gentle and pleading; this was somehow even worse than if he had been angry. Rage, Fenris had been prepared for - this soft confusion and Anders' gentleness was almost too much for the elf. 

Being called love made tears fall from the elf’s eyes as he told Anders of his trespass with Belann. He couldn’t bear to look at the apostate as he finished. “Why aren’t you yelling at me too?” Fenris asked when Anders didn’t react as he expected.

Anders glanced down at his fingers as they lay laced loosely together upon his lap, then up at Fenris. He nodded slowly. "Hawke told me that much, but I wanted to hear it from you," he said softly. "What he couldn’t tell me was why?"

“I...I just felt alone and like I wasn’t being heard when I said I wasn’t strong. I had a moment of weakness and fear Anders, I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not strong as everyone thinks, I’m broken and terrified and Vic thinks me no better than an animal. I don’t blame him, I did you all wrong and I don’t deserve forgiveness. I wanted to leave, Bull wouldn’t let me and Krem took pity on me too...I can’t do this anymore, I can’t… Vic hates me, Zevran hates me, Hawke didn’t even let me apologize to him. After Zevran left, Invictus stormed off.” Fenris realized he was rambling and repeating himself so he tapered off as he curled inwards upon himself.

“You’re not an animal,” said Anders gently. “Oh love. I should have seen this coming sooner. This... this was my fault, wasn’t it? When I told you to pull yourself together for Hal? Maker, I’m so sorry love, I shouldn’t have said that!” He reached for the elf, pulling him into his arms. “It’s going to be OK. We’ll get through this. It’ll take time, but we’ll make it work, I know we will. Just don’t give up on us love, I’m still here.” He pressed gentle kisses to Fenris’ tear-streaked face.

“No...it’s not your fault! Don’t say that. It’s not your doing I’m a hypocrite. Just let me alone, it’s what I deserve for my betrayal. I can’t even talk to you and look you in the eye, please don’t be kind to me, I’m not worthy of it.” Fenris rested his head against Anders shoulder, determined to remember that feeling since he was sure it would be the last time he’d be allowed to touch the other man.

“Love, you’re punishing yourself over this far more effectively than anything I could ever do. Please don’t punish me too and push me away,” murmured Anders as he held Fenris close. “How is what you’ve done any worse than what Hawke did with Dorian? And yet we worked past that, we stayed together, Fenris. We can work through this too, I know we can! And we’re all hypocrites. That’s no reason to push me away from you though love. I was only afraid that when I’d heard it was Belann you’d gone to, you were looking for the one thing she could give you that we can’t.”

“Belann is a man.” Fenris replied as he pulled away from Anders to wipe his tears away and try to pull himself together.

Anders blinked. “Then... it wasn’t for... you mean you didn’t... like that?” he said, stumbling over his words. “It was just... it wasn’t deliberate that you went to Belann? Sh- He just happened to be the person who was there at the right moment?” He stared at Fenris, lifting a hand to gently wipe a tear from the elf’s cheek.

“In a way...no, it’s what happened. I was drunk and low, and it...happened. I’m so sorry Anders. I just don’t understand, it happened. You should go to them, leave me here.” Fenris said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Anders gently. “You made a mistake. I don’t think you’re about to abandon us all for Belann, are you? And I’m glad it was as a man you had Belann, because I hate to break it to you but although I look fabulous in a dress, I think I’d have a hard time coming up with a convincing pair of breasts and I can’t stay cleanshaven for more than a day and I never could get the hang of lipstick,” he tried to joke. “You should ask Isabela. I’d make a lousy woman for you, love.”

“Not funny...I don’t want a woman. Hadrianna scarred me enough to make me.... it is not something I can speak of right now.” Fenris took a shaky breath and dared to look at Anders. “Apologies, I ...am at a loss. Hawke hates me, told me to sleep in the stables like the dog I am. I fear what I’ve done to Zevran and you. I can’t muster the energy to do more than lie here and be pathetic.”

“I shouldn’t have joked about that, I’m sorry,” said Anders. “Love, you’re not a dog - it hurts to hear you speak of yourself like that. As for what you’ve done to me - love, I’m _here_ , aren’t I? I’m here and I still love you. Do you... still love me?” he added, hesitantly, as he glanced at Fenris a little worried from behind his hair.

“Yes, I do. I don’t understand why you aren’t screaming and yelling at me too. Why are you calling me love? I’m nothing but a unfaithful dog, why do you still care?” Fenris replied brokenly.

“You’re not a dog!” cried Anders. “Please, please stop saying that, it’s not true! I care because I still love you, Fenris!”

“I love you as well, for what it’s worth. Anders, please don’t get upset over me saying the truth. What would you have me do to make amends?” Fenris pleaded as he finally looked at his lover, or so he hoped.

“Don’t leave us - don’t leave _me_ ,” said Anders softly. “Stay. Help me make this work. I still love you, you love me - that has to count for something, surely?” He felt his eyes stinging, his throat felt closed and tight. He rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Nor I you, I just fear I have broken things beyond repair with Hawke and Zevran. I am glad you have enough love in your heart for me still. I’ll do anything you say to make this up to you Anders, I am yours since you will still have me.” Fenris wiped at his face again and curled up in his mages arms willingly. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

Anders curled around Fenris and buried his face in the soft white hair. “We’ll make it work. A few things will change, but we’ll manage,” he murmured, his mind already racing. He’d have to talk to Cullen about room changes; he doubted Hawke would agree to share a room with Fenris still - at least, not just yet. Maybe he should suggest separate rooms for them all; then he could go to Fenris or Fenris come to him without Hawke necessarily feeling completely out in the cold or that Anders had taken up entirely with just Fenris. If they each had their own rooms, that would make things easier. Not that he expected Hawke would be too pleased.

He felt wetness on his face and dashed a hand across his eyes. “Maker, now _I’m_ crying,” he mumbled and tried to smile. “What a pair we make....”

“Don’t cry, not over this or me.” Fenris pulled away with a sigh. “I’ll ask Cullen to move me, away so Hawke doesn’t have to see me. You are welcome to visit when you want. I doubt Zevran will speak with me again.” 

Anders blinked at him in surprise. “Did you turn into a mind reader whilst my back was turned?” he exclaimed. “I was just thinking that maybe I should ask Cullen to give us all our own separate rooms!”

“No, I just know that no one but you will tolerate me right now. I’m sorry, but will you come with me to see Cullen? I ...I can’t face Invictus alone and, I fear that if he yells again I will fall prey to _Asala-taar_. I cannot be a burden to the few who will allow me to remain among them.” Fenris asked quietly as he tried to pull himself together enough to leave the room.

“ _Asala-taar_?” echoed Anders. “What’s that?”

The door opened and Krem pushed his way in past someone in the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Soul sickness,” said the Tevinter mercenary as he tossed his sword down on the other bed then glanced over at the two men. “Apparently it happens a lot on Seheron. Combat stress reaction mostly, though I’ve seen it set in weeks, months after combat or in relation to other things. Seen a lot of it in the mages coming in as refugees, particularly the ones whose Circles got annulled. Very few survivors from those, and all of them had this look of the walking dead amongst them. Fenris had the look of it last night; the Boss called me in to take care of him.” Krem glanced down at the papers in his hand and grunted. “The Boss figured some time apart would probably be a good idea; he went to speak to Cullen himself this morning. Apparently the Commander’s not feeling too good, so the Boss probably got him to agree pretty easy.” Krem gave them both a big grin. “Pick a morning when Cullen’s feeling lousy and you could get pretty much anything out of him if you word it right. You’ll probably have your picks of the best guest rooms by the time he’s finished!”

“I’ll settle for somewhere reasonably close to the infirmary and walking distance from the library for my research,” said Anders with a shrug. “I’m not hugely fussy.”

“Doesn’t matter where I go.” Fenris sat down and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Apologies for being a bother last night Cremisius. I should speak to the Bull as well.” 

“Told you - just call me Krem; everyone else does,” shrugged the mercenary. “And hey, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve sat up with someone in that state. Why do you think the Boss called me? It’s OK, he’ll be fine with it as long as you don’t make a habit of it. You must have impressed him at some point; he doesn’t call just anyone ‘friend’ you know.” He shuffled the papers in his hands and frowned. “Half of these need to go to the Boss, the other half to Leliana. I’ll walk back with you to the keep if you give me a moment.” He jerked his head towards the washbasin. “You probably both want to wash up before we go.”

Fenris quickly and quietly wiped his face before he gathered his things. He glanced at Krem and back to the door, actually afraid to see Invictus again.

Anders took his turn at the washbasin, washing away the traces of tears as Krem headed to the door. The mercenary pulled it open and seemed unsurprised to see Invictus still on the doorstep. 

“Hawke. You’re in my way,” he said evenly. “I’m sure you have better things to do than eavesdrop at doors. Particularly as this note tells me the Inquisitor wants a word with you.” Krem held up one of the scraps of paper in his hand and grinned. “You probably want to go see what he wants - Lavellan can get nasty when he’s kept waiting, and I think he woke up cranky today.”

“Very well Lieutenant Aclassi, thank you for the message.” Vic took it and glanced back at Anders. “I’ll see you later, Anders.” 

Anders returned his glance a little uncertainly, then nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

Fenris looked away, his ears even drooping a bit as he moved behind Anders.

Vic glared at the elf before he noticed the look he was getting from Krem. “Good day Krem.”

“Sure it will be,” replied Krem, not moving. “Can’t say the same of yours, Hawke. Give my regards to the Inquisitor.” He stood waiting for Hawke to leave.

Fenris had grabbed at Anders coat and whined as he watched Hawke go. “He’s going to hate me even more after his visit with the Inquisitor I’m sure.”

Anders slung an arm around Fenris’ shoulders. “And I’m sure he’ll take it out on me later, but I’ll worry about it then. Come on. Let’s get our rooms sorted out.”

“Very well.” Fenris let Anders lead him out to get settled elsewhere and hopefully be left to himself to think.

Cullen did indeed look much the worse for wear when they visited his office. Anders was given a large, airy room quite close to Solas’ quarters, one level down from the library and an easy walk from the infirmary. Anders had protested that he didn’t need that much space, but Cullen pointed out it had work room for his potion-brewing and shelves he could fill with his own books, and the large windows that let in the brilliant winter sunshine.

Fenris was given a comfortable set of rooms not far down the hall, quite close to where the Iron Bull was billeted. The windows were perhaps not quite as large as those in Anders’ rooms, but they afforded a good view of the courtyard where Fenris could observe the comings and goings. He could see the practice yards clearly from the balcony; they were already busy with the new recruits being put through their paces.

“Maybe you might like to go take a look over some of them later, I’d like your opinion on the latest bunch, Fenris,” remarked Cullen. He winced as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’ll excuse me - I need to consult Cassandra on some troop moves.”

“If you wish Commander, thank you for accomodating us.” Fenris said quietly.

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” said Cullen, waving a hand. “We’re still only barely occupying maybe half of this place at present anyway, and to be honest it will be far more convenient having Anders over with the other mages. Lavellan’s already been talking about wanting to see Anders have the same opportunities for research that the others do, and your old shared quarters were only a temporary arrangement. And I daresay you’ll appreciate having space to yourself as well. Anyway, you know where to find me if you need anything.” Cullen nodded to him then headed off with the look of a man who was expecting half a dozen more things to suddenly land on his plate any minute.

Fenris watched him go before he turned to Anders with a tired look. “Come with me to get my things? I don’t ...I’m scared of Hawke and don’t want to run into him alone.” pleaded the elf.

“Alright,” said Anders. “I need to get my stuff as well - and my cat.” 

They headed back to their old rooms to find them unoccupied. Anders swiftly gathered his things, the cat leaping up on top of his pack as he reached for his staff.

Fenris did the same, and gave a wistful look at the bed, knowing it would be long time, if ever that he shared with them again. “I’m ready.”

“Come on, love,” said Anders gently. “It’ll be alright eventually. It’s just going to take time.”

They headed to Anders’ rooms, where the cat leapt down from Anders’ pack to immediately start exploring whilst Anders stowed his clothing away. The Warden armour he placed on the armour stand in the corner; he stood his staff beside the bed then crossed to the bookshelves and stared at them. The small collection of books in his arms would barely fill even one shelf.

Fenris waited until Anders was done before he made to go. “I should put my things away, probably eat something. I’ll take meals in my room I don’t want others to see me now.” 

“Alright, love. I just want to go check for a couple of books in the library once I’m straightened up here.” He turned and kissed Fenris gently. “You could come and join me here for dinner later?”

“If you want, and if you will be alone. I am scared Anders. I hate to admit it but there it is. A man I love who I’ve wronged terribly? I’m now terrified of him and if Zev gets it in his head to kill me, at least I won’t see him coming.” Fenris shrugged as he stepped forward and looked up at Anders with the hint of a smile. “Will it truly be alright?’

Anders set the books in his arms aside, then stepped closer and let his hands come to rest on Fenris’ sides, his hands warm and comforting against Fenris’ ribs. “Love, as far as I’m concerned, between the two of us it already is. I don’t know what will happen with Hawke or Zevran, but you still have me. I still love you.”

“Thank you.” Fenris said quietly. “I...should go.” the elf reached up on his toes and kissed Anders on the cheek quickly before he left for his room.

The room seemed more empty once Fenris had gone. Anders gave himself a small shake then turned to put the books on one of the bookshelves before scooping up the cat and wandering over to the large windows, staring out absently over the courtyard. He could see the ruined tower in the southwest corner; he stared at it with a faint frown before turning away.

Meanwhile Invictus had a few bruises and a lot to think about as he sought out Anders’ new quarters, he had things to discuss. He finally found the room, and knocked quickly.

Anders glanced up from the passage he was writing and blinked; he wasn’t sure who knew he had moved to these rooms yet. “Come in,” he called, as he bent over the scroll and dipped his quill in the ink again, trying to recall his train of thought.

Vic entered and stared at Anders for a moment before he spoke. “Nice room.”

Anders’ head jerked up and he stared at Hawke, startled. “Hawke!” He laid the quill aside as he straightened. The cat had curled up on the corner of the desk; it lifted its head to stare curiously at Hawke, then mewed softly.

“Anders...you got a nice space, not sure where I go or if I’m being left the other room.” Vic replied as he stood there, unsure about things.

“Cullen wanted me near the other mages; it makes it easier for him to collect our reports, and it gives me better access to the library and infirmary,” said Anders as he rose to his feet and slowly moved around the desk. “I think we’ve all been given our own quarters - I don’t know if you’re staying in the old room or....” His voice tailed off, and then he took a couple of steps closer. “Maker, is that a black eye?” he exclaimed. “Hawke, who hit you?” A worried look came over his face. “Fenris, you... you two didn’t... fight? Hawke?”

“No...Inquisitor Lavellan took exception to my calling Fenris an animal and how I had handled things. Dorian was just as shocked to see it as I was to be hit. I think Meneris will be seeking out our unfaithful elf for a talk.” Vic rubbed at his face tiredly as he went to the table and sat. “I heard you both earlier…”

“Oh,” said Anders quietly. He crossed over to the window and pushed it open. “If you expect me to turn my back on Fenris then I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you,” he said quietly.

“No...I don’t know what to do. I don’t hate him, but I am hurt and angry. However the Inquisitor reminded me rather painfully of how far over the line calling him an animal was.” Vic said with a glance to Anders. 

Anders turned and leaned on the windowsill, glaring at Hawke. “That _was_ completely over the line,” he agreed. “And I’ve a good mind to let you put up with healing that black eye the slow way just for that. He was treated as an animal enough by Danarius without you treating him as one too.” He folded his arms and stared at the other mage.

“Yeah, now that I’m not so angry smoke is coming off me I realized it.” Vic replied. “I don’t even know if he’d speak to me. I saw the fear in his eyes when he realized I was outside the door, just like the last time I fucking traumatized him. Even if I went to him, he’d probably shut down and cower.” Vic raised a hand to his face to heal himself of the worst of the bruising.

Anders scowled; he’d been in half a mind to order Hawke to leave the bruising be and to damned well wear the black eye as a reminder not to be so much of an ass; he suspected Hawke would have done it too. Instead he settled for glaring at the other mage. “You’re not going anywhere near Fenris until he’s ready to handle it. He was in a terrible state, as you well know if you were eavesdropping.” He stalked back over towards his desk and dropped down into the chair, still staring at Hawke as the cat came and curled up in his lap.

“We’re all a bunch of hypocrites, Hawke. This week it’s Fenris who’s been ripped to shreds and humiliated. Before Adamant it was you. I doubt Zevran would be so foolish as to be caught and he certainly wouldn’t allow the rest of us to lay into him the way you and he appear to have laid into Fenris last night. Is it my turn next?” Anders raised an eyebrow at the other mage.

“Alright, I get it. I’m an asshole, we’re all assholes. You’re the only one that hasn’t strayed. Zev and I have no ties, nor does he have any with you. It’s Fenris that’s hurt him and me and you. I’ll leave him alone, but I don’t like that I can still be so cruel, I’d thought I was past it.” Vic said as he gave up on healing himself. “Damn, can’t completely fix this.”

“Then you can live with it,” replied Anders. “And I could have, you know. You and Fenris certainly tried to push me at Cullen hard enough, and Nate’s made no secret that he’d love us to do more than revisit an old friendship. I don’t like that I have to witness the way you and Fenris do this to each other over and over - see the viciousness with which you rip each other to pieces, and I’m left picking them up again and wondering if one day you’ll both turn on me - and who’ll be left to pick up _my_ pieces?”

“I’m not turning on you Anders.” Vic said sullenly. “I just couldn’t believe it after he was ready to literally rip my heart out over Dorian that he’d go to someone else. It doesn’t matter, I’ve terrified Fenris over this. If he ever speaks to me again, I don’t know if we can fix it this time.” 

Anders stroked the cat slowly. “Do you _want_ to fix it?” he asked quietly.

“I guess so...I don’t know Anders. I wonder what we’re not giving him that he went to someone else.” Vic said sadly.

“That was what worries me,” confessed Anders. “I thought... when he went to Belann... that he was looking for something we can’t give him, but he assured me that wasn’t it. Belann was just there, it could have happened with anyone. I think it was a one-off comfort thing. He was unnerved by Hal, and I... I didn’t recognise how vulnerable he was feeling. He needed someone to be strong and take care of him for once, I was in no fit state to recognise that much less be that for him, and neither you nor Zevran were around.” Anders’ face fell. “It was as much my fault as anything; I told him to pull himself together. I failed to realise what he needed.”

“He could have found me, he could have found Zevran. Don’t let him off the hook so easy. Regardless, I don’t know what to do now that I’m not ready to light him on fire when I see him.” Vic sighed and reached for the pitcher. “I should probably see where I’m laying my head and try to get settled. However, do you want this to work? Do you want things to be fixed?”

“Of course I do!” exclaimed Anders as he lifted his head to stare at Hawke. “I still love him, just as I still love you, Vic! Do you think I want to be ripped apart between the two of you? I want - no, I _need_ this to be fixed!”

“Then what do we do, no - what do _I_ do?” Vic stared at the ceiling and sighed. “We’re a great fucking pair I tell you.”

Anders rubbed his scar with the palm of his hand tiredly. “Maybe we all need our space for a bit. Maybe we need to start over, start again.”

“We can’t just toss years together out and start over, but something needs to give. I’m surprised the Inquisitor didn’t throw me out.” Vic said as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. “Tell him, I will see him when he’s ready. Until then I should get myself together. I’m sorry Anders, you’re always fixing things.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” the blond apostate shrugged as he closed his eyes and rested his head against his hand. “I’m a healer; fixing things is basically why I exist. I just wish this particular part of things didn’t need it so much.”

The cat rose up on his lap and mewed softly, reaching up to bat at Anders’ face gently with a velveted paw.

“Me too, Anders, me too.” Vic got to his feet with a grunt. “Kiss before I go?”

Anders lifted his head and stared at Hawke, then got to his feet and walked slowly towards the other mage.

Vic kissed him slow and long, and apologized again before he pulled back. “See you for dinner maybe?” 

Anders put his hand to his face. “I’m sorry, I already told Fenris he could come and have dinner with me here,” he sighed.

“Alright, pass my message on yeah?” Vic kissed him again before he headed for the door. “I’ll let you know where I wind up staying if you want to visit.” 

“I’d... I’d like that,” said Anders quietly as he watched Hawke go. The cat twined about his feet as he stood there; as the door closed behind Hawke, Anders made his way over to the bed and threw himself down upon it, his head beginning to throb again in earnest.

The bed seemed far too large and empty for him by himself.

***  
“I can’t go anywhere without something falling to pieces. Why do we have them here again?” Meneris ranted as he finished rubbing a towel over his head. “I should have pitched Hawke off the balcony myself for that remark.”

“Hawke’s Warden contact helped us track down the Wardens, and he has experience of dealing with Corypheus,” replied Dorian in a quiet, reasonable tone from his chair as he laid aside the book he’d been reading. “Though I concur on the remark about Fenris being an animal, and of the three of them I’d argue that Anders has proven himself the most useful to the Inquisition. I certainly wouldn’t be here without him.”

“And you, why didn’t you make him get up when he bowed like a slave?!” Meneris sniped as he flung the towel away and sat on the bed. 

Dorian winced. “He was too far gone by that point; I don’t think the poor fellow was even capable of standing,” he replied. “Believe me, I took no pleasure in that, Meneris. I wanted to throw up when he just dropped to his knees - I had enough of that back in Minrathous, I don’t think either he or I needed that. I feel queasy just remembering it.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wanted an apology, I _didn’t_ want him abasing himself in front of me like that. I felt a complete heel, Meneris.”

“I should speak with him, Bull said he basically went away” he waved at his head vaguely “...for a while last night. I can’t imagine him falling apart like that. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

“He and Anders have been assigned separate quarters I believe. Anders is with the rest of us mages - I think he’s next to Solas, just below the library, so you should find him much easier to track down when you’re collecting our reports. I’m not sure where Fenris has moved to; doubtless Cullen could tell you,” replied Dorian. “I must admit Fenris really doesn’t seem like the ‘falling apart’ sort, but you never can tell.”

“Everyone has a breaking point love, even him. I think it’s part of the problem though it doesn’t excuse what has happened. I haven’t seen Belann or Zevran either come to think of it. It can wait until I’ve shown you I missed you.” Meneris crooked his fingers in a come hither motion to his lover. “You owe me a demonstration of warden stamina.”

“Indeed,” Dorian purred as he got to his feet and slowly sauntered over towards Meneris. “And what kind of demonstration did you have in mind, hmm?” He began to slowly unbuckle his white tunic, eyes never leaving Meneris.

“See how fast you can have me screaming your name, and how soon you can put me on my back.” Meneris was only clad in a towel as he watched Dorian disrobe.

“Pah, there’s no artistry in _speed_ ,” said the Tevinter mage as he tossed the tunic to one side and began unbuckling the sleeves. 

“I’m not a piece of art, I’m a man desperate for your touch. Get moving Pavus.” Meneris stared at his lover with lust in his eyes.

Dorian stripped off the sleeves and threw aside his shirt before bending over to start unbuckling his boots. “Now, now, _amatus_ \- all good things come to those who wait,” he chided.

“You know I’m not a patient man when I want something Dorian.” Meneris said as he stared at Dorian before he pulled the towel free and stretched across their bed.

Dorian pulled his boots off and set them aside before sauntering over towards the bed, slowly tugging the laces of his pants loose as he walked. “No, patience is most certainly not one of your virtues, love,” he murmured as he slid a hand down the front of his pants, dipping below the waistband of his smallclothes to palm himself with a soft groan.

“Do I have to order you to hurry amatus?” Meneris said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Dorian laughed as he stripped off his pants and smallclothes together, kicking them aside before climbing up on the bed to roll Meneris onto his back then sit astride the elf’s hips.

“So pushy,” murmured the Altus as he pinned Meneris’ wrists to the bed either side of his head then slowly ground his hips against those of the other man, enjoying the feeling as their cocks rubbed together. Dorian rolled his hips and grinned. 

“I am the Inquisitor.” Meneris groaned as he wrapped his legs around Dorian’s back. “You like it when I’m pushy.”

“Mmmm, yes, I do,” purred Dorian as he sped up his thrusts, frotting against Meneris’ leg, then rolling his hips again so that his erection rubbed against the elf’s perineum. “You want this?” he murmured.

“Yes, very much so. Come on Dori...don’t make me beg.” Meneris gasped.

Dorian chuckled as he continued to rut against Meneris’ arse. “But you beg so _prettily_ , my love!” he grinned. He shifted his grip so that he could pin both the elf’s wrists above his head with one hand whilst he reached down with the other to stroke around the elf’s entrance, fondling him gently, reaching up to cup Meneris’ balls and fondle and squeeze them as he continued to idly rut against the elf’s arse.

“Fuck you’ve gotten stronger since you joined the wardens. Come on, stop teasing me dammit. It’s been a while.” Meneris moaned.

“I have?” said Dorian with mild surprise. “Fascinating.” He ran his hand up slowly to curl it around Meneris’ cock and he began to slowly pump it, swiping his thumb across the head on each upstroke and giving it a practiced twist on each downstroke. On the third stroke he let a tiny spark of electricity fly.

“Hnnng, more of that.” Meneris moaned.

Dorian obliged him, getting into a rhythm as he pumped Meneris’ cock, continuing to rut against his arse, letting fly a small spark of electricity every third or fourth stroke as he rocked against the elf. “Mmmm, like that?” he murmured.

“Yes, just like that...want you to fuck me.” Meneris gasped.

Dorian released Meneris’ cock and reached for the vial of oil close at hand on the bedside table. Flicking out the cork with his thumbnail, he anointed his own cock before up-ending it in his palm then set it aside. He ran his hand over his own cock, groaning quietly, then gently slipped a slicked finger inside Meneris up to the first joint, nudging at the tight ring of muscle inside.

“Dammit Dorian!” Meneris twisted under his lover’s grip. “Tease, you fucking damned tease!”

“You asked for this,” muttered the Altus, and suddenly thrust his cock fully into Meneris in one smooth move, stopping only when his full length was seated inside the elf’s body.

“More like I had to beg.” Meneris moaned as he was filled. “Take me, make me forget everything but us.”

Dorian chuckled but obediently began to roll his hips and thrust slowly, teasingly, in and out of Meneris’ body as his hand returned to the elf’s cock to continue his steady pumping, occasionally flicking out a little zap of electricity - sometimes to the base, sometimes just to the tip, sometimes every third stroke, sometimes only every fourth or fifth until the elf couldn’t predict where or when they would come as he continued his slow, leisurely thrusting into Meneris’ hot, tight body. “Oh, _amatus_ , so tight, so _good_ ,” purred Dorian.

“Dorian...fuck...fuck.” Meneris tightened his grip around Dorian’s waist as he arched his back and called his lover everything but chosen of the Creators.

Dorian began to speed up his thrusts, angling them to try and hit Meneris’ sweet spot. He knew he’d got it when the elf’s stream of babble turned to pure swears in Dalish. Panting, Dorian grinned and angled for that spot again, and again, speeding up the pace of his hand as he pumped Meneris’ cock faster, trailing electricity up the underside of the elf’s cock with his thumb in addition to the random zaps and flicks of power. He could feel the elf trembling beneath him as his climax approached.

“Yes...Dor...Dorian. So close...please.” Meneris babbled as his eyes closed and he trembled under his lover’s touch.

Dorian sped up faster, his own breaths coming as shallow pants as his hips bucked, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in the room as he trickled more power into the little zaps he was giving Meneris’ cock. On each upstroke of his hand, his thumb swiped over the oozing liquid that flowed from the slit; his wrist was starting to ache a little as he pumped harder, feeling Meneris tremble beneath him. “Come for me, _mi amatus,_ ” he breathed.

Meneris groaned and panted as he finally hit his climax and called upon Dorian for anything his lover wanted as long as he could feel that again.

Dorian’s hand fell away from Meneris’ cock as he tried to chase his own climax, his hand falling instead to Meneris’ hip as he continued to thrust into the elf’s warm body, his breath stuttering as he felt heat coil deep in his groin until finally with a low groan of the elf’s name, he came, shuddering as he spent his seed deep inside Meneris. He released the elf’s wrists as he braced himself over the Inquisitor and slowly slid out of him.

“Creators...definitely a bonus to bedding a warden, you’re still hard.” Meneris said softly as he laid there and tried to slow his breathing. 

“Give me a couple of minutes to catch my breath and I could go again,” agreed Dorian as he sat back on his heels.

“Take me on the balcony, I’ve always wanted to do that.” Meneris said with an easy laugh.

“That has definite possibilities,” said Dorian. “Not least the chance to scandalise our dear Madam de Fer - and anyone else with the appropriate vantage point.”

“I thought you liked her, you are terrible. You should wash up so I can enjoy that lovely cock of yours in my mouth before you take me again.” Meneris sat up and grinned at Dorian. 

Dorian got up and fetched the basin of water and a cloth, warming the water with a casual gesture before setting to work, cleaning them both up. “I do hope there’s a chance you’ll regain your own stamina enough to take me at some point, love,” he remarked as he set the bowl and cloth aside afterwards. “Fair turn and turn about.” He smiled.

“You know a stamina spell or two I’d wager.” Meneris said as he crawled over Dorian and started to kiss Dorian’s face and shoulders as he started to work his way down the Altus’ chest.

“Sadly not my forte; necromancer, remember?” sighed Dorian. “Though there are a couple of stamina potions on the table over there. Tell you what, why don’t you down one of those then come back over here and we can investigate the possibilities of rope perhaps, hmm? These bed posts look good and sturdy....” He waggled an eyebrow suggestively.

“Then you’ll take me on the balcony?” Meneris said hopefully.

“Maybe if you’re a very good boy and make _me_ scream,” the Altus promised.

“Hmm, not in the mood to be called boy my love,” Meneris said before he resumed his travel down his lover’s body.

The smile left Dorian’s face in an instant, and he leaned down to cradle Meneris’ chin with his hand, halting his downward progress as he drew the elf back up. He gently kissed Meneris then stared into his eyes tenderly. “Forgive me, _mi amatus_ ,” he said softly.

“Always, I’m just not in that frame of mind love. We can talk later, I’ve got other things on my mind right now.” Meneris returned Dorian’s kiss before he sat next to his lover. “Sorry if I broke the mood.”

“No, I... I was thoughtless,” replied Dorian quietly. 

“Want to take a nap and maybe pick up where we left off, or want me to take care of you love?” Meneris asked as he let his fingers trip down Dorian’s thigh. The altus groaned as Meneris’ fingers drifted closer to his groin.

“Please, love,” he murmured huskily.

Meneris filled his palm with oil and started to stroke Dorian slowly, steadily as he stared into his lover’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Dorian bit his lip and arched into Meneris’ grip. “Ah! Ah... you, _amatus_ ,” he whimpered as Meneris’ grip strengthened; he had to fight not to buck into the elf’s sure grip. “Take me...please,” he breathed, his breath quickening.

“Fuck you or make you come, use your words Dorian.” Meneris grinned wickedly as he continued to stroke his lover and enjoy the emotions that crossed the Altus’ face.

“F-Fuck me,” Dorian managed to gasp out and then cried out as Meneris continued to stroke him firmly, running his thumb over the meatus in the head that was already weeping gently.

“Roll over and get yourself ready.” Meneris said as he licked his fingers clean. 

Dorian reached for the oil and coated his fingers before rolling over onto all fours. He reached back and began to work two oiled fingers into himself with a low moan.

“Only two fingers? You must not want it that bad.” Meneris said as he watched Dorian working himself open. Dorian said nothing as he slipped a third finger in, working his fingers in and out steadily; after a few more thrusts, he slipped in the fourth finger, panting slightly. He gave Meneris a challenging look over his shoulder.

“Excellent love, head down and ass up.” Meneris said as he downed a stamina potion before he got behind Dorian and lined himself up. “You beg so well love, I like that you’re eager for me.”

“Please, _amatus_ ,” murmured Dorian as he pushed back, feeling the head of Meneris’ cock brush tantalisingly at his entrance.

“Ah, ah now - impatient!” chided Meneris as he brought a hand down sharply in a stinging smack to Dorian’s right buttock. The Altus cried out in surprise.

“Men-” he began to protest, but his voice tailed away into a quiet wail as the elf slid into him in one long hard thrust until his balls slapped against Dorian’s flesh. “Oh _Maker_ , Meneris!” he exclaimed softly.

“You talk too much; evidently I’ll have to distract you somehow,” said Meneris as he rocked idly against Dorian, his cock sliding inside the other man. He reached around and grasped Dorian’s cock; as he began to pump it slowly, he started to thrust into him in time to the movements of his hand.

Dorian groaned as he buried his face against his arms, canting his hips slightly so that Meneris’ strokes would strike at a better angle. “Nearly, that’s - _oh, fuck...._ ” he moaned as Meneris shifted slightly. The Tevinter mage shuddered as the elf’s strokes hit his sweet spot, and the Inquisitor chuckled.

“Cat got your tongue, love?” he teased, panting, as he began to speed up. Dorian could only reply with little panting cries of encouragement. As Meneris pumped harder and faster on Dorian’s cock and pounded harder into the other man, Dorian’s cries came higher, turning into needy gasps and pleas, a tumbling mix of Trade and Tevene until he was simply babbling and then he was screaming Meneris’ name as he came hard, coating the elf’s hand. Meneris came himself only a few strokes later, spending himself deep inside Dorian, his strokes stuttering as the Tevinter mage shuddered and gasped for breath beneath him.

As Meneris withdrew, Dorian collapsed to the bed then slowly rolled over with a satisfied grin. The Inquisitor’s answering grin had something of a feral nature to it as he swiftly straddled Dorian’s chest, pinning the Altus’ arms against his side as Meneris pressed his wet right hand to Dorian’s lips. 

“Lick it clean,” he ordered. He deliberately smeared Dorian’s seed across his own lips. “All of it. I want to see you swallow it all down.”

Never taking his eyes of those of Meneris for a second, Dorian obediently parted his lips and began to lick all trace of his seed from the elf’s fingers.

“You have no idea how good you look like that, love,” said Meneris, still a little breathless, his skin sheened in swear. “So wanton. Debauched. You should see yourself, with your own come all over your face. You could only look better if I had you tied to my bed with _my_ come all over your face. I’m half tempted to tie you up now, take that other stamina potion and then fuck that beautiful mouth of yours then come all over your face then watch as you lick it up - every last drop.”

Dorian licked his lips and stared up at Meneris. “I thought _I_ was the one with warden stamina around here?” he murmured.

“Are you objecting, love?” asked Meneris.

“Not at all,” replied Dorian with a smile. “Where’s the rope?”

Meneris grinned. 

Dorian had the feeling neither of them would be getting much sleep that night.


	36. Chapter 36

The Crow hunched in the shadows. High up in the rafters of the small, half-ruined hall he perched, looking down to where candles were scattered around the foot of an old statue of Andraste. It had been set at the top of a small flight of stone steps leading to a dais where perhaps some ancient Lord or Lady centuries ago had sat and given audience for private business away from the main hall - or perhaps it had been a chapel then, as it was now. Impossible to say, after all this time. The statue was stained and old, the candles flickering around its feet and standing upon the stone steps lighting the chapel dimly with a golden glow that softened the harsh lines of stone but did not reach to the lofty vaulting roof where an elf might perch and be alone with his thoughts for a while.

For all it was a vast, sprawling and half-ruined fortress, there seemed few enough places one could be completely alone with one’s thoughts and be certain of no interruption. Here was one place; the rafters of Leliana’s raven roost another. He was fairly certain the spymaster knew of his occasional presence there but graciously she pretended to be unaware of him. The rafters of the Great Hall were another favoured place; he could stretch out along some great ancient oak beam and watch for hours, unseen.

The weather was bitterly cold; whilst he might have found some solitary refuge upon the battlements or in some ruined and as yet unoccupied tower, he would also have frozen.

He had been to the quarters they had shared only once, to retrieve his satchel and bedroll; since then he had kept hidden and kept his own counsel, his thoughts his own. In the early hours of the morning he would evade the patrol patterns of the guards (so predictable - and thus, so easily bypassed) to filch food and drink from the kitchens. 

He knew where Anders, Hawke and Fenris now slept, where each separate room lay. He did not visit them. He was not seen in the halls of Skyhold; no-one saw him, of that he was certain.

His mood had been dark and troubled. The white-haired elf was often upon his mind - as was his own reaction to the whole miserable affair.

He had never thought of himself as a jealous person, and certainly not one given to monogamy. His attitude to sex had always been very casual, divorced from emotional intimacy - a simple fulfillment of need, a mutual scratching of itches, an amusing and enjoyable way to pass an hour or two - sometimes longer. It meant nothing though.

And yet... the only other partners he had had since taking up with Fenris had been Hawke and Anders - and even then, only in the context of play with Fenris. He had made no overtures for a physical liaison with Hawke independent of Fenris; he would have had more reason to do so with Anders - after all, they were friends of old. Yet he had simply... not had any interest.

When had the lyrium-marked elf made him monogamous? He would have scoffed if accused of it, and yet - there it was. He had given his heart to Fenris, and he had been faithful.

Fenris hadn’t _asked_ him to be faithful; Fenris had not asked anything of him at all. Yet there it was: Zevran belonged to Fenris, whether the white-haired elf knew it or not.

But they had never stated their relationship was exclusive. So why, then, did the Antivan elf feel somehow betrayed that Fenris had turned to a relative stranger and not him?

The betrayal hurt, and Zevran could not have explained why. This was outside his realm of experience.

As he pondered, it slowly came to him that perhaps his anger had been out of sheer self protection. He had seen the way that Hawke and Fenris seemed to take it in turns to rip each other down over the smallest signs of infidelity; perhaps upon some level he had feared that vitriol being turned upon himself. He had always found it prudent to strike first before being stabbed in the back. Had that been how he had found himself holding a blade to Fenris’ throat? Was this what love and fear had wrought in him?

He bit his thumb, his thoughts dark. He had given his heart so rarely. Rinna had been his first; his involvement in her death and the realisation she had been innocent and died still loving him had led him to seek death at the Warden’s hands. When Solona had spared him, he had come in time to love her as well; and when he thought her dead, he had lost the will to live. He had not thought he would ever find love a third time. Yet there it was; he had given his heart to Fenris, allowing the white-haired elf to fill that cold void within himself.

He rested his back against the stones of the chapel wall, stretched his legs out upon the oaken beam before him, and stared down at the figure far below who had just entered the chapel.

Ah, Commander Cullen. Here, now, was another interesting mystery. Zevran had been watching the Commander often of late; the chapel had become one of the Crow Master’s favourite haunts as the only people who ever seemed to visit it were Cullen, Cassandra and occasionally Leliana. Most people seemed to prefer to visit the new chantry built by the templars and Mother Giselle. Zevran was not a religious man, but privately he preferred the old decrepit chapel to that bright, busy place. He liked the solitude offered by this almost-forgotten hall.

Cullen had been coming to the chapel far more frequently of late; Zevran wondered just what it was that troubled the former Templar so. As he watched, Cullen shuffled in, one hand pressed to his forehead. _Ah_. Evidently the good Commander was plagued by another of his headaches. Zevran wondered why the man hadn’t been to see Anders about that. Doubtless Cullen had his reasons, but it did pique the Crow Master’s curiosity.

Cullen halted at the foot of the steps and glanced up at the face of the statue of Andraste. He was still and silent for several minutes; Zevran watched, patient, certain that the human Commander could not see him in his hiding place so high above.

Cullen lowered his gaze and got down to one knee with what seemed a slow, exaggerated care, then bowed his head, his hands clasped in prayer. As Zevran kept a silent vigil over the former Templar, he wondered what Cullen could have to pray so fervently over that he must come to the chapel so often.

“It burns inside, head aching, but it never really goes away. Listening for the singing, reaching but it’s always empty inside. I could make it sing again but I won’t, I mustn’t, I promised. Praying for the pain to be over but no-one ever answers.”

Zevran was so surprised by the soft whispering voice so close to his ear that he almost fell from his lofty perch. He caught himself, fingers digging into ancient wood as his head snapped around to see the strange spirit boy, Cole, sitting very close to him, his near-colourless eyes barely visible behind the thatch of pale yellow hair.

“You were nearly the death of me,” breathed Zevran. “It is a rare man indeed who can sneak up upon a Crow undetected. You are fortunate to still be breathing, my friend; I have killed men for less.”

Cole looked at him. “Each death, another piece of my soul, a little tiny piece... little birds, pecking away, pecking away. Some deaths take more than I have to give; can I afford to lose any more?”

Zevran stilled as he stared at the strange boy; for a moment he thought his heart had stopped beating, so stunned was he to hear his own words echoed back to him like that.

Cole smiled. Perhaps it was meant to be reassuring, but it came out somehow not quite right on lips that were unused to such human emotion. He looked down at Cullen. “He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake; he can hear it sing, and it makes him hurt. It’s very bad today. Burning up, feeling too hot yet too cold, but can’t tell, mustn’t show. They only respect the strong fist but he’s the wrong shape for the right space; the song makes him all wrong inside.”

“Something is wrong with Cullen?” said Zevran. “He sounds very sick.”

“Should tell but too proud.” Cole’s eyes swivelled to Zevran. “Proud like black feathers, spiralling all around as the birds fly away and what’s one more to the tally? One more on a bloody ledger but how much of the heart is left? Is it strength or weakness that makes the hand lower the knife?”

Zevran shrank back away from the spirit, the cold stones at his back uncomforting. “It was weakness ever giving my heart in the first place,” he muttered.

“But it made you strong once, and you wish it did again. You’re afraid he’ll take your heart away and without anything left it will fly away, another little bird, and you’ll be hollow and empty and dead again like-”

“Stop!” breathed Zevran, flinging a hand up to forestall further words. “How can you know this? What manner of creature are you, to pluck the thoughts from my head thus?”

“They say I’m a Demon. Or a spirit. I’d like it to be spirit,” said Cole. “You were angry and the being angry makes you afraid. You’re afraid of where the anger came from. You’re afraid it will come back and bring the birds again. You can hear them singing but you don’t want to; you want it all to go away so no-one can see how lonely you are inside.”

Zevran stared at him. “You could see that?” he asked softly.

“Many hands, touching, taking, never giving except pain. But the pain teaches. Now you can deal the pain. Now yours are the hands that can touch but the touching makes you angry unless it’s _him_ ; all the others just remind you of what they did, make you hurt. You made them bleed and their eyes fed the birds, but it’s never enough and it leaves you cold and lonely inside. He fills you up and makes you warm again but you’re afraid someone else is being warmed now.”

Zevran made a small, quiet, pained sound as he closed his eyes. “Stop,” he whispered. “Please. This isn’t helping.”

“But I want to help,” said Cole, shifting nearer. “Scratching words on paper, writing it out though the words come slowly; hands used to a sword, not a quill, not like the healer’s hands, so worn with writing and love - but he’d like to be like that; he wishes he could be gentle instead of sharp. So he writes and writes because then he might find the right ones to fix it instead of breaking it.”

Zevran opened his eyes and stared at Cole. “How can he fix this?”

“He doesn’t know, but you want him to. You want the place inside to be warm again, not cold and empty like Rinna’s eyes. He wonders where you’ve gone, whether you’re watching him now.”

“Am I?” whispered Zevran. “Is that what you’re doing, Cole? Showing me his thoughts?”

“He thinks too loud,” said Cole. “I can hear his pain even here, but it’s all tangled up inside his head with bits of twig and feather and there’s a cold place inside him too but he doesn’t know about it. It’s covered in blood but it wasn’t his fault.”

There was a sound from below; the scuffing of a foot. “Is someone there?” Cullen’s voice echoed from the bare stone walls. Zevran pressed himself back out of sight. When he glanced around, he was alone.

Cullen was getting to his feet, with a small grunt of pain. Cautiously peering over the edge of the beam, Zevran stared down at the former Templar. Cole had been right; the man _did_ look ill.

Cullen left the chapel slowly, and Zevran wondered if the man’s prayers had brought him any more comfort than they had the previous day.

He waited until Cullen had left, then sat in the dark, pondering.

 

***

 

Fenris had taken to writing when he wasn’t working with Cullen or seeing Anders. It had been his lover’s suggestion to try and write out what he was feeling if he couldn’t bring himself to speak about them. It had been a week and no sign of Zevran, nor did he think he was up to seeing Invictus yet.

He was in the middle of writing out his thoughts when he heard a slight noise but ignored it as part of the usual sounds of the fortress. He returned to jotting down his thoughts on the Fog Warriors, how he’d never really dealt with the pain of what he’d done. He glanced up at the thin sheaf of parchment with his feelings on Zevran, a frown on his face as he bent to his task again. At the knocking at his door, he finally got up. “Who is it?”

“Hawke...I got your note.” Invictus’ voice made him pause even though he’d sent the other man a note telling him he was ready to talk. “Come in then.” Fenris pushed the parchments to the side and waited for Hawke to enter.

Vic stopped just inside the door, his expression carefully neutral. “May I sit with you?”

“If you wish, Hawke,” Fenris said as he looked down and waited.

Vic sat stiffly on the chair as if he expected to flee or be put out. When Fenris remained silent and apart from him he finally called to the elf.

“Fenris, if you’re not ready you don’t have to see me.” 

“It’s not that, I figured you wanted to speak first,” Fenris replied.

“We take this at your speed, and if you will take it, an apology for some of the things I said.” Hawke rubbed at his face, a frown at how his lover still seemed afraid of him.

“No apology necessary, it’s I who broke your trust. I simply want to know if you will let me apologize and work things out, or if I have done the very thing I often accused you of trying to accomplish.” Fenris refused to look up, worried at how he’d react if he saw anger, or worse pity in the other man’s eyes.

“No, I do owe you an apology. I went too far in my anger. You are not an animal, it was wrong of me to say that. I forgot myself and I know it was part of what pushed you over into...I can’t remember the word you told Anders. I’m still angry,and I’m hurting but I still love you Fenris. I want to work it out. Please look at me, I’m not going to hit you.” Vic leaned forward with hope that the warrior would look up.

“I’m afraid of you. I hate even thinking it or saying it, but I thought you were going to kill me, as was Zevran. That look in your eyes won’t leave me, nor the feel of his blade at my neck.” Fenris glanced up quickly then dropped his gaze back to the floor.

“Fenris...I don’t ...I’m not going to do that. Please look at me.” Once he had his lover’s attention, Vic went on. “Listen to me, I am angry, I am hurt but I will never harm you - not intentionally. I know that sounds bad and I’ve got a terrible temper but....” He sighed, then shook his head. “No, there is no ‘but’. I just want to work through this if we can. Being apart is hard, Fenris, I miss you so much,” Vic finished.

Fenris looked down at his hands, turning them over to stare at the lines of lyrium etched into his palms before curling them into fists. He lifted his head to stare at Hawke. 

“Anders told me that he wonders when we will turn on him next. He has seen a pattern; how we take it in turns to single out one of us for censure, attacking, diminishing. Last time it was you; this time it was me. He fears he shall be next,” he said. “I wonder... was that why Zevran was so furious? Had he seen this pattern too? Was he afraid I might take offence at his dalliances?”

Hawke shrugged. “I can’t speak for Zevran, or for Anders, but I know I want _us_ to work. That is... if there still _is_ an ‘us’?”

“I want there to be,” said Fenris frankly. “But is that enough? Simply wanting it?”

“It’s a start to working things out. Please Fenris, you’ve got part of my heart, Anders the other. My own dalliances were wrong, but I thought with how furious you were with me, that you’d never stray.” Vic paused as he gathered his thoughts so what he had to say didn’t sound as bad as it did in his head. 

“We’ve also done you wrong expecting you to always be the strength among us. Everyone has a breaking point, we’ve seen you hit that before and I worry that not being around, especially when you needed comfort added to what you did.” 

Fenris glanced away for a moment. “You have expected much of me, Hawke - too much, at times. I think perhaps both yourself and Anders have assumed I would always be the strong warrior - but I am merely a man, and mortal. I have my limits, and much of the past few years has tested those limits sorely.” He glanced back at Hawke. “I have given of myself, freely and willingly, but sometimes it seems that it can never be enough, and there is no strength left in me for myself. Sometimes, perhaps I need someone to be strong for _me_. It is... not easy for me to admit this, Hawke. But... it needed saying. I _need_ that strength.”

“It’s not easy to hear love, but I see that now. If you will let me be that strength, I’ll do my best to keep from doing that to you again. It still hurts that you found comfort with Belann, and I plan to speak with him, but I...can understand a little bit more now.” Hawke reached his hands out, palm upward towards Fenris. “May I hold you again?”

Fenris let his gaze drop to Hawke’s hand, and slowly he rose from his chair. He stepped around the desk and took a hesitant step towards the other man, then a second. He paused, and then flung himself at Invictus, throwing his arms around the mage as he buried his face against the other man’s shoulder. He inhaled the scent of Invictus, and suddenly he was trembling. 

“ _Mi amatus,_ ” he whispered.

Invictus hugged Fenris close as he could. “My heart, it’s finally healing with you in my arms again. It will be ok. It will be ok love.” 

“Will it? Will it truly?” whispered Fenris. “This nightmare...can we ever truly heal from it? I am so afraid, my love. I have felt alone in a way that I have not felt since first I fled Danarius.”

“Yes, we will get there. You are not alone and I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It still hurts but we’ll heal together ok?” Vic turned his head and kissed Fenris lightly on the cheek. “I’m still here, Anders is here and I’m sure Zevran will come around soon.”

“Invictus... Vic... I am worried about Zevran. Have you seen him?” asked Fenris, lifting his head slightly. “No-one seems to know where he is. I have asked the spymaster, Leliana; she could only tell me that he has not left Skyhold, but....”

“I haven’t either. I doubt he would just go. We’re in the wilderness out here, I think...he’s got a lot more pain to work through, and you might be right about his anger. I just hope he lets us know he’s here. Have you tried seeking him out?” Vic squeezed Fenris once more. “Let’s lie down, and just talk ok?”

Fenris hesitated a moment, then nodded. “yes, I... I would like that,” he admitted. “I... have not dared look too much - I spoke to Leliana, and to Cullen, and to a few of the guards but... none have seen him. Anders has not seen him either.”

“He’s a Crow Master, he might be here now and we don’t even know it.” Vic led them to the bed and only pulled his boots off and jacket before he sprawled on his back and beckoned Fenris to him.

Fenris glanced up at the high vaulted ceiling, at the stout wooden beams and high window ledges, and shivered slightly as he climbed onto the bed. He curled up around Invictus, resting his head against the mage’s shoulder as Invictus put an arm around him.

“Zevran?” he called softly.

They stared up at the rafters. For long moments, the room was silent save for their breathing; and then they heard the very faint scrape of a leather boot against wood, and a shadowy hint of movement; a slightly darker shadow that edged slightly over until they could dimly make out a shadowed face.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” a dry whisper came faintly to their ears.

“Ah, I think I should leave you to talk this out. I’ll just be with Anders alright?” Vic said with a smile. “Talk later?”

Fenris nodded as he stared up to where he thought Zev’s voice came from.

The shadowy figure shifted, one hand reaching to grip the edge of the beam before swinging down; Zevran hung there for a moment before dropping to the ground, stumbling slightly as he landed. He dropped to one knee, a hand bracing himself as he knelt there, head lowered, before finally glancing around warily at the two men.

“Good to see you Zev, I hope to catch up later.” Vic said as he didn’t note the way the Crow didn’t land as easily as normal. 

Zevran’s golden eyes glanced over towards Invictus; he nodded once, not rising from his kneeling position. He glanced back to Fenris, his gaze haunted and weary.

The warrior got up to help Zev but caught himself. “May I help you up?” 

Vic slipped away, hopeful they would work things out.

Zevran remained still until the door closed quietly behind Invictus, then he slowly nodded. “Please,” he said quietly.

Fenris helped the Antivan to his feet and over to the bed. He glanced at Zevran’s face then frowned slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Zevran laughed hollowly as he stumbled then dropped onto the bed gracelessly, slowly rolling over onto his back, still staring at Fenris. “Are you?” he said softly. 

The other elf’s expression fell as he looked away. “More than you seem to realize.” Fenris said as he took the chair by the bed. 

Zevran folded his hands upon his breast and continued to stare at Fenris. “And for what are you sorry, _carissimi_?” he asked, so quietly that the white-haired elf had to turn to catch it. “That you gave yourself to another instead of turning to one of us? That you stole a little more of my soul? That you drove me to such anger that I held a knife to your throat?” He held Fenris’ stare for a moment, then glanced up at the rafters. “I wonder, can you hate yourself as much for that as I do myself? That I could do such a thing to one I loved?”

“Yes, I was thoughtless and I hurt you, all of you. I hate myself more than anyone else can hate me, you know this of me. You did before we ever got together Zevran. I wish to make amends, but I am unsure what I can do for you? Every time I feel the scar from your blade, I remember the look in your eyes and it breaks me again. I don’t know what to do other than repeat what I told Invictus, unless you heard it already.” Fenris rubbed his fingers over the scar without realizing it.

Zevran glanced back at Fenris with a frown, then sat up, leaning towards Fenris. “I... scarred you?” He beckoned Fenris closer.

“I didn’t seek a healer, and I was cut. It’s fine, a reminder of what I have broken.” Fenris remained where he was.

Zevran crawled across the bed and reached for Fenris. “No, no it... no, it is _not_ fine!” he said, his voice rising from a whisper to a hoarse rasp. “I should not have done that - _carissimi_. Show me.”

Fenris tilted his head so the fine dark line could be seen along his neck. “It is no more than I deserve for the pain I’ve given all of you. It’s not first or last scar I will earn.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran’s fingers hovered over the scar, almost but not quite touching it as his frown shifted, his expression changing to one of regret. “I am sorry, too, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “I am not proud of the man I was that night.”

“Your lover betrayed you, I cannot fault you for your anger and hurt Zevran.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran shook his head. “No. There was more to it than that, _carissimi_ ,” he said as he let his hand drop and lowered his gaze. “I... think I, too, was afraid.” 

“Of what?” Fenris asked as he looked over to Zevran.

“You will think me a coward, _carissimi_ ,” the Crow said softly. “I... have not shared my body with another save yourself and ... Hawke and Anders - and they only when you wished it, my heart. I have been faithful to you, and is that not strange?” He laughed, a strange, hollow, unhappy sound. “I, who have been the whore all my life, faithful to only one?”

Fenris blinked. “Faithful?” he said slowly. “You mean....”

“I have loved only three times, _carissimi_. My first love is dead, the second lost her mind to Corypheus, and the last is here before me. And I have bedded no-one else since Seheron; nay, even before then. Not since I came to you in Kirkwall, wounded and poisoned, my heart.”

“And... what were you afraid of?” whispered Fenris, unable to tear his eyes away from Zevran even as the Antivan seemed to curl in upon himself.

“Of being alone,” breathed Zevran. “That you needed me no longer.”

Fenris’ breath hitched before he pulled Zevran into his arms. “Never alone, I faltered, I failed but I am not leaving you for another. I’m so sorry.”

Zevran collapsed against Fenris, curling up against the other man’s chest; Fenris could feel how cold he was. The Antivan’s usually-warm skin was almost like ice. “ _Carissimi_ ,” Zevran sighed, and shuddered.

“Why are you so cold?” Fenris asked as he rolled them over to get a blanket over Zevran.

“I have been up on the roof, above Leliana’s raven roost; it is bitterly cold, and I have not slept in three days,” murmured Zevran, shivering slightly. “It is no matter. I am here now.”

“Zevran...let me get you warm.” Fenris got them under the covers and held Zevran as close as he could. “When you’ve slept, I will get us a hot meal, if you’ll stay with me that is.”

Zevran merely curled up closer to Fenris, his body chill. He rested his head upon Fenris’ shoulder, much as Fenris had done not that long ago with Hawke.

“Do not leave me, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. “Hold me whilst I sleep. I am so... so very....” His eyelids fluttered then closed.

“As long as you allow it, I remain at your side.” Fenris said quietly as he wrapped himself around Zevran and tried to hold his tears back. “Thank you.” he whispered.

His only answer was a faint, drowsily incoherent murmur; as Zevran’s body slowly warmed, the tenseness left his limbs and he grew heavy and limp in Fenris’ arms. The exhausted Crow relaxed into the first true sleep in perhaps a week.

Fenris didn’t sleep for a long time, instead he watched Zevran rest in his arms, comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. Finally he fell into a deep slumber alongside his Antivan lover.

***

Hawke found Anders in his quarters, brewing potions. Various concoctions were bubbling in pots over flames, whilst drifts of notes were scattered across the apostate’s desk along with several open books. As Hawke strode in through the slightly-ajar door, brushing it open wider with a push of his hand, Anders turned from the workbench with something green in a glass vial which he was frowning at thoughtfully before turning to his desk and leafing through the uppermost journal.

“Hey, got time for me?” Vic asked as he approached the other mage.

“Hmm?” said Anders as he glanced up, distracted. “Oh! Hawke! Yes, of course!” He smiled welcomingly, then glanced at the vial in his hand. “Just give me a moment here.” He turned back to the workbench and carefully set the vial in a rack with several others, all varying hues of green. He gestured at the flames, and they all dimmed to low embers.

He picked up a rag and walked around his desk with a smile as he wiped his hands. “That was good timing; I think I’d lost track of time and I probably ought to take a break.”

“What are you working on?” Vic said as he pulled Anders into his arms for a kiss. Anders returned it willingly.

“An antidote for wyvern venom,” the apostate replied. “The Iron Bull managed to get a sample for me from the last one he and Meneris went up against.”

Vic shuddered as he stepped back. “I had enough of those during our ill fated trip to Chateau Haine.”

Anders shrugged ruefully. “Well, that trip would have been far less nasty if you’d had a decent wyvern venom antidote to hand, wouldn’t it? Anyway, the Iron Bull assures me that he and Meneris will be running into plenty more wyverns so I thought it prudent to come up with something. I’ve never seen someone so eager to run _towards_ a dragon in my life.” He shuddered. “He actually said he’d like to take me along on their next trip - ‘it’ll be good for you,’ he said. Maker, I think I’d rather go down with a case of the pox than face that! Maybe I could persuade Cole to conveniently drop a rock on my head. Just a small one.”

“Nah, you’re not going wyvern hunting without me.” Vic gave him another kiss before he pulled Anders to the table and where his food had gone cold a while back. Anders stared down at it.

“Maker, I completely forgot about lunch!” he exclaimed. His stomach suddenly protested loudly.

“Don’t get lost in your work love, alright?” 

Anders blushed. “It wasn’t intentional!” he protested as he put his hands around the bowl of stew and channelled a little heat into the bowl to warm it. “I just lose track of time when I’m involved in something,” he said apologetically as he sat down.

“I know, I wasn’t giving you a hard time...yet.” Vic grinned as he took a cup of tea and warmed it. “Besides, Zevran and Fenris are finally talking so I doubt I’ll see them until much later.”

Anders paused, a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. “Zevran?” he said in surprise. “He’s been missing for a week. No-one has seen him anywhere! Where on earth was he hiding? I’m guessing he’s gotten over his murderous rage then, if you felt confident to leave them together?”

“Yeah, I think there was a lot of pain there. More than ours, Zev looked as if he hadn’t slept in some time.” Vic said quietly. “I...I am still hurt but Fenris is punishing himself far more than any of us could.”

“Zevran always did play things close to his chest,” mused Anders quietly as he stirred his spoon through his stew. “It was always hard to tell exactly what he was thinking and feeling behind that smile.” He reached for his own mug of tea, zapping it with a little heat absently to warm it. “He and Fenris are alike in many ways - Zevran would never admit to any serious hurt until he practically dropped down at my feet quite often when I knew him back in my Warden days. Solona would scold him for it terribly, he’d give her that winning smile and she’d just melt. And I couldn’t find the heart to scold him either, even though he’d be practically at death’s door and it was me who’d have to fix him up again.” He sipped his tea then turned his attention back to his stew. “And how did your own talk with Fenris go?” he added, catching Hawke just as he’d taken a large mouthful of his own tea.

“Painful but we’ll get through it. He told me what I was too angry to hear and I have to realize he’s not this impenetrable wall of strength.” Vic admitted.

Anders nodded slowly. “He told me much the same thing,” he said. “And he’d tried to tell me, that night - before he went off with Belann. Maybe if I’d been less preoccupied with Hal - if this wretched scar hadn’t given me such a blinding headache and I’d been less addled by willowbark tea and-” Anders broke off and dropped his spoon, a sudden memory coming back to him. “It _was_ my fault,” he said with dawning realisation. “I _told_ him to go find Belann.” he glanced at Hawke. “I have a vague recollection of thinking that maybe Belann could help pull Hal out of his fugue state - after all, they both came through that same rift together. So I sent Fenris to Belann, even after he’d _told_ me he was having a hard time keeping it together after worrying about me and having heard what had happened to our counterparts over in Arden’s world, and Arden himself likely dead too.”

He dropped his head to his hands and groaned. “I am such an idiot. Why couldn’t I have seen what was right in front of me?”

“Hey, hey now!” protested Invictus. “You were still not fully recovered from that head injury - an injury that would have killed most other men, I might add. It’s likely only you being a spirit healer that kept you alive. We nearly lost you, and you’d only been awake a couple of days. Of course you weren’t thinking straight - none of us were.”

“You don’t understand, if I hadn’t sent him away to Belann, it wouldn’t have happened - and from what you’ve told me, Zevran could have killed Fenris when you both confronted him. If Zevran had killed him, he would never have forgiven himself - and it would have been all my fault!” exclaimed Anders. “I don’t suppose Zevran ever told you that he killed the first person he ever loved?”

Invictus’ eyes widened. “Maker, no, he didn’t! How - _why_?”

“She was a fellow Crow and he was told she’d betrayed him. He was ordered to kill her and he did. She died still protesting she loved him. When he found out the truth, he took on a mission to kill Solona, hoping that she would kill him. Of course, she didn’t - she spared his life and took him with her and, well, you can guess the rest.” Anders shrugged. “The point is, Zevran has killed someone he loved once, and he tried to get himself killed afterwards. When he thought Solona was dead, he took on the mission of saving Isabela in hopes he would die in the attempt. If he’d killed Fenris?” Anders dropped his head in his hands, eyes wide as he considered just what had nearly happened. “I might have been the death of them both, all because I wouldn’t believe him when he told me how weak he felt.”

“Stop that Anders, this was not your fault.” Vic repeated.

Anders shook his head and closed his eyes. “I- I have to speak to Zevran, explain, try and put this right somehow,” he said, rubbing slowly at the scar on his forehead. “This is... it’s a horrible mess, and it needn’t have happened. Maker, that cut on Fenris’ throat - he wouldn’t let me heal it, it scarred, and every time I look at it I’m going to know, to remember, it’s _my fault -_ ”

“Once he shows himself we can all sit down and talk alright love, stop beating yourself up.” Vic replied as he got up from his seat and leaned over Anders, placing his hands on the blond mage’s shoulders and forcing Anders to turn and face him. The blond apostate stared up at him; the horror of what he had nearly caused to happen had drained the colour from his face. Vic hooked the leg of his own chair with one foot and dragged it closer then sat so their knees were pressed together as he took Anders’ hands in his.

“Listen to me, Anders. Beating yourself up over this isn’t going to do anything. What’s done is done, and we can’t change the past. We have to focus on the here and now. Fenris and I have talked, and we’re going to do our best to make things work again. He’s talking to Zevran now. We have to trust them to work things out between them, and maybe later we can all talk together. But working yourself up like this helps nobody, love.” He tried to give Anders a smile; Anders blinked, then tremulously tried to return it. 

“That’s better, love,” said Vic encouragingly. “Look, you haven’t eaten properly, and you’re white as a sheet. Come on, let’s get some proper food into you, and maybe you won’t feel quite so bad when you’re not half-starved?”

“I don’t think I-” began Anders, but Vic cut him off with a finger laid against Anders’ pale lips.

“No buts. Come on, I want to see you eat something.” He put on his best puppy-dog expression. “For me, love.”

“Oh Maker, not the eyes,” groaned Anders, but he nodded and turned back to his stew.

“Thanks love,” Vic gave a grin as he sipped his tea and poked at the notes scattered on the table. “Let’s take a walk once you’re done eating; we both could use some sun.”

***

The Antivan elf slept the sleep of the exhausted for a full twelve hours; it was late morning by the time he finally stirred, his breathing becoming lighter and quicker as his eyelids fluttered

Fenris had gone to bathe while his lover slept on, and was in a light doze himself, dressed only in sleep pants next to his Crow. He didn’t move until he heard his name called.

Zevran was staring at him drowsily, his golden eyes half-closed still as he reached towards Fenris. “I am still dreaming,” the Crow murmured. “I pray I do not wake....”

“You’re not asleep Zev.” Fenris said as he let the other elf pull him over. Zevran blinked, his eyes opening fully as he felt Fenris’ hand grip his own firmly, the white-haired warrior pressing himself against the Antivan Crow in a way that was far too real, too physical to be a dream.

“Then I did not dream it, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. He leaned in as though to kiss Fenris then halted, his eyes drawn to the scar upon Fenris’ throat. He swallowed hard, then bent to kiss the scar very gently. 

“No you didn’t. I wondered if I was having another dream when I woke up to you in bed with me. Glad to know yesterday happened.” Fenris said as he felt Zevran’s lips on him. “Not fragile remember?” 

“Perhaps _I_ am, _carissimi_ ,” murmured Zevran as he gently kissed the scar again. “I marked you, and I should not have.” He drew away and glanced up to meet Fenris’ eyes. “Perhaps I should ask you to mark me in return, so we are equal,” he suggested quietly, his eyes full of regret.

“No, and do not say that to me again.” Fenris replied rather sharply.

Zevran lowered his eyes. “You will not,” he said softly , and sighed before rolling over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

“No I won’t mark you like that.” Fenris said as he straddled Zev and made him look at him. “I’d rather start the day with kisses than sharp words.”

Zevran stared up at Fenris; his eyes seemed a little misty. “I might have killed you, _carissimi_. I would not have that stain upon my conscience twice.”

“You didn’t though, and that’s what matters.” Fenris leaned down and stared into Zev’s eyes. “May I kiss you?”

Zevran flexed his arms experimentally against the press of Fenris’ thighs as they pinned him to the bed, the elf straddled across his chest. “It seems you have me at your mercy, _carissimi_ ; you may do with me as you will,” he smiled softly.

The elf shifted so he was only straddling his lover and not holding him down. “Do as you wish Zevran, I won’t pin you like that.” Fenris stretched over Zev and kissed him slowly, savoring each noise from the man under him.

Zevran ran his hands slowly over Fenris’ chest, making small, needy, whimpering noises in his throat as he returned Fenris’ kisses. His fingers blindly sought out Fenris’ nipples, flicking and tweaking them until they pebbled between his fingers and the other elf was moaning breathlessly into his mouth. As their lips parted, Zevran stared up into Fenris’ eyes, his own lazily hooded.

“I’m missed you playing me like a fine lute.” Fenris rasped. “What else would you have of me Zev?”

“Your teeth, _carissimi_ ,” breathed Zevran.

“Where?” Fenris asked softly even as he stretched out to scrape his teeth across Zevran’s collarbone.

“Ah!” gasped Zevran. “There. Hard.” As Fenris obliged, he drew his breath in with a hiss and then moaned. “Oh, _carissimi_ ,” he breathed. “The- the other side also?” he begged as Fenris lifted his head; Zevran turned his head a little, baring the other collarbone.

“As you wish my heart.” Fenris replied before he bit down just a bit harder.

Zevran groaned and threw his head back. “Oh _carissimi_ ,” he sighed. “I have missed you so much. Your touch, your teeth... this.” He bit his lip, closing his eyes, his throat bared still. “I want more,” he whispered.

“More what?” Fenris asked as he worked his way down Zevran’s chest, pulling his tunic off along with small nips and bites along the way. Zevran writhed slowly beneath him.

“More of _you, carissimi_ ,” he groaned.

“Be specific...please.” Fenris said as he stared at Zev with his fingers on the laces to his trousers.

Zevran stared up at Fenris for a long moment. “I want as much of you as you can give me, my love,” he said quietly. “But since you request specifics... I would like you to finish undressing me, and then I would like you to fuck me. Is that specific enough?” A small half-smile crossed his lips, though his eyes held a wistful look.

“That’s good enough for me.” Fenris smiled as he tugged Zevran’s pants off and stretched out to kiss every bit of his lover from the ankles up to his cock. “Put your hands in my hair and guide me.”

Zevran slid his fingers into the silky white hair, and first drew Fenris down to him for another deep kiss, until finally he had to pull Fenris away a little and gasp for breath. Then he guided Fenris down as he spread his legs, drawing his knees up a little.

The taller elf opened his mouth obediently, closed his eyes and let Zevran do as he wished with him as he felt a sharp pull on his hair with each movement of his head. The Antivan opened his eyes and stared up into the rafters, his breath coming a little faster, but he frowned slightly. Something felt off; not quite right. Fenris was too quiet, too... submissive.

He loosened his grip upon Fenris’ hair and waited to see what the other elf would do without his explicit guidance.

When Fenris didn’t feel another sharp tug, he looked up in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Zevran lifted his head and stared down at Fenris. He shook his head slightly. “You have given me your submission, when I wanted your fire, my love,” he said softly. “I would not have you meekly... _service_ me. Where is your spirit, my heart?”

Fenris glanced down for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I would not be so bold as to be rough when I have betrayed your heart. I will do as you wish Zevran.” Fenris perched on top of his lover’s hips again his gaze heated but cautious.

Zevran ran a hand slowly through his hair as he glanced to one side, pondering what Fenris had said. He glanced back up at Fenris, the golden eyes darkening to a honeyed amber as he regarded the other elf from beneath long pale eyelashes. “And what if my wish is for you to be bold, to be rough, _carissimi_?” he asked softly.

“Then I will give you what you need, any way you wish it from me. I’m sorry that I’m not ...that I did not read what you wanted Zev.” Fenris trailed his fingers down the other elf’s chest with just enough pressure to be pleasurable. “Is that more what you need?”

Zevran’s breath caught in his throat as he arched his back. “Yes,” he whispered as he relaxed slowly back onto the bed. “I want your fire, your heat; I want your teeth, your nails in my skin; I want to feel you inside me, my love.” He held Fenris’ gaze as he ran the tip of his tongue briefly across his top lip. “I want to count the marks of your love on my skin, and bless every one with your name. I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget my own. _That_ is what I need.”

“Maker above…” Fenris moaned as he trailed his fingers back up Zev’s chest but stopped to pinch the other elf’s nipples. Something seemed to click for him as he grinned deviously and reached up to hold Zevran’s hands to the bed. “One thing before we start, safe word?”

Zevran stared up at him, and his breathing quickened. His face went blank briefly, then he nodded once. “Taliesen,” he said softly.

“Very well, would you have one from me?” Fenris tightened his grip on Zevran’s wrists with a slight snarl. 

Zevran’s gaze did not waver from that of Fenris. “I do not think you will need one, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly.

The Tevinter elf pulled his lover’s hair, hard as he could with a filthy expression. “I want you to scream for me.”

Zevran cried out, as much from surprise as anything else. He blinked rapidly as he returned Fenris’ stare. “You will have to do far more than that to make me _scream_ , my heart,” he said and grinned.

The elven warrior said nothing else as he flipped them over in one fluid movement. “Put that mouth to good use and suck me off.”

Zevran began to crawl back down Fenris’ body, his eyes never leaving Fenris’ lustful gaze. He lowered himself between Fenris’ legs and mouthed the other elf hotly through his sleep pants, tracing a wet stripe up the underside of Fenris’ very noticeable erection through the thin silk fabric before leaning up just far enough to catch the waistband in his teeth. He slowly tugged the pants down, freeing Fenris’ member; he paused, his gaze flicking to the stiff cock before him. He lifted himself up to lick slowly around the head of Fenris’ member, and then he swallowed him down in one smooth movement, not pausing even when he felt the head brush the back of his throat. He lifted his head then bobbed down again, working the underside of Fenris’ cock with his tongue as he did so, taking a breath through his nose each time he lifted up. As he dove down for the third time, his eyes glanced back up to watch the effect on Fenris even as he felt the other elf’s fingers tighten almost painfully in his hair.

“Zev….Zev… yes” Fenris moaned as he rolled his hips against the other elf’s hot, wet suction.

Zevran drew back again, inhaling as he swirled his tongue about the head of Fenris’ cock before sinking back down again; this time, as he felt Fenris’ cock brush the back of his throat he deliberately swallowed, his throat constricting around the other elf’s firm flesh.

“Easy...not ready to come yet.” Fenris panted. “Humor me...I want to see you ride me for a while.” Fenris grabbed a vial of oil to pass his lover. Zevran took the vial as he rose up on his knees; he carefully drizzled oil over Fenris’ cock, pumping it slowly with his fist until Fenris was thoroughly slick before corking the vial and tossing it to one side. 

He shifted forward to straddle Fenris’ hips then reached back to grasp Fenris’ cock firmly, giving it a few more firm strokes as he locked gazes with the other elf before guiding the head of Fenris’ cock to his entrance. In one smooth motion he sank straight down onto the white-haired warrior’s shaft with a low cry as he impaled himself. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes as he felt himself filled, tight, almost painful; the sensation felt good, even the slight burning inside. 

He held still for a moment, then lifted himself slightly upon his knees before dropping back down, grinding down onto Fenris’ dick with a low moan.

“Zevran!” Fenris hissed as he sat up and stopped the other elf’s movements. “You’re going to hurt yourself get more oil.” He winced at the tightness he felt from his lover’s slight wiggling against him. 

Zevran shook his head as he lifted it to stare down at Fenris. “Trust me to know my body’s limits, _carissimi_ ,” he said a little breathlessly. “I can handle this. I do not hurt. It feels good, no?”

“Yeah ...but I don’t want to break you.” Fenris moaned as he felt the other elf push him backward. “Just...don’t go too far Zev.”

“I am not so easily broken, my heart,” Zevran reassured him. “If there is anything I cannot take, I will use the safe word, I promise.”

“Alright.” Fenris planted his feet for leverage and waited for Zevran to resume his ride so he could give counterpoint to his lover’s movements. “I love you,” he whispered as he was slowly ridden.

Zevran’s answer was a breathily moaned, “ _Carissimi...._ ” His breath hitched in his chest as he began to move faster, driving himself down harder to meet each of Fenris’ thrusts, his breath huffing from him in short, voiceless pants.

“Zev… Zev, come for me.” Fenris moaned as he felt his own orgasm building as he tried to hold out. “So...good.” 

Zevran grimaced. “I...I cannot, I...need something more...” he gasped out between pants.

Fenris grinned, and in one swift move he had flipped them both over as he slipped out of Zevran. The Antivan found himself on all fours, one of Fenris’ hands snarled in his hair as he yanked Zevran’s head back then slammed back into him. Fenris forced him upright, his head pulled back as Fenris continued to pound into him; the white-haired elf yanked Zevran’s head to one side then sank his teeth hard into the vulnerable point between Zevran’s neck and shoulder.

Zevran cried out, his yell of pain fading to a low, breathy moan as Fenris’ other hand reached around to grasp his cock.

“You wanted more? Is this what you had in mind?” snarled Fenris, punctuating his words with hard, almost savage thrusts.

“Yes, yes!” moaned Zevran. “Oh, _carissimi_....”

Fenris sank his teeth into Zevran’s shoulder as he began to tug Zevran’s cock in time to his thrusts. Zevran groaned as he felt the teeth sink deeper; he’d be sporting some interesting bruises after this, he was certain.

Fenris’ hand in Zevran’s hair shifted to the Antivan elf’s throat, squeezing lightly. Zevran gasped as Fenris’ other hand began to speed up. As Fenris’ thrusts sped up to match and his hand squeezed tighter about Zevran’s throat, the Antivan began to buck his hips into Fenris’ hand, his chest labouring for breath. 

Zevran could feel heat, coiling within his groin as he felt himself cresting towards climax; his balls tightened and he desperately held back, his body quivering. Blackness was encroaching upon the edges of his vision and he felt lightheaded and euphoric.

“Come for me,” whispered Fenris breathlessly in his ear, and Zevran surrendered. He came hard, screaming Fenris’ name as the other elf relaxed the hold on his throat. Fenris’ hand lowered to support him around his chest as the white-haired warrior chased his own orgasm, Zevran still shuddering in the aftermath of climax. Fenris’ hips stuttered, and then he groaned, burying his face against Zevran’s neck as he panted through his own release. Zevran let his head drop back onto Fenris’ shoulder, only kept upright by the strong, lyrium-marked arm around his chest.

After a moment, Fenris began to gently kiss the bite marks upon Zevran’s neck and shoulder before slowly kissing his way up the side of the Antivan’s neck then nibbling and sucking upon his delicate upswept ear as Zevran trembled in his arms.

“So beautiful, so good, so _mine_ ,” breathed Fenris.

“Always... yours, _car-carissimi_ ,” Zevran managed to murmur. Fenris chuckled softly.

“Have I broken you, love?” he asked gently; Zevran could only moan softly in answer, his breath still coming as ragged pants.

Slowly, gently, Fenris lowered Zevran to lay him down upon the bed. The Antivan moaned again, quietly, as Fenris slowly slipped out of him; Zevran’s fingers curled into the blankets once, then relaxed as he lay still, his eyes closed, concentrating on willing his heart to slow from its frantic racing as Fenris moved away.

The white-haired elf returned with water and a soft cloth. Gently he cleaned Zevran up before tending to himself. By the time he’d finished, Zevran was sound asleep. 

Fenris smiled as he gently drew a fold of the blanket across the Antivan’s naked form, then slipped away from the bed to dress and go in search of food. He knew Zevran would be hungry upon waking, and perhaps then they would talk more.


	37. Chapter 37

While Zevran and Fenris had been busy reconciling, Invictus had been doing his best to lure Anders to bed. He’d missed the way they complimented each other and if he had to be honest, his lover’s lightning trick. Vic was stretched out alongside the blond warden, worrying Anders’ neck and ears.

Anders was distracted; he had been hard to entice over to the bed when Invictus had shown up at his door again that morning. Though he responded to Invictus’ teeth and kisses in the usual way, arching his back and moaning softly, a part of him still seemed distracted. The blond apostate seemed to be passively receiving his ministrations, but not begging for more, even though his eyes fluttered shut when Invictus wrapped a large hand around his throat. Anders had never failed to be aroused by the prospect of breathplay before - but he seemed to be merely accepting it, allowing Invictus to do as he wished to him but not fully engaging himself.

Vic stopped when he realized that Anders didn’t seem like he was really into playing with him. He sat up, crossed his legs and looked at his lover. “What’s on your mind, you aren’t into this right now so talk to me love.”

“Hmm?” said Anders quietly, then rolled over to stare up at Invictus. “Sorry. I’m worried about Cullen. I passed him in the library earlier and... well, he didn’t look well. Not just his usual headache, either - he looked like a man who should be in bed, not pacing around in armour. Dorian said he’s been like that for a couple of days now; he was worried as well. Said Cullen had begged off their usual twice-weekly chess game and that he’d never done that before. But Cullen said there was nothing wrong when I asked - even though I had to call his name several times before he even noticed me.”

“What do you think it could be?” Vic asked as he let his fingers trip over the other man’s chest slowly. 

“I honestly don’t know without him letting me examine him - which he won’t let me do,” Anders sighed, frustrated.

“You can’t be sneaky about that either, damn.” Vic said as he flopped next to his lover. “Tell Cassandra or Meneris. They can make him take the examination. He’s no good to the Inquisition if he’s barely on his feet.”

“That’s just it though - I spoke to Meneris, and he was evasive and said I should talk to Cassandra. _She_ said she is aware of the Commander’s issue and that it was not my concern.” Anders stared up at the ceiling and frowned.

The ginger tabby leapt up on the bed and prowled around Anders’ feet before stalking up the bed to curl up on the pillow beside Anders’ head, purring; absently Anders lifted a hand to stroke it, still staring at the ceiling. 

“They won’t do anything, he won’t _let_ me do anything. I got the impression Dorian was almost as frustrated by it as I was from the way he ranted after Cullen left,” the blond apostate added.

“Maybe I can just talk to him, or I don’t know maybe Fenris can as one warrior to another. I’d suggest Bull but I don’t think a giant kossith cornering him will help.” Vic said as he reached over to give the cat a belly rub. 

“Maker knows, Bull cornering _me_ was terrifying,” replied Anders with a shudder. “And also strangely arousing. Which is even more terrifying.”

“Oh? Do tell love.” Vic smirked at his apostate lover. 

“It was a couple of days ago, just before you came to visit me. I was just leaving the library when he cornered me on the stairs. He was... rather intimidatingly close, and it was as though he knew all about me before I could speak. I didn’t particularly want to be interrogated on the stairs and I turned to go - and he just pinned me to the wall with one hand against my chest, and I....” Anders’ voice tailed off. “I couldn’t move. And... and a part of me _liked_ it. He was so close, I couldn’t avoid his eye and... and Maker, but I just _wanted_....” He glanced at Invictus. “And he _knew_ , Hawke. He _knew_ I liked it. And he just smirked and said his door was open any time I wanted to ‘come and ride the Bull’. And... Maker, I’m sorry, Hawke, but I was tempted. Even though I was shaking and couldn’t get away fast enough, I was just - part of me _wanted_ him to- to -”

“To do what, love?” asked Invictus in a low voice. Suddenly he swung a leg astride Anders’ hips and pinned the slender mage’s hands to the bed above his head as the larger man let his full weight settle upon Anders’ chest, his breath hot against Anders’ ear as he purred, “To pin you again? Make you helpless?” he whispered as he felt Anders’ heart begin to race. “To have his wicked way with you?” He rolled his hips against Anders’ groin, and smiled as Anders gasped, his breath hitching in his throat. The cat fled the bed, alarmed at the sudden movements.

The blond apostate struggled briefly, but Invictus held him fast; after a moment, he felt Anders’ hips strain to grind against his.

“You like that? It turns you on, the thought of being pinned and helpless, love?” murmured Invictus, punctuating his words with a sharp nip at Anders’ earlobe. His answer was a strangled moan.

“What did you tell him?” asked Invictus, still in that low voice.

“I - I...” The apostate’s voice faltered.

Maker, Anders was panting now beneath Invictus, and the Champion felt himself grow hard as he realised how aroused Anders was.

“I said nothing,” Anders managed to gasp. “I couldn’t; I just... the words wouldn’t come, but....” He rolled his head to stare at Invictus. “Hawke, I _didn’t_ \- I didn’t go, I’m not - I wouldn’t -”

Invictus silenced him with a fierce kiss as he rutted against Anders. The blond warden moaned into his mouth; Invictus shifted his hands so that he was encircling both Anders’ wrists with one hand whilst with the other he reached underneath Anders to grab a fistful of hair then yank his head back hard, baring his long pale throat. Anders cried out briefly at the sudden pain, then louder as Hawke pressed his open mouth against his skin, then his teeth before biting the tender flesh at the base of Anders’ throat. He worried the skin with his teeth before sucking, marking him. He shifted over a little, and felt Anders tense beneath him. Hawke smiled before sinking his teeth in again.

He didn’t stop until a ring of bruises had blossomed around Anders’ throat; by this time, Anders’ cries had become low moans of encouragement and Anders was rutting against Hawke with mindless urgency.

“Mine,” growled Hawke, and Anders shivered.

“Yes, yes,” the healer whimpered.

“Say it!” Hawke snarled.

“Yours, I’m yours, I’m yours!” cried Anders. “Oh Maker, Hawke, please, please!”

“Please _what_?”

“Maker, please Hawke, fuck me now - please, I need it!” whimpered Anders.

Hawke lifted himself up off Anders. “On your stomach. Now,” he ordered as he tugged at the laces of his pants. Anders obeyed, rolling over as he fumbled hastily with the laces of his own pants, unlacing them a moment before Hawke hugged them down over his hips to his knees.

“Both hands crossed behind your back,” Hawke continued as he pulled the red sash free from his waist; Anders obeyed, and Hawke bound his wrists firmly. Anders moaned as he felt himself bound, mindlessly rutting against the mattress.

Hawke oiled up his hand, then without warning thrust a finger into Anders. The blond apostate keened in surprise, then ground back onto Hawke’s finger. Hawke chuckled and thrust a second finger in beside the first, then immediately after added a third on Anders’ next thrust back. Hawke grasped Anders’ hip firmly, fingers digging in as the mage fucked himself on the Champion’s fingers.

“You look so good doing that,” said Hawke as he spread his fingers inside Anders, then drew them back until he brushed Anders’ sensitive spot. Anders shuddered, crying out; Hawke did it again, and again, and again until Anders was a sweating, incoherent mess beneath him. He finally withdrew his hand, and Anders cried out wordlessly at the loss.

Hawke slicked up his cock and pressed the head against Anders’ entrance. Anders was begging and pleading now, trying to rock himself back onto Hawke’s cock but checked by the larger man’s hands on his hips. Finally he sheathed himself in Anders in one sharp, deep thrust that had Anders howling.

He began pounding into Anders, swearing and cursing as he fucked him hard and deep; Anders’ every exhalation was a panted breathless _yes, more, please_ and ever over and over, Hawke’s name. He could feel Anders shudder beneath him each time Hawke’s cock brushed his sensitive spot, and Hawke angled his thrusts until he was striking it every time until finally Anders came, shuddering and screaming hoarsely until he was spent.

Hawke continued to pound into Anders’ pliant and helpless body until finally he came with a low grunt. He gave a few more desultory thrusts into Anders’ body before he slowly pulled out then rolled over onto his back beside the prostrated apostate. Hawke glanced over at him, then rolled onto his side and reached a hand to grasp Anders’ hair, tugging until Anders’ face was turned towards him.

The blond man’s face was flushed, his eyes half-closed as he panted in the aftermath.

“You look good like that, love,” said Hawke with a grin; Anders was able to faintly smile back at him. Hawke let go of his hair then reached down to slip a finger back inside Anders again. The blond mage moaned softly at the intrusion into his body; Hawke pulled his finger out then thrust three fingers into Anders, working them in and out slowly.

“So warm and good, love,” murmured Hawke. “I bet you could go again, couldn’t you?”

Anders’ breath had quickened; after a moment, he nodded.

“Roll over with your back towards me and lift your leg,” Hawke ordered. As Anders obeyed, lifting his leg to rest over Hawke’s thigh, Hawke kept thrusting into Anders with three fingers. 

“I bet you could take my whole hand, couldn’t you, love?” whispered Hawke. Anders shivered against him. “Love?”

“Yes,” breathed Anders. “Oh yes. Please....”

Hawke folded his thumb in against his palm, then slowly pushed until the widest part of his hand was pressed just inside the tight ring of muscle as Anders panted heavily. Hawke held still, letting Anders relax against this larger intrusion, then slowly, steadily thrust until his whole hand and wrist were deep inside Anders’ body. He held still for a moment, then began to slowly fuck Anders with his fist. He slid his other arm around Anders to grasp the apostate’s stiffening cock, and began to pump him in time to the thrusts of his fist, steadily increasing the pace as Anders began to moan his name until the blond apostate was writhing and pleading, bucking his hips into Hawke’s hand as Hawke’s other fist pounded deeper and harder inside him; finally Anders came messily in Hawke’s hand, his body shuddering as he clenched down on Hawke’s fist with a low, hoarse cry.

He was bonelessly limp as Hawke pulled his fist slowly from Anders’ body; Hawke lifted his other hand from Anders’ softening cock and pressed his fingers, wet with Anders’ seed, to the apostate’s lips. Anders licked all trace of himself from Hawke’s fingers, and then Hawke slipped two fingers between the apostate’s lips and slowly, leisurely fucked Anders’ mouth with his fingers for a few minutes until he felt the other man’s lips grow slack around his digits.

Hawke pulled his hand away then rolled Anders back onto his stomach. He got up and washed his hands in the hand basin then fetched a wet cloth; he cleaned himself up before tending to Anders. He stared down at him for a while, drinking in the sight; Anders looked beautiful like that, wrists bound in the small of his back, face turned to one side, his golden hair in disarray about his face and shoulders, face still wet, lips flushed, eyes half-closed. Hawke could just about see a hint of the bruises garlanding the other man’s throat as he lay there, not moving, merely breathing softly in the afterglow of having been thoroughly fucked to orgasm twice in a short space of time.

Finally Hawke untied the unresisting man’s wrists. Anders’ arms flopped limply to his sides; Hawke gently chafed each one in turn, then leaned over Anders.

“Love?” he asked gently; Anders groaned softly in reply. Hawke chuckled then rolled Anders over onto his back. He sat on the edge of the bed and trailed a finger across the purpling bruises about Anders’ throat then patted his cheek gently. “Come on sleepyhead; open your eyes. Anders?”

“I think you broke me,” Anders mumbled. “That’s it, I’m good for nothing now.”

Hawke laughed. “Still tempted by Bull’s offer?” he asked.

“Not all the desire demons in the Fade could tempt me right now,” sighed Anders. “You wore me out. Not fully recovered yet and you did that to me. Maker.” His voice was slurred; the blond apostate was more than half asleep. Hawke grinned fondly at him. By the time he’d tugged Anders’ pants back up and relaced them, Anders was out for the count.

Hawke kissed him gently on the cheek, then spooned in behind him to nap for a while. With any luck, Anders would wake up and actually be properly hungry for once to eat dinner.

He closed his eyes and drifted.

***

Fenris was busy writing as Zevran slept. He kept glancing over to the bed, just to be sure the other elf was still there. He got so wrapped up in writing, he didn’t hear the blond Antivan until Zevran whispered in his ear. 

“It is as well we are lovers once more, _carissimi_ ; I could have slit your throat as you were writing and you would never have known until you felt the kiss of my blade, hmm?” Zevran chuckled as he draped his arms around Fenris from behind, his right hand holding a wickedly lethal-looking dagger. Before Fenris could react, Zevran had stepped away to Fenris’ left, turning to lean against the desk as he tapped his chin thoughtfully with the flat of the blade.

“What could have you so engrossed as to be so oblivious of danger, my heart? I have never known you to be fond of writing before.” He turned to glance down at the papers strewn across the desk, lowering the dagger slightly to rest it upon his left shoulder, resting his weight upon his left arm as he leaned back a little.

Fenris went still as he eyed the dagger in Zevran’s hand. He spoke quietly as he pulled together the stack of parchment he’d written for, about and to the elven assassin and slid them over. “It’s helped me deal with...my feelings on things.”

Zevran tapped his shoulder with the tip of the blade as he tilted his head a little. “You wish for me to read this, _carissimi_? Or would you rather I avert my eyes?”

“If you wish to read it, I will not stop you. To be honest I’d thought maybe you had already.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran shook his head slowly. “No, _carissimi_ , I... no.” He straightened slightly, expression troubled. “I... had not entered your room before last night. I... am not sure what drove me to venture here last night, save... I was weary of chasing my own thoughts, tired, and... yes, and lonely. I had missed the sound of your voice, my love.” His voice was soft and wistful. “It was too cold to spend another night upon the roof with no sleep. I had not intended to show myself; it was enough merely to hide in the rafters and listen to you breathe. But then you called my name.” His gaze was distant.

Fenris was out of his chair in a moment, his arms around Zevran as he trembled. “Forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

Zevran jerked, his turn to be startled; as Fenris hugged him, the dagger was jerked from his fingers by Fenris’ sudden grab. The Antivan gave a faint hiss of pain as the knife clattered onto the desk behind him. He turned and stared into Fenris’ eyes, his own darkened with emotion. “ _Carissimi_?” he said softly. His free arm lifted to encircle Fenris’ waist.

“I didn’t...I had no idea you felt so much for me. I am sorry I’ve caused you this pain.” Fenris tightened his hold on the other elf and refused to let go.

“I did not know myself, truly,” Zevran admitted. “It was the spirit boy - Cole. He surprised me in the small chapel and... _carissimi_ , he drew the thoughts from my very heart that I had not realised were there. It was like being handed a mirror to my soul. It... it frightens me, my heart.” He blinked, his gaze becoming abstracted and glazed. He could feel something wet and hot trickling down from the line of burning pain slashed across the side of his throat and felt dizzy. He drew breath with a little difficulty as he pressed his forehead to Fenris’ shoulder. “I... Fenris, I cannot breathe,” he whispered faintly.

“What’s wrong, are you hurt?” the taller elf put his lover at arms length as he looked him over. Blood was trickling slowly down Zevran’s chest as the Antivan stood there, head lowered.

“No...no, no...fuck, where are you cut?” Fenris was near a panic as he tried to find Zevran’s wound.

Zevran lifted his head, enough for Fenris to spy the gash in the side of his throat where the blade must have grazed him as it was jerked from his grip when Fenris had embraced him. Fresh blood began to run down across Zevran’s tawny skin as he lifted his head. “ _Carissimi_ , it... it is not deep,” he faltered, lifting a hand to the cut and pressing. He laughed faintly. “Now I, too, am marked, and by my own blade,” he murmured.

“No, no...no.” Fenris muttered as he stepped away to get a cloth to press against Zevran’s neck. “No, I should have been careful - I saw the blade in your hand.”

Zevran shook his head then winced, the motion pulling at the wound and spilling fresh blood down his chest. He lifted his hand away and stared at the blood dripping from his fingers. “I think I have...” He blinked and suddenly his knees gave way beneath him.

Fenris caught him, picked him up and headed straight for Anders’ room. “Stay awake dammit.”

Anders and Hawke came awake in an instant as Fenris shouldered the door open then staggered in, Zevran pale and bleeding steadily from the wound in his throat and seemingly on the edge of consciousness. Hawke was on his feet and striding to help Fenris as Anders disentangled himself from the covers and staggered after, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Here,” he ordered as the urgency of the situation cleared the last fog of dreams from his mind swiftly. He swept papers from the table and gestured for them to lay Zevran down; the Antivan was still weakly protesting that it was not deep, his voice slurred and weak. As Fenris gently laid him upon the table, the Antivan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.

“Give me room,” ordered Anders as he stepped to Zevran’s side and laid a hand over the gash in his neck, his hands already glowing with healing magic as he closed his eyes. The bleeding slowed to a trickle then stopped as Anders worked steadily. After a few minutes, the blond apostate lifted his hand away from Zevran’s neck; the gash was healed, the merest ghostly hint of a scar left to show where it had been as Anders wiped the blood from his hand with a cloth.

“Well, he was right - it _wasn’t_ deep, but it nicked a vein. It’s as well you brought him to me as quickly as you did. I don’t know where he’s been hiding this past week, but he hasn’t been eating properly and he’s been sleeping even less. His body was flooded with stress hormones; the bloodloss was probably just the final straw that sent him over into shock,” said Anders. He laid a hand upon Zevran’s forehead; the Antivan was starting to stir. Fenris felt the brief tug of magic upon his brands, and then Zevran sighed and went still.

“What did you do to him?” asked Fenris as he reached for Zevran, taking hold of his shoulders and staring into the Antivan’s face.

“Just a simple sleep spell,” answered Anders. “He’ll sleep for an hour or two, by which time the level of stress hormones in his blood should have dropped. He should eat something then.” Anders reached over to touch a finger to the bite marks upon Zevran’s shoulder. “And no more of this for a little while - or at least, take it more gently,” he suggested with a grin.

Fenris was staring at Anders - or, more specifically, the garland of bruises around his throat. He lowered his eyes to Anders’ wrists; the pale skin was still red and slightly chafed from being bound. Suddenly self-conscious, Anders lifted his hands to his chest, wrapping one hand around the other wrist. The elf walked slowly towards him as Anders took a step back, brought up hard against the edge of the desk. 

Fenris trailed a forefinger across the ring of bruises before glancing up at Anders as he let his hand span across Anders’ throat, covering over the marks. “I could offer you the same advice,” he rumbled quietly. Anders returned his look challengingly even as he shivered slightly beneath the elf’s hand. Fenris merely smiled and tightened his grip ever so slightly; Anders’ lips parted on a faint _oh_. 

Hawke cleared his throat behind them, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “We ought to get Zevran cleaned up - and the blood on Anders’ table,” he suggested. “What shall we do with him whilst we wait for him to wake up?”

Anders cleared his throat as Fenris lowered his hand with a knowing smirk. “Ah, yes, let’s clean him up, then we can put him in my bed for now,” he said as he moved away from Fenris, pulling himself back together.

Fenris gently wiped the drying blood from Zevran’s skin with a damp cloth then gently laid him in Anders’ bed as Hawke set to cleaning the blood off the table, finishing by wiping up the drips of blood upon the floor. Anders checked on Zevran then turned away to strip off his shirt, balling it up before tossing it into the laundry basket then going to his wardrobe to pick out a clean shirt and one of the high-collared tunics Dorian had gifted him with, winding a pale blue scarf around his throat to hide the bruises.

“You could heal those if you wanted to,” Fenris pointed out as he watched Anders dress.

Anders gave a small smirk. “Maybe I don’t want to,” he replied.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should mark you myself,” he rumbled quietly.

“Maybe you should,” replied Anders slowly. He took a deep breath to calm his heart which had begun to beat faster at Fenris’ words. “But that will have to wait until later. I’m going to go fetch food for us all.” He glanced at Hawke. “Try not to kill each other whilst I’m gone.” He reached for his staff then with a last glance back at them, he left.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a couple of minutes after he’d gone, before Hawke grabbed a chair and dragged it over to sit next to the bed. He glanced at Fenris, who sat on the edge of the bed, one of Zevran’s hands clasped between both of his own hands.

“What happened?” asked Hawke.

“An accident,” replied Fenris quietly. “I was distracted, he was tired. I hugged him, forgetting he held a knife in his hand. I must have knocked his hand.”

Hawke blinked. “He nearly slit his own throat?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” sighed Fenris as he glanced down at Zevran’s sleeping face. “It was my fault. He insisted it was not deep, but....”

“You panicked?” suggested Hawke.

“No!” exclaimed Fenris as his head snapped up, eyes flashing angrily; he relented when he saw only sympathy in Hawke’s eyes. “...yes,” he admitted. “It would not stop bleeding, and then he collapsed upon me. I did not know what to do. I knew Anders would.”

“I was afraid perhaps you and he had had a fight,” said Hawke. Fenris shook his head fiercely. 

“We did not fight. We talked, briefly, after you left - he was exhausted and cold. After we’d both slept, we talked more -”

“Looks like you did more than talk,” Hawke snorted, staring pointedly at the bruised bite marks upon Zevran’s shoulder.

“It was... needed,” said Fenris stiffly.

“I know, love,” said Hawke gently. “I don’t begrudge it of either of you.”

Fenris’ answer was a noncommittal grunt. After a moment, he carried on. “We... talked for a while later, after he woke. He had been playing with a knife - you know how he toys with them without even thinking about it,” he shrugged. Hawke nodded understanding.

“And you impulsively gave him a hug whilst he had one in his hand and he nearly slit his own throat with it?” said Hawke. Fenris nodded.

“I think he was... a little frightened to realise the depth of his feeling for me, and I... I had never realised.” Fenris lifted worried eyes to Hawke. “Hawke, I am concerned for him. It... I never asked to be the reason for him to live. I am afraid I will not prove equal to the task. I have already failed him terribly once.”

“Fenris, you can’t hold yourself responsible for his feelings,” said Hawke. “Maybe we can help you find a way to show him he has far more to live for. I’ve wondered myself if there’s some hole inside Zevran that he’s just been desperately looking for someone else to fill; maybe we can encourage him to realise it can only be filled from within, not by anyone else. I think maybe Zevran’s been drifting for a long time without any real purpose.”

“He is Master of the Crows,” objected Fenris.

“And just how much purpose does that give him?” replied Hawke. “He killed his way to the top out of vengeance and found himself Master by default as a result. He’s found himself ruler of an organisation he tried to turn his back on; it’s a hollow crown he took only because there was nothing left once he’d killed everyone who’d wronged him I suspect. Do you think he’d be here with us - with _you_ \- if that title meant two bent coppers to him?”

“When did you become such- such -” faltered Fenris. Hawke laughed.

“Such a know-it-all?” he suggested.

“A voice of reason,” replied Fenris. “I always thought that was Anders.”

“When he wasn’t ranting about mages’ rights or blowing up chantries you mean?” laughed Hawke, then sobered at the look Fenris gave him. “No, that was unfair of me. He was right about the conditions in the Gallows all along, and Maker knows that with my temper, had my eyes been opened sooner maybe I’d have done it myself. Or at least not put so many mages into that bitch Meredith’s hands myself.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m just not as close to Zevran as you are, love, so I have the distance to see perspective.” 

A thoughtful look came over his face. “What?” demanded Fenris. “I know that look, Invictus Hawke. What are you planning?”

“Planning? Nothing,” replied Hawke slowly. “But something Anders remarked on earlier comes to mind. He had a run-in with the Iron Bull. Now, not like that,” he added hastily as Fenris bristled. “He encountered him a couple of days ago, and the Bull seemed to read him very easily - and Cullen mentioned to me that the Bull’s Ben Hassrath. If anyone’s a good judge of character it’s likely him, and I dare say he probably knows even more than we do about Zevran - if anyone can. And knowing Bull, he probably made it his business to, the moment Zev showed up. Maybe Zev needs to have a chat with him.”

“He already had one with Cole which seemed to have unnerved him a lot,” replied Fenris. “He said it was like having a mirror held up to his soul. I cannot deny that I am intrigued at the thought of a Ben Hassrath spy attempting to read an Antivan Crow Master, but I mislike the thought of inflicting the Bull on Zevran.”

“It was just a thought,” shrugged Hawke.

After a while, Fenris glanced back at Hawke. “What exactly did the Bull read from Anders?”

Hawke snickered. “For a start, that Anders likes being dominated by someone stronger than he is, and gets off on being held down.”

“We already knew that,” shrugged Fenris, then gave Hawke a shrewd stare. “Ah, now the marks upon his wrists become clearer.”

Hawke grinned unrepentantly. He was still grinning when Anders returned with a basket full of food. He closed the door behind him and set the basket upon the table then turned to find both Hawke and Fenris staring at him, a grin still upon his face.

“What?” he exclaimed. 

Hawke only grinned wider as Fenris rose to his feet and slowly drawled, “So. The Iron Bull.”

Anders instantly blushed, and Hawke started chuckling in earnest.

“Hush, you!” exclaimed Anders in a low but heated voice. “Do you want to wake Zevran?”

Hawke bit down on his laughter, though his grin was undiminished.

“What about the Bull, would you be interested? I mean, Hawke is a strapping man but Bull…” Fenris said as both men gawked at him. “What? I’ve been with Kossith before, it’s an experience.”

Anders was staring at him, open-mouthed and speechless.

“Close your mouth, a fly will get in love.” Fenris grabbed an apple and studiously ignored both of them.

Anders closed his mouth, but the stunned look didn’t leave his face. His eyes went from Fenris to Hawke, then back to Fenris; then slowly they settled on Hawke. “What did you tell him?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“Just how you wound up with those lovely bruises and how you reacted to Bull. I think you’d look amazing riding him.” Hawke said with a lecherous grin.

Anders stared at him, his eyes a little too wide as spots of pink colour appeared high upon his cheeks. He abruptly turned and strode swiftly to the windows, throwing the nearest one wide open as he leaned forward onto the window sill and drew a deep breath.

“I figure after I’ve strayed I can’t say anything if there’s someone you wish to explore with. I’ve been ...you’ve not betrayed us and I know you were close to Warden Howe before. It would not bother me if you wished to revisit that; or ride the Bull.” Fenris said as he grabbed another apple.

“Can we not discuss this please?” said Anders tersely.

“Apologies love, I’m sorry.” Fenris said quietly.

Hawke gave Fenris a squeeze to the shoulder as he passed by to hug Anders. “We’ll drop it, sorry. What do you need Anders?” Vic asked.

Anders lifted a hand to rub his face slowly. “Something to eat, and five minutes in which we are _not_ discussing who is jumping into bed with whom, and no-one’s trying to line up bed partners for me beyond you three would be nice,” he murmured.

Fenris curled further into his chair and rested his chin on his knees. He was trying to have a bit of fun with Anders but found he’d been wrong.

“Come and eat, and I’ll give you a neck rub alright?” Vic offered. After a moment, Anders straightened then nodded, turning back towards the table. He took in at a glance the way Fenris was sitting and paused. His shoulders slumped slightly as he continued on towards the table, dropping into a seat.

“Fenris? Love? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” he said quietly. He dropped his gaze to his hands. “I’m sorry, I...” He glanced at Hawke. “I ran into Dorian and Meneris in the dining hall. Cullen collapsed an hour ago. Cassandra insists my services are not needed.” He dropped his gaze back down to his hands, and then rested his elbows on the table as he ran his hands slowly through his hair. “I’m... worried.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to shove you at another, I apologize. “I’m going to go back to my room for a while, I need...to think.” Fenris said as he snagged an orange and headed for the door.

“No, please!” said Anders as he lifted his head, reaching one hand towards Fenris. “Please. Don’t go. I - please.”

“As you wish.” Fenris took his seat again, peeling the orange as if it had done something to him. He hated that he’d distressed Anders when their reconciliation was still new.

“Thank you,” said Anders quietly. After a moment, he glanced over at the sleeping elf in his bed. “You should be here when Zevran wakes, in any case,” he added. He ran a hand slowly through his hair again, uncaring of how dishevelled it was becoming.

“I feel useless,” he admitted. “I knew something was wrong with Cullen. I don’t understand why no-one will let me help.”

“The Seeker does not trust magic, and it will be to Cullen’s detriment.” Hawke said.

“Dorian said Cullen collapsed in the War Room. Just... dropped. There are so many things that could be, and without seeing him I don’t know which. I’m the best healer they’ve got; I don’t understand,” said Anders. “I don’t have to use magic - I can use my bloody eyes, Maker blast it!”

“Then we should go see him, unless they want him to die.” Fenris said sombrely.

“We should wait for Zevran to wake first,” said Anders with a sigh. “I don’t want him to wake alone. And yet... I don’t want to wait.” He clutched at his hair. “Maker, I don’t know what to do.”

There was a knock at the door; Anders started, his head jerking up.

“I’ll stay with…” Fenris trailed off as the knocking at the door became more insistent. He opened it to find Dorian about to hit the hard wood again, the Iron Bull looming just behind the mage. Instead of snarling, he simply stepped aside and turned his back to the Altus.

“Good to see you too, Fenris,” muttered Dorian as he entered before turning to Anders. “Meneris and I will doubtless fight about this later but frankly on this matter he can go hang. I don’t give a damn _what_ his reasons are, much less Cassandra’s - Bull and I were both there when Cullen collapsed, he wasn’t. You’re the best healer we’ve got and I’m damned if I’m going to let some ruddy _protocol_ get in the way.”

Anders stared up at the Iron Bull, who nodded. “Vint’s right,” agreed the Qunari mercenary. “The Boss’ll shout, but I’m thinking he’ll do far worse than shout if Cullen doesn’t make it.”

“Maker,” said Anders, leaping to his feet. “I knew it was bad, I didn’t know -”

“Come with us and see for yourself,” said Dorian.

“No-one’s going to get in our way,” said Bull. Anders stared at the Qunari’s bulk and decided he didn’t envy the chances of anyone who dared to try. He glanced at Hawke.

“Go on, we’ll just be in the way while you work. I’ll be along to the infirmary in a few minutes.” Hawke glanced at where Fenris was stone still as he ignored Dorian and drew every bit of willpower he had not to slam his fist through the other man’s teeth.

“I just need a few things,” said Anders as he moved to his workbench and hastily grabbed several potion vials and a handful of glass tubes of lyrium, packing them swiftly into a small bag before snatching his staff.

“The Commander’s not in the infirmary,” said Dorian tersely. “They took him to his tower.”

“What?” exclaimed Anders. “But - there’s a hole in the roof! It hasn’t even got a proper floor!”

Dorian’s expression said he firmly agreed with the blond apostate as to the unsuitability of the Commander’s quarters, but he said nothing.

“I’m ready,” said Anders. He leaned up to brush a kiss across Hawke’s lips before turning to Fenris to do the same. 

The elven warrior returned the kiss and glanced over his shoulder to glare at Dorian before he turned back to staring at the wall.

Anders left with Dorian and the Bull, leaving Fenris and Hawke alone with the sleeping Zevran.

“Go on, Anders probably needs you there. I need to be alone for awhile.” Fenris said as he stretched out next to Zevran.

Hawke had to run briefly to catch up to the others; Dorian was trotting alongside the longer-legged Anders, the immense Qunari striding behind them. Dorian was breathlessly describing Cullen’s symptoms and the particulars of the Commander’s collapse to Anders as they hurried, the blond mage nodding with a grave expression. He glanced back as he heard Hawke’s footsteps hurrying up behind.

“I’m here as well, in case anyone gives you a hassle love.” Vic said as he fell in next to Anders, his hand in the other mages as they went.

They reached the door to Cullen’s office to find the way barred by a pair of guards. The two men attempted to bar the way until Iron Bull leaned over and merely smiled at them.

“Boys, you’re not paid enough,” he said softly.

They appeared to concur with him; at any rate, they stepped aside and made no further attempt to obstruct them as Dorian opened the door.

Cassandra glanced up from Cullen’s desk as they entered. “What is the meaning of this?” she exclaimed angrily as she got to her feet. “Dorian! You know full well what the Inquisitor’s orders were!”

“Hang his bloody orders, Cassandra - Anders is a Spirit Healer. You know as well as I do those wretched Chantry healers can’t heal anything worse than a splinter or a stubbed toe. It’s elfroot this and potion that - you saw as well as I did that Cullen’s too far gone for such paltry token efforts,” snapped Dorian.

“That is not for you to decide, Pavus!” she snapped back. “The Inquisitor’s orders were quite clear!”

“Andraste’s flaming arsebadgers,” growled Anders. “I haven’t got time for this!”

He managed to take three steps towards the ladder reaching up to the Commander’s bedroom then came to a halt as there was a scrape of metal on scabbard and the edge of a sword touched his throat. He froze.

“Do not move, apostate,” said Cassandra coldly. “The Inquisitor’s orders are clear. No-one is to enter the Commander’s quarters.”

“Seeker, if you want to keep breathing I suggest you get your blade from his throat. He is a warden and you have no say over him.” Hawke said as he let his fingers rest on her shoulder and let ice trickle over her.

She turned her head and glared at him, and suddenly the ice was gone. She arched an eyebrow. “The wardens have no jurisdiction in the Inquisition. Particularly not after Adamant,” she said coldly. “I suggest you move away if you wish no harm to come to your _warden_.” The edge of her blade nudged Anders’ throat ever so gently; he closed his eyes, not moving.

“Now, Seeker, you sure you want to do that? Could make the Boss awful angry if you kill his favourite healer without clearing it with him first,” said Iron Bull.

“Then let the Inquisitor himself tell me,” she stated coldly. “I will not let this _murderer_ anywhere near the Commander.”

“My dear Seeker, if not for that ‘murderer’, as you so charmingly put it, I wouldn’t be alive,” Dorian pointed out. “He’s not the only warden in this room now, after all.”

She glanced at Dorian. “You know I cannot disobey the orders of the Inquisitor,” she said.

A faint groan from overhead drew their attention.

“Maker’s breath, he needs help!” exclaimed Anders, trying to take another step forward.

“But not from you!” Cassandra hissed. Anders made a small pained sound as he halted.

Hawke snarled and grabbed Cassandra around the waist to pull her away from Anders; caught off balance, her sword flailed in her hand as she turned to glare at him. “Seeker, I do not need my powers to be effective. I’m not a Circle mage to be cowed. Dorian get the Inquisitor!” he ordered. 

Dorian turned and fled. Anders staggered slightly, putting one hand to his throat before heading for the ladder once more. 

“Stop!” commanded Cassandra as she punched Hawke square upon the jaw with an uppercut from her free hand.

“Son of a bitch…” Hawke yelped but kept hold of the warrior. “Do you want Cullen to die?”

Anders was halfway up the ladder, not looking back.

Cassandra followed up the uppercut with an elbow to the Champion’s solar plexus that drove all the breath from his body, just before her booted foot hit him hard in the groin. 

Doubtless things might have gone very badly wrong for Hawke if the Iron Bull hadn’t caught her sword hand in one huge fist, halting her swing as he lifted her up until she was straining to touch the ground on tiptoes.

“Really wouldn’t recommend that,” he told her implacably.

Hawke whimpered in pain as he hit the stones. “Damn, I thought sparring with Fenris was bad.” 

Anders disappeared over the top of the ladder; for a moment the only sounds were grunts and swearing from Cassandra and Iron Bull’s quiet rumble of protest. 

“And there I thought you were a lady, Seeker,” he observed. Cassandra’s retort would have put Sera to shame.

Dorian burst back into the room with Meneris on his heels, the elven Inquisitor looking furious.

Hawke struggled to his feet with a pained grunt. “Hi Inquisitor.”

Dorian stooped down to finger something on the ground then straightened slowly, turning towards the ladder where he touched something before swearing then starting to climb the ladder.

“What in the nine hells is going on here?” Meneris said angrily.

Dorian halted halfway up the ladder and turned to brandish his hand, two fingers smeared in blood. “I’ll tell you what happened, Meneris - your damned Seeker just tried to kill the one person who actually might have the skills to save our Commander!” he hissed furiously. He turned and continued climbing.

“Fine…Bull take Cassandra out of here, someone give Hawke a pain potion and get me one too. Anders when you’re done I want a report of Cullen’s condition.” Meneris rubbed his forehead tiredly.

There was silence from the room overhead, and then Dorian’s face reappeared through the hole in the ceiling. “I... think you should come up and see for yourself, Meneris,” he replied, his tone much quieter than earlier, lacking the fierce vitriol of a few moments before. He glanced to Hawke. “You... had better come too, Champion,” he added.

“Come on, Cassandra,” said Bull as he set her down; she glanced at Meneris then nodded. Something about Dorian’s tone of voice had sent all the fight out of her at once.

“I don’t think I can climb up there, thanks to a certain person cracking me in chest.” Vic huffed.

Dorian glanced over his shoulder; a soft, silvery-white glow could dimly be seen lighting up the room behind him. He glanced back to Hawke. “Champion, you are more familiar with Anders’ abilities than I am, but... even I know healing magic is blue, not white,” the Tevinter necromancer said quietly. “And one thing I _do_ recognise is the transfer of life energy.”

“Anders… you better not be doing what I think you are, you can barely function right now.” Vic snapped.

“Meneris. Now. Drag him if you must,” said Dorian urgently.

“I’ll climb up there and no one will be happy.” Vic groaned as he stood upright and headed towards the ladder.

Dorian drew back to allow him up. As Hawke reached the top of the ladder, he could see exactly why Dorian seemed as close to frantic as ever he’d seen him, apart from that afternoon when Fenris had threatened to pitch the Altus off Meneris’ balcony.

Anders was hunched over Cullen, who lay sprawled upon his back upon the bed. If ever a man could look dead and yet somehow draw breath, that man was the Commander of the Inquisition at this moment. But what caused the breath to hitch in Hawke’s chest was the sight of Anders, bent over the former templar, the white light of his own life’s energy surrounding his hands as he directed it down into Cullen’s body as blood slowly dripped from the diagonal gash that wound across his throat and down across his collarbone; his tunic gaped open, sliced apart, the scarf about his neck now hanging in tatters and bloodstained.

“I... I can’t stop it,”, whispered Dorian. “I don’t know how.” Hawke wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bleeding or the magic.

“Did he slit his own throat? What happened?” Hawke asked as he gingerly climbed up to add his healing to Anders'.

“No!” exclaimed Dorian, yanking Hawke’s hands away from Cullen. “Not the Commander - _Anders!_ Heal _him!_ ” he hissed. “It was Cassandra’s sword I think - he just pushed past regardless whilst you were fighting,” he added, guiding Hawke to Anders’ side. He glared at the Champion as Hawke hesitated. “Think, man, _think!_ Anders wouldn’t have cut his own throat. You know as well as I that blood magic acts against healing, and whatever he’s doing is healing. _He needs you._ I can’t heal.” Dorian dropped to his knees, looking helpless. “I... can’t heal.”

“Oh...Oh...damnit.” Hawke reached up to heal Anders quickly. “Someone get us lyrium potions!”

“I’m not sure lyrium will help him,” murmured Dorian as he fumbled in a pouch and handed a vial to Hawke.

Cullen startled them all by suddenly coughing.

“No... no lyrium... I can’t, I swore... swore... no less to the Inquisition....” The Commander’s voice tailed off. Dorian glanced back towards the hole in the floor as Anders swayed, his eyes closed.

“Meneris? _Meneris Lavellan!_ ” he cried, a note of fear in his voice at the same time as Hawke pulled Anders physically away from Cullen’s body, still working frantically to heal the sword wound as the blood flow lessened, growing sluggish.

Meneris was scrambling through the hole and taking in the scene at a glance.

“Creators,” he breathed quietly.

Cullen was tossing fitfully on his bed as Anders collapsed unconscious in Hawke’s arms; the Champion paused only long enough to knock back the vial of lyrium before returning to his desperate attempt to close the wound across Anders’ throat and shoulder. Dorian was fumbling for a healing potion in the small satchel Anders had brought with him.

“I meant for me and Anders.” Hawke muttered. Dorian glanced at him, a little wild-eyed; it suddenly occurred to Hawke that whilst he had seen Anders use the life-channelling abilities of a Spirit Healer before, this was possibly the first time the Tevinter Altus had ever witnessed it - and between the altercation in Cullen’s office, the sight of the Commander on his deathbed and Anders’ full abilities revealed - not to mention the sword wound - possibly Dorian was rather close to hysterics. Dorian thrust another lyrium potion into his hand, his own shaking heavily.

“Thanks, go be useful and get some supplies from the infirmary and stop gawking at us.” Hawke said as he focused on healing Anders.

“Yes. Right. Yes, yes, of course,” said Dorian as he thrust the healing potion at Hawke then backed away. “I’ll, I’ll... go. To the infirmary. Yes.” 

He turned away and nearly fell down the hole in the floor; Meneris’ hand on his shoulder steadied him. Dorian drew a shaky breath then climbed down the ladder.

The bleeding was already slowing to a sluggish seeping beneath Hawke’s fingers; as Hawke carefully tipped the healing potion between Anders’ white lips and the unconscious man swallowed convulsively, it ceased entirely.

Cullen was stirring restlessly, feverish and mumbling to himself; he seemed more alive than he had when Hawke had first laid eyes on him a few minutes ago. Whatever Anders had done, he seemed to have brought the Commander back from death’s door, though at what cost to himself Hawke dreaded to think.

“Love, guide me so you can rest a bit. You’ve used your life force to heal him already.” Vic said as he let his hands go blue again and waited for Anders’ guidance.

Anders’ eyes slowly flickered open. “Vic?” he breathed faintly. He frowned slightly as he tried to focus his eyes. “Cold,” he sighed.

“I think Cullen is going to be alright but I want to heal him a bit more before we get you taken care of, can you guide me love? I’ll keep you warm.” Vic flinched at how cold Anders was to the touch even as he wrapped an arm around the other man.

Anders shook his head slightly. “No. No magic,” he managed. “Can’t - he’s in lyrium withdrawal, something in him... it’s not a damage you can heal. All I could do was give him life to fight himself. He was reaching inside for something; the lyrium, or whatever it gave him, I guess. It was like trying to fill a bottomless pit. Just this sense of darkness, cold - like shards of ice.” He shivered. “Tired.”

“Alright lets get you down and cleaned up.” Vic helped Anders down the ladder slowly, and managed to get him into a seat before he nearly collapsed. “Get...a blanket and a hot drink for him. I’m going to need those potions when Dorian gets back here.” 

Anders slumped in the chair, head drooping as he plucked weakly at the bloodstains down the front of his tunic then slowly tugged free the bloodsoaked scarf. He managed to lift his head enough to glance up when Dorian burst back into the office a few minutes later, two healers from the infirmary upon his heels. One of them headed straight up the ladder to check on Cullen whilst the other started brusquely checking Anders over, ignoring his weak efforts to push them away.

“Let them help you, Maker knows I’m a terrible healer. One of you give me a potion as well?” Vic said as he watched Anders try to bat their hands away.

“Leave off, he’s a healer.” Meneris said distractedly.

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Anders muttered tiredly. He gave up trying to fight the woman off; it was easier to just let her fuss over him.

Dorian set the bottles in his hands down on Cullen’s desk, and hunted through them distractedly before handing a healing potion to Hawke. He glanced back at Anders. “Would a stamina potion help?” he asked. “I must confess I really don’t know....” His voice tailed off and he glanced to Meneris.

“He’s the healer, he needed to not be slashed by your Seeker.” Vic said angrily.

“What are you on about Hawke?” Meneris asked.

“Cassandra,” said Dorian. “She tried to stop him - held him at sword-point. Maker knows why; it’s not as though any of _us_ could help the Commander,” he added as he shook his head. “If either of you had just let Anders tend to him when Cullen first collapsed -” He fell silent as Meneris fixed him with a sharp look and shook his head. Dorian dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Cassandra put her sword to him. Held him back, and... well, he wasn’t to be kept from someone who needed him, it seems,” Dorian finished quietly. “Or she from following her orders.”

“We’ll deal with that later, once I make sure I’m not going to lose any teeth or have cracked ribs. Meneris, Cullen was dying from lyrium withdrawal - why did you all keep the best healer you know from him? Did you want him to die from pride?” Vic asked.

“Presumably the Inquisitor was unaware of just what exactly a Spirit Healer can do,” said Anders softly. The healer had wrapped him in a warm blanket and he was leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed. “In fairness, we _are_ pretty rare. Hal’s the only other one I’ve ever met outside of a Circle. Not that apostates tend to run into each other much. Well. Outside of the Inquisition.” His voice was slurred with exhaustion; despite the blanket and the warmth from the brazier kept burning at all times in Cullen’s office, his face was still ashen pale, his lips slightly blue.

“Once I don’t feel like a bronto kicked me in the chest, I’ll take you back to your room.” Vic said.

“He...he wanted it kept quiet. If I’d realized it was so bad I wouldn’t have honored his word, I apologize Anders.” Meneris said softly as he glanced at Dorian then back to Hawke. 

Anders waved a hand listlessly. “You weren’t to know,” he murmured. He let his hand drop back to his lap, as though holding up were too much effort.

Dorian was staring at Anders, frowning slightly. “I think I... half understand what it was you did,” he said quietly. “With necromancy, my magic works almost in reverse of yours - I can draw in life energy from around me, but I cannot direct it out to others. But I do know that your life force is not an inexhaustible well.”

There was no answer from Anders; a faint, ghostly smile briefly curved his lips, gone as swiftly as it appeared.

“What else does he need to do to heal?” Vic asked quietly.

“I shouldn’t have let him get so ill though, I see him every day and still it came to this. When he can be moved, have him taken to one of the private infirmary rooms.” Meneris said with a sad smile for his lover.

Dorian glanced back at Meneris, looking a little uncertain and worried still.

“Inquisitor, this man should also be taken to one of the private infirmary rooms,” said the healer firmly as she straightened from fussing over Anders and turned to face Meneris. “He is very weak and needs to be under the direct care of the infirmary healers.” A frown appeared on Anders’ face; he slowly opened his eyes to lock his gaze with Hawke as he managed a small shake of his head.

“Try and take him and we’ll have words Healer…?” Vic’s voice trailed off as he waited for the woman to introduce herself.

She glanced at him, gave a dismissive sniff then turned her attention back to Meneris. “Inquisitor?” she repeated, a little more insistently.

They were distracted by the reappearance of the other healer from the room overhead. “Inquisitor, the Commander is sleeping soundly now,” he said as he stepped off the ladder, oblivious to the atmosphere in the room. “It seems his body is rallying; he is stronger - how, I cannot say. But I believe he may well pull through this current crisis. Somehow he has found some deeper reserves of energy. He is not dying - at least, not for the present.”

“Good, send men with a stretcher and have him moved. Leave Warden Anders to his own devices, he’s the reason we haven’t lost our Commander yet. Thank you for your service today.” Meneris gave them a nod of thanks before he turned to Hawke. “Do you need help getting him back to his room? 

“Inquisitor -” began the woman healer, breaking off when Dorian shot her a glance - sharp, imperious, as he straightened and tilted his head slightly. Something in his storm-grey eyes made her back down, dropping her eyes as she turned away. “Very good, Inquisitor,” she murmured as she accompanied her fellow healer from the room.

Anders had closed his eyes again.

“Maker...Creators and the old Gods I can’t keep doing this.” Meneris said as he took a chair near Dorian. He rested his head against the human mage’s hip and closed his eyes. “Halamshiral will be a disaster.”

Two men with a stretcher arrived shortly afterwards, two more men with them climbing up the ladder before reappearing, slowly lowering the Commander’s limp, sleeping body between them until all four men had managed to get him onto the stretcher before bearing him away. Dorian watched them silently, biting absently at a hangnail on his thumb as he rested his other hand on Meneris’ shoulder. It was a sign of how disturbed the Altus still felt that he would chew on his immaculately-manicured nails without even realising it.

Once the men had gone, Dorian shifted slightly. “Fenris is going to kill me,” he murmured softly.

“What? What are _you_ talking about?” Meneris asked tiredly

In answer, Dorian merely gestured towards Anders and Hawke as the Champion crouched next to the Warden; Anders appeared to have drifted into sleep as Hawke gently brushed the dishevelled golden hair away from Anders’ pale face. “Look at him. Fenris saw him walk off with the Bull and I a relatively fit and well man, and he’s going to come back looking like death barely warmed over,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low for the elf’s sharp ears. “You know of the high regard Fenris holds me in already; how on earth do you think he’s going to react when he sees his love brought back in _that_ state?”

“Can your attempted murder wait until after I’ve had coffee?” Meneris mumbled tiredly. “He’s...hopefully Hawke will explain what happened before he comes to find you.”

“Assuming he doesn’t come charging in here any minute to remove my heart from my chest in the most excruciating fashion he can devise,” replied Dorian darkly. He shrugged. “And this is my second-favourite tunic, too,” he added. 

“Love, I don’t agree with his betrayal but think for a moment. Just how humiliated he must feel after begging forgiveness like a slave?” Meneris said as he tried to find the energy to move. He’d been dozing when the report of Cullen’s collapse had come in. He was running himself ragged and wasn’t doing himself any favors.

“Do you think I _enjoyed_ seeing him at my feet like that?” exclaimed Dorian hotly, though he still kept his voice low. “I _told_ him to get up - it made me feel sick to my stomach to see him kneeling like that. I never wanted to be present during any of that, much less witness to his - his humiliation! Whatever he may think of me, I never wanted that!”

“Do you really think he’ll believe that?” Vic said quietly as he tended to Anders. The blond mage’s eyes drifted half open.

“Hmm?” he murmured drowsily, eyes unfocused. His gaze drifted away from Hawke’s face and then he closed his eyes again.

“Not you love, just rest ok?” Vic kissed Anders on the forehead before he moved over to the other men. “I shouldn’t have demanded the apology, not like that.” Vic scrubbed at his face and sighed. “Look...he’s, we’re working through it but as far as Fenris is concerned you enjoyed his being brought before us a bit too much, and the rest of it is complicated as well as his personal business I shouldn’t have told you even that part.”

“I’ll try to bear that in mind when he’s got his hand around my heart,” said Dorian acidly. “Assuming he decides not to pitch me off the nearest wall again. Nothing personal, hmm?” He stood up straighter. “I think I need some air,” he said, turning slightly towards the door at the exact moment that Fenris threw the door open, staring around.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian muttered distinctly.

“What happ--” Fenris voice dropped as he saw the blood stains on Anders’ clothes, and on Dorian’s hands before his brands lit and he was across the room with a snarl. Before Invictus could say anything, the next thing anyone heard was the loud smack of Fenris’ fist connecting with Dorian’s jaw. 

The Altus was sent sprawling backwards across Cullen’s desk, papers and quills sent flying as he skidded across the wooden surface before he hit the floor on the other side with a heavy thud. Dorian had been taken by surprise; he never made a sound beyond a faint pained grunt as he flew back under the force of the blow. There was a tense silence, broken only by the sounds of Fenris’ panting breath.

“Hawke...you have a minute to get Anders out of here before I start beating this Altus trash.” Fenris shook his hand slightly as he waited for Dorian to stand.

“Fenris it’s not what you think!” Meneris said as he got in front of the other elven warrior. “Will you listen to me?”

“It wasn’t Dorian who bloodied him, Fenris you’ve made a mistake.” Hawke said as he tried to get Fenris turned towards him.

“Of course you’d protect him. What did he do to Anders?” Fenris demanded.

Dorian managed a low, pained groan as he rolled over onto his back. He blinked at the ceiling; the room was spinning slowly. He closed his eyes with another groan. He could hear shouting on the other side of the desk; the noise reverberated unpleasantly through his head.

“I am not protecting him, calm down Fenris. It was Seeker Pentaghast that cut Anders, Dorian was trying to help. I know…” Vic shut his mouth with the glare that got sent his way.

“You expect me to believe that would-be magister would lift a finger to help anyone other than himself without reason?” sneered Fenris. “That _vesicaras bei putridis kaffas-!_ ” His words tailed off as his hands clenched into fists, searching for something more obscene to call the Altus sprawled upon the floor.

“Fenris, Dorian was just trying to help Cullen and Anders. He’s not the enemy, I know you’re angry and...upset about the apology but listen to us please.”

“I don’t expect you to do anything love, but I would hope you’d listen to both of us. I have no reason to protect Dorian from you, do I?” Vic asked.

Fenris pushed forwards, pressing a glowing hand against the Inquisitor’s chest. “Out of my way,” he snarled. “If he is so innocent let him explain himself!” He bared his teeth. “It is obvious he has bewitched you all - _maleficar!_ ” He pushed Meneris sprawling away as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of Dorian’s collar, hefting up the half-conscious Altus into the air. “It’s clear he has used blood magic, and Anders’ was the blood he used! All magisters are the same eventually.” He glared at Dorian with murder in his eyes. “There is only one way to deal with a blood mage.”

“Fenris! Stop right now. He hasn’t bewitched anyone, do you hear yourself?” Vic said as he came up behind his lover. “If you do this, it can’t be undone. Fenris put him down, he’s not lying.” Hawke pleaded.

“You kill him, and you’re next to fall. I won’t let you take him when you are being wrong.” Meneris said as he drew his blade.

Fenris glared still at Dorian, as the Altus managed to open his eyes; he was gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, choked off by Fenris’ grip, the fabric of his collar twisted against his throat. His eyes rolled back as Fenris shook him, the warrior trembling with fury as the lyrium lines of his free hand blazed brighter.

For a moment, it seemed he hadn’t heard either man; then abruptly he hurled Dorian away with a curse. He shoved Hawke roughly away and stalked over to where Anders lay oblivious in his chair. Crouching down in front of the unconscious apostate, he reached out a shaking hand to stroke the side of Anders’ pale face.

“Talk,” he said darkly. “I will listen.”

Dorian lay crumpled upon the ground; after a moment, he drew a ragged breath then coughed, slowly curling up upon the floor.

“Anders saw that Cullen was nearly dead and Cassandra put her blade to his throat and there was a bit of a scuffle. Bull took her out on Meneris’ orders but not before her weapon had gotten him. Dorian realized that the blood from his wound was interfering with Anders healing. That’s why he has blood on his hands, not because he’s a blood mage.” Vic said as he turned to Dorian. 

“Did you have to pitch him across the room like a sack of potatoes?” Meneris cursed as he went to his lover’s side.

Fenris was silent as he gently tilted Anders’ head back, tracing his fingers lightly over the healed wound. After a moment, he found his voice. “How much blood did he lose?” he asked quietly. “If this was the result of some scuffle as you say, there should be more upon his clothes to account for the state he is in now. Where is it, if not used to fuel some hideous magic?”

Hawke looked around and realized the scarf Anders had put on was missing. “I think his scarf took most of it and if you look at Cullen’s bedding there will be more. Fenris, there was no blood magic here, do you really think I’d stand idly by if he was a maleficar; especially after mother?”

Fenris shook his head, though he still frowned. “He is weak; this is... Hawke, his clothes should be drenched in blood for how weak he is. A scarf would not account for it.”

“Fenris stop looking for a damned reason. There was no blood magic, he used his life force to heal Cullen.” Hawke said in exasperation. 

“You refuse to see the truth for your hatred of him. Has life scarred you so deeply or just Dorian?” Meneris asked as he sheathed his blade and tried to get Dorian to at least look at him.

Fenris allowed Anders’ head to gently drop back down again as he bowed his head, silent for several long minutes. “Why?” he finally asked, his voice rough. “Why would he imperil his own life after we so very nearly lost him at Adamant?”

Dorian was finally opening his eyes, blinking dazedly as he turned his head towards Meneris, one hand fumbling to rub at his throat. “ _Amatus_?” he managed hoarsely, his voice weak.

Vic came over and knelt by Fenris. “Love, look at me. You know the truth and this can stop. Please Fenris.” 

Meneris gave him a tight smile before he squeezed his hand. “I’m here love.”

Dorian tried to push himself up into a sitting position, his movements slow and uncharacteristically clumsy. “I feel like the Bull decided to sit on me. Or use me like a punch bag,” he added thoughtfully. He rubbed his jaw and then winced. “That... that hurts. _All_ of me hurts,” he complained before losing his balance and sliding over against Meneris, clutching at the elf’s arm.

Fenris wouldn’t look at Hawke. He could feel his ears begin to burn with the humiliation of knowing he’d been wrong. He abruptly got to his feet and began to gently gather the unconscious blond mage up into his arms.

“Love?” Vic said as he watched Fenris get ready to bolt, well as fast as he could with his arms full of mage. Fenris kept his face turned away from him, the burning of his ears gradually descending down his face. He would not, _could_ not abide the others seeing him blush. He tightened his grip on Anders’ limp form.

“We should get him to his room,” the elf muttered.

“Get out of here.” Meneris said as he tried to keep Dorian on his feet.

“As you say Inquisitor, I’ll check on Dorian later.” Hawke grabbed Anders staff and followed after Fenris.

Dorian tried to take a step then almost went to his knees again, only Meneris’ strong arms keeping him off the floor.

“Fenris hit me,” the Altus remarked slowly, blinking. “I’m not sure I actually did anything to deserve it that time.” His voice sounded slurred yet bemused.

“He saw the blood on his lover and your hands, made five out of one and one. Once you aren’t seeing double I’ll see him. He realized he was wrong finally which is when he high tailed it out of the room.” Meneris said tiredly. 

Dorian nearly tripped over his own feet as he stared at his hands as though only seeing the blood for the first time. “Oh,” he managed eloquently. He stumbled to a halt. “I feel rather ill. I think I may throw up,” he said quietly.

“You would…” Meneris muttered as he sat Dorian in a chair and handed him an empty vase. “Here”

Dorian spent a couple of minutes preoccupied with the vase, retching as the blow to his head and subsequent choking resulted in him swiftly and noisily losing his dinner. He sat quietly for a moment or two afterwards until he was certain his stomach was done, then carefully he set the vase down and grimaced as he pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his mouth. “This has been a most disagreeable evening,” he proclaimed. “I propose we go back to whichever of our rooms is the nearest so I can lie down and go to sleep.”

“Sure you should sleep with a head injury like that?” Meneris asked as he helped Dorian to his feet again and headed for the Altus’ rooms.

“I’m not sure of much right now except which way is up, and I’m not entirely certain of that either,” Dorian confessed. His head was beginning to ache in earnest, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes.

“I’m just worried you’ll fall asleep and not wake up.” Meneris said as he walked them slowly to Dorian’s door and waited for the key to be put in his hands. Dorian fumbled through his pockets until he found the key, holding it out.

“I look _that_ good, hmm?” he tried to joke as Meneris unlocked the door; once inside, he managed to make it over to the dressing table without falling over, and dropped down onto the seat to peer at his reflection in the mirror. He regarded the bruising along his jaw and around his throat in dismay, and ran a hand slowly through his tousled hair. “I suppose a drink is out of the question then,” he quipped.

“Yes, now get undressed so I can see how bad it is.” Meneris scowled.

“I only remember being punched in the face,” objected Dorian, nonetheless starting to undo the buckles of his tunic. “Well, and not being able to breathe properly. Actually, I don’t remember a lot about it at all,” he admitted. He shrugged the tunic off his shoulders then bent over to unlace his boots; he was vaguely aware of a wave of dizziness and a roaring sound in his ears, and then he was somehow lying on his back and blinking up at Meneris in confusion.

“Fenris tossed you around like a sack of acorns. What else can he do?” Meneris said as he finished stripping Dorian. “Creators, he rung your bell but good.”

Dorian attempted to sit up then gave up, lying there as Meneris finished undressing him. “The room is spinning again,” he complained.

“Close your eyes, and I’ll get you some things from the infirmary. Just lie still but don’t sleep yet.” Meneris said as he glanced at the bruises around Dorian’s body.

“Easier said than done,” murmured Dorian as he closed his eyes. By the time Meneris returned, he was more than halfway asleep and it took Meneris an anxious few minutes to rouse him. “Sorry,” the Altus slurred. “Terribly sorry, I’m....”

“Here, it’s a healing potion, then water, then stamina potion. Another healing potion in four hours with food.” Meneris said as he cradled Dorian’s head and helped him with the potion.

“This is... oh, I do not like this at all,” Dorian complained quietly before drinking the potion. It was overly sweet and cloying, like syrup; he pulled a face, but drank it all. He blinked and wished the room would stop spinning; he could do nothing except lie in Meneris’ arms and wait for the potion to take effect.

“He called me a 'festering, putrid piece of shit',” he said after a few minutes in a small voice. “He’s always going to hate me, isn’t he? Fenris. He will always see Danarius in me every time, even though I am nothing like his former master. He’ll never see me as just Dorian. Just a handy proxy to take his hatred out on.” He sighed as he felt the potion finally start to take effect, the throbbing pain in his head receding a bit, allowing him to feel how exhausted he was. “I am tired, Meneris; help me to the bed would you?”

The elven Inquisitor said nothing, simply gathering Dorian up in his arms and lifting him gently into bed. Once he had the Altus settled, he brought him water and the stamina potion; Dorian waved off the potion but accepted the water.

“I’m not going to let him use you as his punchbag, Dorian,” said Meneris darkly.

“Well, quite; believe me, once was more than enough,” agreed Dorian. He tentatively prodded his jaw; there was a dull twinge of pain. He’d likely still have bruises there in the morning; he grimaced.

“I mean it, Dorian,” said Meneris. “This has to stop. I can’t have him exploding at you over the slightest provocation - whether you offer one or not. He’s unstable - a loose canon. If Hawke can’t rein him in, then he has no place here. Frankly of the four of them, right now I can only see a use for Anders and Zevran - we _need_ decent healers, and I’m not so much of a fool as to fail to see the benefits to keeping the Master of the Crows around on our side - supposing he _is_ on our side, that is. But we have no further need of Hawke, and Fenris is frankly a liability at this point.”

“You may find that Hawke is more useful than you think,” replied Dorian as he stared at the ceiling. “For Anders’ sake, if nothing else. And Fenris - well, it’s plain to see we need have no fear of Anders coming to harm save through his own excessively zealous desire to help everyone at the expense of himself - which we need to do something about, Meneris; his selflessness is commendable but also no use to us if he damn near kills himself.”

“I’m well aware,” growled Meneris. “We can’t afford to lose him - though we can’t afford to lose Cullen either. I’ll be speaking to him about this as soon as he’s well enough, you can be sure.”

“Go gently with him, love,” said Dorian as he glanced at his lover. “There’s something going on in Anders’ head - Kirkwall, perhaps, though I know there’s some past history between him and Cullen that I think might also be at work here. Talk to the Iron Bull; if anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s our Qunari companion.”

Meneris nodded. “You should rest; we can talk of this later,” he suggested.

“And so should you, love,” chided Dorian gently. 

Meneris leaned over and kissed Dorian lightly upon the forehead then rose. He moved slowly around the room, undressing and readying himself for bed. When he turned back to Dorian, the exhausted Altus was already fast asleep.

Meneris crept beneath the covers and joined his love in slumber.


	38. Chapter 38

Fenris had dropped Anders off and retreated to his room without a word to them despite Invictus’ calling out to him. He was deeply ashamed and revolted at himself for what he’d done. He glanced briefly at Zevran, who lay sleeping in his bed, then turned away. He sat at the table, pulled parchment, ink and quill to himself and wrote an apology to Dorian while he had the nerve to do it.

The elven warrior filled two pages by the time he was done, sure the Altus and Inquisitor were never going to forgive him but he had a sliver of hope that Anders was useful enough to keep around and by extension him. He’d apologized as well as tried to explain himself with a mix of Trade and Tevinter by the time he’d signed it. He sent the letter off to Dorian’s quarters with a servant, then locked the door for a long night of not sleeping.

**

Anders slept so deeply that the following morning, Hawke had to check several times that he was still breathing. He couldn’t be roused; in the end, Hawke gave up trying, hoping that the blond apostate would wake in his own time. He was unwilling to leave him, but there wasn’t much he could realistically _do_ apart from sit and watch him. The knock on the door - whilst unexpected - was a welcome distraction; he opened it to find the dark-haired warden, Nathaniel, who seemed as surprised to see Hawke as the Champion was to see the Warden.

“I heard Anders was hurt,” Nathaniel said with preamble. “What happened? Can I see him?”

“Sure, he’s sleeping so I’m not sure what you can do except watch him sleep. But if you could stay I’d like to get a bath and breakfast.” Vic said quietly as if he thought they’d wake him.

“Of course,” said Nathaniel as he entered. He glanced around until his eyes fell on the sleeping apostate and then his face fell. “Maker,” he uttered. “He looks half dead - Hawke, what happened to him?” He hurried to Anders’ bedside then stood staring down at Anders’ white face; he bent low over the unconscious mage, turning his head slightly to see if he could feel Anders’ breath upon his cheek before his pressed his ear to the mage’s chest to search for a heartbeat, much as Hawke himself had done several times already.

“He wasn’t one hundred percent healed as it was, ahhh he and I had a bit of..fun the night before. He’d had healed Zevran right before we got called to help Cullen. The Seeker didn’t think he should, there was a fight and he got cut, started using his life force to heal our Commander and I think it took a lot of him. He’s been so still I’ve worried he’s crossed over a few times myself.” Vic said as he saw the way Nathaniel looked at his lover, and gave them both a sad smile. “l’ll be back soon as I can. Hopefully he will wake up for food.”

Nathaniel lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, absently brushing a lock of gold hair away from Anders’ eyes with a forefinger. “I’ll sit with him,” Nathaniel agreed. “Take your time; I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“I don’t want to be long from him. If he wakes I’ll be back soon with food.” Vic headed out with a last wistful look at them. 

When he returned some time later, moderately refreshed and bearing food, he found Nathaniel much as he’d left him. The warden was sitting on the bed, quietly reading from a small book aloud to Anders whilst he absently stroked the ginger tabby on his knee. It took Hawke a moment to realise the warden was reading from one of Varric’s books - “The Champion of Kirkwall” if he recognised the cover correctly. As the Champion entered, Nathaniel broke off and glanced up.

“Did you really take on a high dragon in the -” he glanced down at the page then up again, “The Bone Pit?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Vic said as he set the tray down and got himself a cup of strong tea. “Didn’t you all fight one as well ...the Blades of Hessarian, some cult that believed Andraste was reborn as a dragon?”

“Maker, don’t remind me,” groaned Nathaniel. “It wasn’t quite as bad as taking on an archdemon, but not something I’d care to do in a hurry again. I’d have lost a leg to the blasted thing if Anders hadn’t been on hand.”

“I gather a lot of us wouldn’t be here if not for him.” Vic said with a glance at the other mage. “Wake up…”

Nathaniel laid the book down and sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried - but he just won’t wake. I’ve never seen him this bad. Well, apart from the time he tried to drink half of Vigil’s Keep under the table and passed out for three days. He looked pretty rough then,” he conceded with a small grin. “Though not... half dead.” He glanced back at Hawke then got to his feet.

“I’m sorry, you probably want some peace and quiet and your breakfast,” he apologised. “I just wanted to make sure Anders was alright. I’ll... leave you to it.”

“You can stay, it was kind of lonely just watching him sleep.” Vic said as he nudged a plate at Nathaniel. “I got enough for all of us so if you’re hungry.”

Nathaniel glanced at the plate then back at Hawke. “That’s very... Thank you,” he said as he took a seat at the table.

They ate in companionable silence, both glancing up often to the sleeping mage. Anders slept on, oblivious to their worry.

 

***

Zevran rolled over and stretched slowly, then glanced around until his eyes fell on Fenris at the desk. He rested his head on his hands as he watched the other elf for a while.

“I would tell you good morning, but from the look on your face _carissimi_ I fear it is far from good for you, no?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“No...you should go, leave me to my shame.” Fenris said tiredly. He hadn’t slept for all his racing thoughts.

The smile fell from Zevran’s face as he stared at the other elf. “You wish me to leave?” he said quietly. “What shame is this? I am well, _carissimi_ ; I took no lasting harm - it was an accident, and I was as much to blame as you.”

“Not what happened with you...something else occurred while you were sleeping.” Fenris told his lover all of it, including the letter he’d written, and the plea for mercy for hitting an Altus without cause. He refused to look up or at the other elf as he finished. 

As he spoke, Zevran slowly sat up, then shifted to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs down to the floor as he watched Fenris, noting the way the other man kept his eyes lowered, his shoulders hunched. As Fenris fell silent, Zevran got slowly to his feet and slowly walked over to the desk. He hitched up one hip to perch on the edge of the desk, uncaring of his nudity as he leaned down to gently slip a finger beneath Fenris’ chin before making Fenris lift his head to look at him. He didn’t miss the way the green eyes slid away from his own gaze, the white-haired warrior unable - or unwilling - to meet his eyes.

“ _Carissimi_ , we are not in Tevinter. Here, an Altus is but another man - and you are no slave to fear striking one. Why should you plead for mercy? Forgiveness, yes - but mercy? No, my heart,” said Zevran softly. 

“You don’t understand...I am out of control, I didn’t even ask questions. I saw blood on his hands and Anders and just struck out. I’m no better than the trained attack dog I was made into.” Fenris turned his head away and lowered his gaze once more.

Zevran slipped down off the desk to kneel on the cold stone floor so he could stare up into Fenris’ eyes as he rested one hand upon Fenris’ knee. “You are no dog, my heart,” he said quietly. “You did not kill him. You listened, and spared him; that is not the act of a mindless animal.”

“Get up...do not kneel to me, or in front of me. My heart cannot bear it.” Fenris pulled Zevran to his feet when the other elf remained still. “Please...I...I am what I’ve been molded into. All the years, all the work and I still go to violence as my first choice, tell me what I am then?” 

Zevran gently cradled Fenris’ face between his warm palms. “The man I love,” he said simply, and leaned in to kiss Fenris, his eyes fluttering shut.

The elven fighter let himself be kissed but didn’t return the enthusiasm. He was too far into his pit of self-loathing to enjoy a naked man in his arms. “I don’t deserve you.” he said when Zev pulled back for air.

“Let me be the judge of who deserves me, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran sternly before kissing Fenris again, as though he could halt this flood of self-loathing by kissing it away - or at least silencing it for a time.

Fenris gave a bit more of himself but pushed Zevran away with a choked sob. “Why...why are you being nice to me when I’m such an asshole?”

Zevran stared at him, bewildered, a little hurt at being pushed away again. “Because... I love you?” he said slowly. “ _Carissimi_... please... don’t do this. Not so soon.”

Fenris took a shaky breath, tugged Zevran back into his arms and let his tears fall while he apologized. “Not your fault I’m broken. I’m sorry.”

Zevran held him close, his arms wrapped around the taller elf as he rested his cheek against Fenris’ chest, listening to the warrior’s heart beating fast. “I was afraid you were sending me away,” he confessed quietly. 

“No...I just don’t want anyone to see me like this. I’m sorry Zevran. Can we lie down please, I did not sleep.” Fenris said as he wrapped himself around the shorter Antivan.

“Of course, my love,” Zevran nodded. “You are trembling.” He moved towards the bed slowly, drawing Fenris with him; as his calves hit the edge of the bed, he let himself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Fenris over on top of him. He kissed the warrior again. “You are no animal,” he breathed quietly. “You are the man I love. Broken, maybe - but not shattered. I overthrew the chains upon me, and you will do the same, love.”

Fenris had no words for that, he held Zevran close as he could and bared his heart to other elf as they laid there. He kept hold of the other man as if Zevran would flutter off the moment he let go. All Zevran could do was stroke Fenris’ face, murmuring reassurances to him over and over, hoping that maybe some of it would sink in. He had never seen Fenris quite this bad before, and something of his brokenness was disturbing Zevran on some deep level that he couldn’t quite name or place.

“I love you,” he said, with all his heart; even as the words left his lips, he saw the way Fenris’ eyes still skittered away from his own, and he wondered if Fenris could even hear him. He was at a loss. This was outside his realms of experience; he felt adrift, and he hated the feeling.

“Please stay with me, I don’t want to be alone.” Fenris pleaded.

“I will not leave you,” Zevran promised, and held Fenris tighter.

The other elf thanked him before he pulled away just enough to undress, he felt hot and uncomfortable with his clothes on, and being close to Zevran, in full contact was comforting Fenris. “I love you too Zev” he said as he curled around the other elf and held him close as he could.

The Antivan gently carded a hand through Fenris’ hair and murmured vague nothings of reassurance until he felt Fenris slowly relax into sleep in his arms. He lay staring at the ceiling, his mind full of worry as he listened to Fenris’ soft breathing, and wondered how he was going to bring the warrior back from this.

And what would happen if he couldn’t.

 

***

Dorian stared at the note, then held it out to Meneris wordlessly.

The Altus was sat on the edge of the bed, a fold of the cover preserving his modesty as he ran a hand through his messy hair. His body still sported a multiple of bruises, but the healing potion and sleep had taken care of the worst of his injuries. Some fragmentary memories of the previous day’s events had started to come back to him; it felt not entirely dissimilar to waking up after a particularly impressive bender, only minus the hangover, he mused.

“Why do you look like it’s going to bite you?” Meneris asked as he took it and started to read over the blocky writing, and frowned a bit as he read it.

“I have no idea what to make of that,” said Dorian in a bewildered tone.

“He’s ...sorry I can tell that much, and embarrassed. It seems he expects to be executed or something for hitting you like he’s still a slave. That’s the part I don’t get. He’s not in Tevinter, and even though I’m furious, I’m not killing him for hitting you. He’s broken love, it doesn’t excuse his behaviour but he is fucked up.” Meneris said as he sat next to Dorian, and re-read the letter in an effort to figure out what to do with Fenris.

“Well, quite,” said Dorian. “I may be an Altus, but outside of the Imperium I’m no better than any other man - well, better-looking than most, obviously, but certainly in no place to demand anyone’s head simply for hitting me.” He touched two fingers to the bruises on his jaw absently as he spoke. “What on earth do I say to this?”

“I...I suggest maybe asking him to come see us, in my office not our rooms. I think if he’s alone with you it will go badly and I don’t want to see him begging as he did before. It would bother me, and send you off the edge. If it’s in your heart, accept his apology and talk to him. If it’s not, then maybe we get Bull to help. He’s good with this kind of thing I think. He told me the word for it in Qunlat...damned if I can remember though but it means battle sickness, he’s been traumatized so much it’s broken him.” 

Meneris sighed as he handed the letter back to Dorian. “I think all of this is getting to us but we can’t leave for Halamshiral as a fractured, incohesive unit. I also think we need to leave Anders here, the Grand Cathedral is in Orlais and they won’t give a damn about his warden status.” 

“Best pray no-one is injured during our journey and whatever happens in Orlais then,” said Dorian absently as he reread the letter. “We have three weeks until the Winter Ball; perhaps that will be enough time for Cullen and Anders both to recover. Or for Hal to come out from his own... whatever.” He laid aside the note, frowning. “I think perhaps we should meet somewhere neutral; he may panic if we see him somewhere as formal as your office.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully before rising and walking slowly over to his wardrobe to pick out clean clothes.

“Where then? The few times we’ve met here, it’s been a disaster, I don’t want to encroach on his space.” Meneris watched Dorian with a scowl. “You should take another healing potion love, those bruises don’t compliment your lovely skintone.” 

“Meneris, bruises don’t compliment _anyone’s_ skintone,” said Dorian drily. He shrugged and finished dressing, then went to the dressing table and sat down, reaching for one of the healing potions sitting on the side. He downed it with a grimace then set about taming his hair. “There must be _some_ place suitable where he won’t feel we’re sitting in judgement upon him,” he continued. “The garden perhaps? The arbour where Cullen and I play chess is fairly secluded; we shouldn’t be interrupted there.”

“You think so? I guess so, if you’d write a reply love, I’ll deliver it myself. I have a feeling he’s not going to show himself for a while.” Meneris watched as Dorian set about teasing his hair into the hairstyle he usually wore around the Keep. He didn’t like it but knew his lover was a bit of a peacock about his looks. He also kept quiet as he thought about what he’d say to the other elf when he dropped by.

Dorian eyed his hair critically then reached for the kohl, leaning closer to the mirror as he carefully lined his eyes. He was aware of Meneris’ exasperated look behind him but chose to ignore it. The elven Inquisitor had never really understood why Dorian took such care with his appearance; Dorian wasn’t sure he would ever be able to fully explain it to him. But appearances had always been vital in Tevinter, and the Altus was fully aware of the subtle cues that could be signalled by one’s appearance - even amongst people not raised in a cut-throat society as he had been. He wasn’t going to appear in front of the hostility of Skyhold looking anything less than immaculate the day after having been fairly comprehensively beaten by Fenris.

He laid down the kohl stick, swept his fingers over his moustache, then reached for paper and quill. He dashed off a brief note in his elegant copperplate script, inviting Fenris to discuss matters in the garden later. He rose from his seat, blowing upon the ink to dry it.

“Love, you are not going to dinner with the First Warden, you’re at home. You don’t need to go through all this ...frippery.” Meneris said as he folded the letter and gave his lover a kiss before he too got dressed.

“Darling, I _do_ have standards to uphold,” sniffed Dorian. “I can’t possibly be seen looking less than immaculate this morning. I have no doubt there will be gossip about last night already; I intend to disappoint them.”

“Very well, if you insist on such things love. Do be a dear and get us a place for breakfast in the dining hall, I’ll be along shortly.” Meneris gave him another kiss before he headed off towards Fenris’ rooms.

Dorian took a moment longer to finish styling his moustache, then rose from his seat and reached for his staff. Slinging it on his back, he left his room, locking it behind him. Pocketing the key, he headed off towards the dining hall.

He was crossing the courtyard when he heard a hiss from somewhere behind him to his right. 

“Maleficar!” 

Something struck his shoulder and his head whipped round, staring at the three templars behind him. He stared at them, his eyes narrowing as they smirked at him. His fingers tapped his thigh as he regarded them for a moment before he turned on his heel. 

He found he was shaking ever so slightly as he headed into the great hall, heading towards the dining hall.

“Blood mage!”

He turned on his heel and stared around himself. A passing servant glanced at him curiously. Two guards were watching him, bored. Further away, a templar glanced over his shoulder at the mage and gave a sly grin before glancing away.

Dorian’s lips thinned grimly as he stared at the templar, then continued on towards the dining hall.

By the time he’d found a place for himself and Meneris, his hands were shaking and he was grateful of the mug of coffee he’d collected on his way to his seat; clasping both hands around the hot cup steadied his fingers, though did little to quell the feeling of unease. He’d been shoved twice from behind, spat on once, his ankle “accidentally” kicked three times on the way to his seat, and he was aware of whispers that fell silent as he passed.

He glared around defiantly and waited for Meneris.

**

Meneris knocked impatiently for a third time before the door opened to a disheveled Zevran instead of the elf he expected. “Greetings Zevran, is Fenris in?”

Zevran glanced behind himself at the darkened room. “He is, but I do not think he is ready for company,” he said quietly. “He is sleeping. Perhaps I may assist you?”

“I’d have preferred to speak with him but if it’s not to be.” Meneris held up the folded parchment to Zevran. “If he will agree, we’d like to speak with him later in the garden.”

Zevran took the note and nodded once. “I will deliver your message when he awakens,” he said quietly.

Meneris glanced at the dark room then back at Zevran. “Honestly do you think we’ll be able to all function together, ser Crow? I wish this strife at an end.” 

Zevran glanced behind himself again, then stepped out into the hall, drawing the door to, just behind him, though not quite shut. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. “I cannot say,” he admitted quietly. “I have never seen Fenris in quite this state before. Maybe Hawke could answer better than I.” He sighed. “I do not know how to fix this. Give me a blade or a poison, a tangible target - but this matter of minds, of emotions? I flounder. I... am perhaps not the best person to ask.” Something in his eyes and voice betrayed the frustration the Crow felt, though his face remained neutral. 

“I see...perhaps Bull can help him or Krem. They seem to be more in tune with what has ailed Fenris. I do not wish to keep you from him, if he’s amenable to seeing us we’ll be in the garden. You may come with him so he won’t feel ganged up on if you like.” Meneris gave him a long look unsure of what the other elf wasn’t saying to him.

Zevran inclined his head. “That may well reassure him,” he replied. “Is there anything else I may assist you with, Inquisitor?”

“No, thank you Master of the Crows.” Meneris gave him a respectful nod in return and headed off to the dining hall, his thoughts in a blur over how to resolve things so they would at least _look united_ when they arrived at the Winter Palace.

He found Dorian sitting at a table by himself, his back to the wall as he scanned the hall, an almost nervous look in his eyes though his smile as he spied Meneris seemed genuine enough. 

Meneris got them each a full plate with a glare for anyone who so much as sent him a look as he joined Dorian at their table. “Who do I need to kill?” 

Dorian shrugged as he stared down at his plate. “Don’t worry yourself, Meneris; it’s only word getting around about last night. A few words and a bit of name-calling is nothing I’m not already used to,” he shrugged. 

“We’re not having this in the Inquisition. We already had to replace half the damn squadron because of taking in Anders I won’t have you harassed as well. This is so not how I wanted the day to begin.” The Inquisitor grimaced as the mark in his hand even flared up with how agitated he was. “Let’s finish and head to the garden for a game of chess to ...relax.” Meneris said as he ate quickly with a stony expression for anyone who might have dared to harass them.

“Chess... yes,” said Dorian quietly. He glanced down at Meneris’ hand, then back up at Meneris and gave him a small smile. “I’m fine, love,” he added softly. “Really, it’s no worse than I’ve had since Haven. You should see the looks Mother Giselle gives me.” He glanced across the dining hall to where the Chantry Mother herself had just entered with two other Chantry sisters; he put on his most charming smile and gave her a small wave as she scowled at him across the hall. “I’m sure she’s mentally measuring me up for the noose already. It must be terrible to spend your days disappointed like that - here we are, another day, and I’m still breathing.” He turned his attention to his breakfast and began to eat.

“It’s not alright dammit.” Meneris snarled as he cut his food as if it had offended him. “I’m sick of us all not working together, I’m fucking tired of all of it. I never asked to be anyone’s damned savior.’ 

“No more than I ever asked to be anyone’s scapegoat, love,” replied Dorian as he reached for his coffee mug. “But there we are; life is rarely fair. We’ve lost too many to Corypheus’ forces and the Venatori, and here I am - a living, breathing example of everything they hate, walking amongst them. Like Fenris, none of them see me as human - I’m just ‘the damned Vint Magister’, the maleficar. Never mind that they’ve never seen me raise a hand in anger to so much as a fly in Skyhold, much less use blood magic. It’s nothing personal.” Dorian shrugged.

“It is very much personal love. You are not the entirety of Tevinter and all they think it is. This will fucking stop.” Meneris finished his food and stared at Dorian with a devious grin. “Take my hand.”

Dorian stared at him, instantly wary. “What are you up to, Meneris?” he asked suspiciously. “I know that look.”

“I want to hold your hand love, nothing else.” Meneris grinned at him and waited for Dorian to do as he asked. “This isn't a request.”

Dorian stiffened slightly. “Love. Please... don’t risk making this worse,” he said softly, even as he surrendered his hand to Meneris.

The elf tugged Dorian to his feet and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m the fucking Inquisitor and it’s about time I start using the title to get order back in this place. Anyone wants you? They come through me. I’m a Dalish elf and little better than a whore and a criminal to some. You think I don’t know what they say about me as I walk around? This is nothing, and I won’t see the man I love belittled. End of story, so let’s walk out with heads held high so they know you have nothing to be ashamed of.” Meneris pressed another kiss to Dorian’s cheek before he headed towards the door.

Dorian walked beside Meneris, intensely aware of the stares as he stared ahead, not glancing to either side as the Inquisitor paraded him through the hall. There was no other word for it; Meneris was showing him off, his grip upon Dorian’s hand an unmistakable claim of ownership. Dorian could feel the glares of hostility though no-one said a word; the ripples of silence spoke far louder than any insults. If Meneris thought he was putting an end to the harassment, Dorian was fairly certain he was mistaken. It would only become less obvious.

He was quietly proud he didn’t blush or stumble as he walked from the hall with Meneris; he managed to project an air of insouciant indifference quite well he thought. He was heartily glad to be outside in the fresh air nonetheless as they walked towards the garden; it was cold, the ground still hard with frost, but it seemed somehow warmer than the atmosphere in the dining hall.

Meneris set up the board in silence, he was still seething over the way things were going with the organization. If Anders was well enough he’d just make him stay and boot the rest of his companions out for all the hassle they’d caused him.

Dorian stared at the chess board without really seeing it; he played almost mechanically, not even bothering to cheat as he generally did. He didn’t seem to hear the approach of Fenris and Zevran until Meneris scraped his chair back and rose to his feet. He glanced up then stood, taking his staff and setting it aside clearly out of arm’s reach before turning to face the white-haired warrior and his Antivan companion.

Fenris glanced at them briefly before he spoke to Dorian quietly as if he expected the man to lash out at him. “I am here as requested Serah Pavus.” 

Dorian stared at Fenris, measuring his words carefully before speaking. He kept his hands by his sides in clear view. “Fenris, what I have to say is as myself - Dorian, your equal, not as an Altus. We are not in Tevinter and neither of us is bound by the conventions of the Imperium. As one man to another, I accept your apology.” He held his right hand out, inclining his hand slightly so Fenris could see his palm was empty. 

Fenris glanced at the other man’s offered hand as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the easy acceptance of his apology. He was confused by Dorian’s words. “I...should not have struck you, and you do not need to show me, it ...thank you for accepting my poor words of apology ser Pavus.” Fenris took his hand quickly and dropped it after a brief shake. 

Dorian stared at Fenris, then glanced at Meneris. “Love, would you give us a little space to talk privately?” he murmured, before glancing to Zevran. “Ser Crow?”

Zevran sized him up coolly, then slowly and deliberately shook his head. Dorian took a deep breath then glanced back to Meneris. “Please love.”

“Very well, I don’t like it but I’ll be right over there where you can see me. Zevran, please come with me? We’ll have them in plain sight, I promise.” 

Fenris didn’t say a word he just glanced back at Zevran with a tiny nod of accepting that the Altus wanted privacy. Zevran frowned, then slowly inclined his head to Fenris, not sparing Dorian a glance as he turned upon his heel and paced away.

Dorian waited until Meneris had withdrawn as well, then turned back to Fenris, switching to Tevene as he lowered his voice. “Fenris. Look at me please. I am unarmed, I offer you no threat or offence. I swear to you upon my life that you will not be punished for striking me. We are not in Tevinter. I have no authority over you. Do you understand? I am no-one’s master.”

“Yes ser, I understand.” Fenris said as he finally looked up at the other man. His whole posture told a lie on him as he held himself back with his arms around his middle as if he expected to be struck no matter what Dorian had said. He kept Dorian’s gaze though he wanted nothing more than to leave since his apology had been accepted.

“Please call me Dorian,” the mage said softly. “Fenris, I understand why you struck me. You were worried and afraid for Anders, and I can appreciate that at first glance it must have looked dire indeed. I know that to you I must represent a hated part of your past; when you look at me you must see only the worst of the Imperium. But I do hope that in time you can learn to look past that and understand that I am not Danarius.” He stared at the elf. “And I am not your enemy. You cannot kill your past by killing me.” He reached for his chair and sat down so that Fenris now stood over him.

Fenris’ eyes widened when he realized what Dorian had done and he fought the urge to kneel. Something was wrong with him and he didn’t know why that urge of all things had hit him. “I know you are not Danarius, I would not still draw breath if you were him.” he sat down but stared at the chessboard for a while as he gathered his thoughts.

“I...something is wrong with me.” he finally said as he dropped his head to his hands and fought not to flee in shame. 

Dorian slowly reached out but stopped short of touching Fenris. “Can I... help?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know if anyone can help me.” Fenris said as he wiped at his face and sat back in the chair with a pensive expression as he stared at the ground rather than the man across from him. “I reacted like the attack dog I was trained to be, not the freed man I thought I was becoming. Maybe Tevinter will always have it’s claws in me until this damned lyrium takes my mind from me.”

Dorian stared at him with a sudden speculative gleam in his eye. “Your... lyrium,” he said thoughtfully. “I know very little about Danarius’ methods - I steadfastly refuse to use blood rituals, so I am unfamiliar with his methodology and I wouldn’t have the vaguest idea where to begin reproducing his research even if I were inclined to - which, by the way, I most certainly am not,” he added hastily with a shudder. “My father always referred to blood magic as ‘the last resort of a weak mind’.” He broke off, dropping his eyes to the chessboard. He picked up a pawn, rolling it in his fingers thoughtfully as he gave an odd little laugh. He drew a sharp breath then went on. “But it seems to me that such a working as that must require... maintenance of some sort.” He glanced up at Fenris. “Forgive me if I touch upon a painful subject or reawaken unwelcome memories, but... do you remember him using further magic upon your markings? Maybe at certain... intervals?”

“Quarterly at first...annually later.” Fenris remarked with a shudder.

“Danarius died - what, six? seven years ago now?” said Dorian speculatively. “I’m not sure of the precise timing - the reports we heard back in Minrathous were... vague.”

“Six years, nine months and seventeen days.” Fenris answered dully. He was starting to put two and two together and didn’t like what it added up to.

“And have you found your control... slipping?” asked Dorian slowly.

“At times but I am unsure if my atrocious behavior can be blamed on the lyrium corruption.” Fenris replied as he glanced at Dorian then back to the ground. “I will not take an easy answer to this problem with my...myself.” 

“I doubt it would be an easy answer,” murmured Dorian distractedly. “Hmm. Fascinating. I wonder... I’m not a healer like Anders; afraid I have no affinity for Creation magic at all. Entropy and Arcane have always been my strengths. But - If I’m right, then maybe I could -”

He snatched his hand back off the table where it still rested and leaned back. “I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t -” He glanced away, tapping an immaculately-manicured nail upon the arm of his chair briskly, then seemed to come to a decision as he glanced back at the elf. “Fenris, may I have your permission to try something? I absolutely promise you I mean no harm - upon my life.”

“Get Zevran else he will not believe you mean me no harm.” Fenris said as he glanced to his lover with worry in his eyes.

The Crow was already moving towards them, one hand upon the dagger at his hip. He paused just behind Fenris, then tilted his head to one side as he stared at Dorian with unfriendly eyes.

“It seemed to me that perhaps I should be a party to this discussion,” he said in flawless Tevene.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Dorian. “I want to test a theory. It should not take but a moment or two - if Fenris will permit.”

Zevran glanced down at Fenris. “Do you permit?” he asked softly. “I will not allow him to harm you.”

“I do… if it helps prove whether my problems are tied to this damn lyrium or my broken mind.” Fenris said dully.

Zevran walked around the table to stand just behind Dorian; he leaned down to breathe a soft warning. “Harm him, and I promise you will die slowly and painfully, Altus Dorian Pavus,” he whispered. As the elf straightened, Dorian felt something sharp press against the side of his neck.

Dorian kept his eyes on Fenris and held his hand out. “Please take my hand,” he asked quietly. “I swear I will use only the lightest touch of magic. I’m going to try and feel for any decay in the bindings of the lyrium and try to ascertain how much it may have deteriorated. You may feel some discomfort but I shall endeavour to do my best not to cause you pain.”

“Go on and do what you need to.” Fenris replied as he took the Altus’ hand.

Meneris stood nearby, curious and watchful of what Dorian planned to do.

“Thank you for your trust,” murmured Dorian as he closed his eyes. He gently, delicately drew on his magic to lightly probe Fenris’ markings.

Instantly, Fenris’ brands lit up blazingly bright; Fenris felt a burning vibration run along each brand, radiating out from the hand that rested upon Dorian’s.

“What...did you do?” Fenris asked with a hint of curiosity and a twinge of pain.

Zevran had jerked back at the same time as Dorian had stiffened; the Crow now held his blade pressed against Dorian’s throat. “What happened? Are you in pain?” demanded the Antivan.

“Not as much as I am,” gasped Dorian, panting. He pulled his hand away from Fenris with an effort and cradled it. “Would you mind terribly not slitting my throat, Ser Crow? I can assure you Fenris is unharmed by my efforts,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth. He was aware of Meneris moving in from his side with a murderous look in his eyes, he flung out his unharmed hand to forestall him. “No, Meneris! It’s - it’s alright!” he gasped.

“I’m ok Zev, you can stand down.” Fenris said flatly as he stared at his own hands, somewhat curious as the brightness dimmed to nothing and he felt no pain or anything really once Dorian had let go.

The Antivan held the blade to Dorian’s throat for several heartbeats, then slowly lowered the blade and stepped away. Dorian lifted his hand to his throat and rubbed it slowly, before glancing down at his other hand with a frown.

“Well, _that_ was unexpected,” he said quietly as he inspected the curious burns upon his palm; it looked like lines of electricity burned into the skin, radiating out from the points where Fenris’ fingers had come to rest near his wrist and spreading back towards his own fingertips. “Also quite painful. Likely some protective measure of Danarius’, to prevent tampering. No matter; I was correct. The binding on your brands is slowly deteriorating.” He glanced up at Fenris, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry; the lyrium has begun to slowly leak. You are being... slowly poisoned.”

“Alright...how long until I’m in a corner babbling to myself?” Fenris asked without a hint of surprise or anger at Dorian’s news.

Meneris wondered at that, considering how volatile the other elf normally was.

“Longer than you might think; the levels of lyrium in your blood are remarkably low considering how long ago Danarius last worked upon you,” said Dorian slowly as he rubbed his fingers with a wince. “I could feel some sort of additional binding around the lyrium that doubtless is working to slow the deterioration - has Anders done anything to your brands at any point?”

“Stopped me reacting to the Inquisitor’s Mark after that first rift.” Fenris said as he reached for Zevran’s hand and held it tight, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of the Antivan’s hand. Dorian nodded.

“Well, be sure to thank him, because it seems to be holding most of the leaking lyrium in place. I’d estimate you have perhaps a year, maybe eighteen months before it deteriorates to the point that Anders’ work no longer holds it,” said Dorian steadily. “I don’t know how long you’d have after that. A few months - perhaps a year at most.”

“Two and a half-years then. Alright, I should go now.” Fenris said numbly.

“Go?” echoed Dorian quizzically.

“Go...somewhere, Zevran come with me.” Fenris said as he looked up at the other elf, his expression blank.

“Fenris, this - this isn’t a death sentence,” said Dorian as he leaned forward. “I mean, it’s dire, yes - but we have some time. There’s... there’s research I can do, study - Anders too. I’m sure between us we can find an answer. One that doesn’t require blood magic.” He stared at Fenris intently. “Let me try to put this right,” he said in a low voice. “Please.”

“I need to go, I just want to go and have Zevran with me.” Fenris repeated, his grip on Zevran’s hand tightening as they sat there.

Dorian sat back and nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly. “You’ll find me in the library if - if you want to talk about this further. When you’re ready,” he added. He got to his feet. “Please excuse me,” he said softly, then turned and started walking back towards the main keep; after a moment he heard Meneris approach from behind.

“You forgot your staff,” said the elf quietly as he held it out. Dorian took it with a silent nod, slinging it on his back. They walked in silence for a while.

Fenris sat there with Zevran’s hand in his, his expression still blank. “I can’t move.” 

Zevran dropped to a crouch, taking both of Fenris’ hands in his own, his grip warm and sure. “I am here, _carissimi_ ,” he said, rubbing small circles against the back of Fenris’ hands soothingly. “You are in shock. Take your time; breathe slowly.”

“I...my death is upon me sooner than I expected with this news. Tevinter still will get it’s due from me. After all I’ve done to escape it.” Fenris started to laugh hollowly, the sound all wrong as it echoed through the garden.

“It need not be so,” said Zevran softly. “Anders’ work has slowed it; perhaps he can strengthen his work, give you longer whilst Dorian searches for some answer. You are not dead yet, my love.”

“Yet...yet. I should take one of your poisons, just be done with it rather than two years of decline where I endanger you.” Fenris’ laughter had tapered off until he looked somberly at his lover. “I want to go to your room, I need …I need you.”

Zevran felt a chill at Fenris’ words. Staring up at Fenris, he suddenly saw other eyes - soft brown, a lilting Antivan voice protesting she still loved him. He blinked, and it was Fenris staring down at him, his eyes wide. 

“I will go with you,” said Zevran softly. “But please do not speak of poison - not yet.”

“As you wish.” Fenris said as he forced himself up to his feet just to stumble. “It may not be wise, but I wish a drink and your arms right now more than anything.”

“I have a very good bottle of brandy in my bag, back in your room, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran as he rose to his feet to help Fenris. “Come, we shall go share it.”

“Alright, you may have to help me walk. I can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other.” Fenris said as he headed in towards his room as he felt haunted by what was to come for him.


	39. Chapter 39

Hawke was in the library, sure to be seen with Dorian so the others would leave off the rumors of him being a maleficar. He was also concerned for Anders who had finally wakened but seemed listless as the days went on. He worked in the infirmary but seemed to find none of his usual enthusiasm.

Hawke shut the book he’d been reading with a weary sigh. “I can’t look at this anymore, my head hurts.”

Dorian sat in his usual chair, a pile of books beside him, one open on his knee and another in his hand. He had an intense look of frustration on his face. He got to his feet, flinging the two books aside then turned to the bookshelf he’d already half-decimated. He pulled another volume off the shelf and glared at it as though it had personally affronted him.

“Useless. Bloody useless!” he declared and tossed it over his shoulder; Hawke watched as it described a perfect arc through the air and over the balcony railing down towards Solas’ rotunda below. A moment later there was an indistinct exclamation of protest.

“All bloody useless! _Venhedis!_ What a pathetic excuse for a library this is!” growled Dorian as he tossed another couple of books after the first.

“Dorian, I think you might have beaned Solas in the head with that first book you pitched,” Hawke said as he heard some colourful swears float up to them.

“What?” said Dorian, distracted, glancing round. The noise coming from below finally registered. “ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” he said in disgust. “That’s all I need - to annoy the others as well. Bad enough every templar in the damned place seems to be determined to dog my footsteps every time I set foot out of this tower and _grin_ at me.”

“Just don’t throw any more books. What’s got you so worked up anyway?” Vic asked.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, the other hand on his hip, the very picture of frustrated annoyance. “I am trying to research something but half the books in this damned place are useless and the other half little better. I need access to books I had back in Minrathous, but I fear they may not have much by way of answers either - but at least they would be a starting point.” He threw his hands up. “And it is insufferably distracting to be glared at everywhere I go as though everyone’s expecting me to suddenly start slitting wrists and casting blood rituals any minute, or as though I’ve already done it and grown an extra head or something!”

“Well you know you’re not and it’s been made clear that if anything happens to you it won’t go unnoticed. How about we take a break, see Anders and Meneris?” 

“Fine,” sighed Dorian. “Though Anders is not exactly cheering company I must say. Not quite as bad as Hal but it’s like watching a ghost drifting around the infirmary. He shouldn’t even be up yet. Not that Cullen’s much better; try talking sense into the Commander and you may as well be talking to a brick wall.” He reached for his staff and slung it on his back, then gestured for the other mage to lead the way.

As they passed the door to Solas’ chamber, the elf opened his door, holding up a large book. “Ah, Dorian,” he said. “I’m well aware of your opinion of the third volume of Nystaris Ashante’s _Transfigurations and Transformations_ , but I prefer not to be on the receiving end if you please.”

Dorian took the offending book and sniffed. “It’s an inferior copy at that - it’s lacking the fourth edition appendices, and there are errors in the appended errata sheet.”

“Then inform the Ambassador, not me,” said Solas drily as he returned to his chambers, closing the door firmly.

Dorian sighed. “You go ahead, Champion; I must go speak with dear Josephine. I shall be along shortly.”

“Very well.” Vic headed off to the infirmary to find Anders and Belann speaking rather animatedly about something. 

“Am I interrupting?” he asked with a not quite angry look at Belann but not the friendliest of gazes either.

Belann turned to glare at the interruption until he saw who it was. “Ah. We’ll take this up later,” said the Warden as he headed towards the door.

“No need to leave on my account, Belann,” Vic said with a smile.

“I was just leaving in any case,” said the Warden tersely as he made to move past the Champion.

“As you wish, Warden,” Vic said as he watched the other man leave before he turned to his lover. “That’s the most animated I’ve seen you in a week, should I have Belann come round more to argue with you then?” 

“Maker, no!” exclaimed Anders as he turned away to tidy up the workbench behind him, setting the jars of herbs and unguents to rights before taking up a pestle and mortar and setting to work with it. “No. He’s wrong. I have no interest in following his path - I’m a healer, not a warrior. Haven’t I taken enough lives already?” He glared at the contents of the mortar in much the same way Dorian had at the book he’d pitched over the rail earlier.

“Calm down, I was just having you on love. Sounds like you need a break as well. Come on and let’s get something to eat. My head hurts from staring at books all morning and I’ve missed you.” Vic tugged the slightly shorter man into his arms with a grin. “Come on love, I’m happy to see you a bit more energetic even if it is to fuss at your fellow warden.”

Anders let the pestle drop into the mortar and rubbed his forehead wearily. “Perhaps,” he said quietly. He reached for a rag and wiped his hands, then turned back to Hawke and managed to summon a tired smile. “I’m ready,” he said.

“That’s better.” Vic gave him a brief kiss. “You know I worry for you when you get all quiet like that love. It’s not normal for you to be withdrawn.” 

Anders lowered his gaze, though not before Hawke could glimpse the guilty look that flashed across the blond apostate’s face. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “The infirmary’s pretty quiet at the moment. With Cullen back at his desk, my only patients are the occasional recruit who hasn’t figured out which end of a sword is the sharp end yet, or a mage who practiced a spell they weren’t ready for.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Oh yes, and those three mages that damned fool templar used Shatter on instead of Purge yesterday. They had that tempest under control until she panicked, and then _I’m_ the one busy putting people back together again. I think Cassandra put her on latrine duty for a month but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We’re not in the bloody Circle now.”

“Well if you want, I can help with training them. It would be a nice break from all these damned books that aren’t giving us on answers on what to do for Fenris.” Vic took Anders hand as they walked, needing the comfort.

“Maybe you could get Cassandra to back off whilst you’re at it,” muttered Anders. “It seems she’s always hovering lately. ‘Just checking on you’ she says, and it’s making me damned jumpy.” He shook himself irritably.

“Sure, my jaw still twinges when I see her,” Vic said as they entered the dining hall and went right for where Meneris, Nathaniel and Loghain were talking. “Mind if we join you?”

Nathaniel glanced round and his face lit up with a warm grin when he saw Anders on his feet. “Anders! Good to see you up again; I was hoping to be able to speak to you before we go.”

“Go?” said Anders in sudden alarm. “Go where?”

“With the Orlesian Wardens dealt with and banished from Orlais, we’ve received orders to escort them to Weisshaupt,” replied Loghain. “A force of Wardens should be here in less than a week. Solona is to remain here for the time being; King Alistair has expressed a desire to speak to her himself. We’re to escort the Orlesian Wardens and report to the First Warden then return to Vigil’s Keep.”

“You mean - you’re leaving?” said Anders, staring at Nathaniel in dismay.

“I’m afraid so,” said Nathaniel regretfully.

“I hope you can have some time together before you have to leave, Nathaniel,” Vic said with a nod at Anders.

Anders stared at Hawke, then ducked his head; the tips of his ears had gone red.

“How goes preparation for Halamshiral Inquisitor?” Vic asked as he patted Anders’ thigh under the table and gave him a smile. Anders stared at the table, one finger tracing a knife mark in the top of the worn oak surface. Nathaniel slid into the space on the other side of Anders and reached for the bottle of wine on the table, pouring glasses for Anders and Hawke before topping up his own.

“It goes; we need to be ready to leave soon. I’d like to have enough time to get there without having to hurry through the mountains or deal with overzealous bandits without being late for the ball. We should all meet at week’s end to determine who is going, who is staying and what to do with Anders should he attend. You need a disguise or a glamour,” Meneris said as he glanced up everytime the doors opened, hopeful his lover had arrived.

“As long as said disguise doesn’t involve a corset,” said Anders as he reached for his wine glass. Nathaniel had just taken a mouthful of wine; he suddenly choked and started coughing.

“I’d rather not have you fainting at my feet again thank you much,” Vic said. “Something the matter, Nate?”

“No,” Nathaniel managed to choke out as Loghain frowned and slapped him hard between the shoulder blades as Meneris watched, perplexed. Anders merely smirked.

“I did look good in it though, you have to admit,” he said without looking up. “I’m sure I swooned very prettily.”

“Who was swooning prettily?” asked Dorian as he arrived at the table. “Have I arrived just in time for what sounds like a most fascinating story? Poor Nathaniel there looks about ready to pass out - was it him?”

“No, it most certainly was not,” said Nathaniel and rounded on Anders. “And you are an evil man, Anders; you timed that deliberately!”

“Prove it,” smirked Anders before taking another sip of his own wine.

“ _I_ wasn’t the one dolled up in skirts and eyeliner, unlike a certain Warden,” said Nathaniel as he glared pointedly at Anders.

“This gets more and more fascinating; do tell!” said Dorian as he took the seat next to Meneris and reached for the wine.

“You have to admit those Tevinter-styled robes were indecent on you love. All the better to seduce you,” Vic said with a wicked grin.

Anders shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly seducing me when I was passed out cold at your feet really. Or with that damned collar around my neck - you can _not_ tell me that you thought that was sexy, even if it _was_ gold,” he replied, an edge creeping into his voice. “Maker, I thought those Chasind robes I was prancing around in after my seventh escape were indecent - they had nothing on that slave get-up.”

Dorian was staring at Anders intently. “You were a slave in Tevinter.” His voice also held an edge to it.

“Disguise,” said Anders. “It was that or risk getting turned into one for real, and Hawke’s always been far better at the destructive side of things than I am. Made sense to have him be the one holding my leash.”

“Yes, I can see how that would work,” said Dorian quietly, still not taking his eyes off Anders. “Spirit healers are a rare and valued commodity in Tevinter. You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on the streets of Minrathous before some magister or other tried to collar you.”

“I have no intentions of ever setting foot in Minrathous or any other Tevinter city again, I can assure you,” replied Anders.

“You know I didn’t find it sexy, you know that damned well, Anders,” Vic said quietly as he suddenly found his plate intriguing.

Anders downed half his glass of wine before he spoke again. He waited until Hawke finally took a mouthful of his own wine. “You loved me in that corset though,” he murmured. “Especially the bit where you helped me out of it.”

“You did that on purpose.” Vic choked as he tried not to spit wine right back out. Anders gave him an innocent look as he slapped him on the back.

“You can’t prove that either,” he murmured. He glanced up and noted the way Dorian’s grey eyes had darkened as the Tevinter Altus gave him a very frank appraising look. “Hmm, looks like someone else would love to help me out of a corset,” he muttered in a low aside to Hawke. 

“Not going there, that’s...not for discussion here,” Vic said quietly. 

“I think we’d best keep you out of corsets, Anders; I prefer to see you on your feet and breathing,” replied Nathaniel. “The kohl was a good look for you though. Particularly with your hair and complexion.”

“What, blue-lipped?” said Anders. “I’m actually fond of breathing.”

“No, you ninny,” said Nathaniel fondly as he gave Anders a sharp flick behind the ear. “We’re not talking about the corset any more. The kohl - it brought out your eyes. It did mean the people paying you attention weren’t thinking about you being a mage so much. If you dyed your hair and so forth - well, I think it would probably work.”

Dorian regarded Anders thoughtfully as he tapped his chin. “Appearances do make quite the impression,” he agreed. “A bit of grooming could do wonders.”

“I have the fashion sense of a blind nug, as Sister Nightingale is fond of saying. I leave that in your hands, Dorian. I think I’m going to make sure Fenris and Zevran have lunch - I’ll talk to you later love, and don’t get into too much trouble while you’re still on the mend, ok?” Vic gave Anders a slow kiss before he sauntered off.

Dorian sat back and steepled his fingers. “I have a cousin - sickly fellow. Rarely seen outside his bedchambers. Very pale; never seems to get the sun, and his mother is half Ferelden on her father’s side. Dye your hair black, and you could probably pass for him superficially. You _do_ speak Tevene of course?”

“Of course,” Anders echoed. “Circle education, and we wouldn’t have gotten far in Tevinter if none of us spoke the language.”

“Just so,” nodded Dorian. “There you are, Meneris - Anders is my sickly cousin visiting from Qarinus. We’ll dye his hair black, dress him up, he can linger around me and we’ll be all mysteriously Tevinter at anyone who gives him a second glance. If anyone asks, he’s assisting me with research or some such. No-one will expect him to know much about the Great Game if he’s supposed to have spent all his time shut away with his books, and it’ll explain his lingering weakness. I’ll talk to Josephine; she can draw up appropriate fake documentation and so forth.”

“I guess so, have Josephine take care of it. I’ve got a meeting with Cullen about troops and such. I’ll see you in our rooms for dinner love; behave yourself.” Meneris gave Dorian a kiss on the cheek before he hurried away from the others.

“And I need to talk to Belann about his plans,” remarked Loghain. He glanced at Anders. “Try not to get Warden Anders _too_ drunk, Warden Nathaniel - he _has_ only been on his feet a couple of days again.” He nodded to each in turn before departing.

Anders stared into his glass and then began giggling.

“Oh Maker,” groaned Nathaniel. He glanced at Dorian. “Come on, we’d better get him sobered up.”

 

**

Meanwhile Fenris had ignored most attempts to get him to do anything other than lie in bed and eat only when Zevran practically forced him too. He’d turned away from them all, convinced he was on a very short lease on his life.

Hawke came in with a tray and a concerned frown at the way Zevran looked at him. “How bad is it?” 

Zevran shook his head and sighed. “I do not know. It is as though he has given up already and...” He covered his eyes with one hand, then looked away.

“This isn’t like him...here, come eat while I try to talk to Fenris.” Vic set the tray down and crawled in bed with Fenris, one arm gently around the elf. “Love, I’ve brought food for all of us. Please come and sit with us; you have to be hungry, yeah?” 

Fenris stared at the wall. He blinked. Hungry? He considered. There was a gnawing emptiness inside; was that hunger? His brain tried to suggest perhaps it was; it also tried to suggest other things, but he could feel his mind skittering away from their implications.

He could feel the silence in the room; waiting, expectant. Invictus was waiting for an answer.

He slowly rolled onto his back, then turned his head to stare in the Champion’s direction. It would be too easy to turn away again; perhaps if he waited long enough, Invictus would leave him alone. Yet Zevran hadn’t yet - he had no idea why. Why should the Antivan care? He was dying; Zevran knew that. But still the Crow lurked; he could feel his golden gaze upon him.

He shifted onto his side; they were both staring at him. Slowly he got up until he was sitting hunched over, staring at them from behind his hair. His eyes shifted to Invictus.

“Why?” he asked, hoarsely. _Why me? Why now? Why are you here?_ His emerald gaze was glazed as he stared at the Champion.

“Because we love you Fenris, and you aren’t dead yet despite this sudden lack of interest in basic needs.” Vic took the elf’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead. “You are worth the effort, that’s why.” He kissed his forehead again and then each cheek. “Because waking up next to you is a blessing in my life.” 

Vic turned and beckoned Zevran over. “Zev loves you, Anders loves you; we want you to be well, Fenris. Not just give up, this isn’t like you; why have you just stopped trying to live? If not for us, you need to fight for yourself. You are worth all of this my heart, please come back to us.” 

“Danarius has won,” said Fenris quietly. “He knew. He knew all along. That was why he made me like this; imperfect. So he could destroy me when I finally slew him. His last revenge upon me.” He smiled mirthlessly. “He has the power to destroy me, even after his death. I am still his _thing_ , his _creature_.” He began to laugh; a hollow, hopeless sound.

“No, that is not true!” Vic said as he stared into Fenris’ eyes. “Zev, tell him he’s wrong!”

Zevran gave Hawke a hopeless look of near-despair as Fenris continued to laugh despairingly, his hands threading into his hair and clutching at it as his shoulders shook. “Do you think I have not tried, my friend?” he said wearily. “I have pointed out that Anders was able to work upon his brother Nakusa to seal _his_ brands and that his brother yet lives; surely with assistance from Dorian, then Anders should be able to effect further healing upon _him_ as well once he has recovered his strength and is well again. But he doesn’t hear my words; I cannot convince him though I have tried.”

“Slap him...if I do it, it may trigger bad memories. But if you do, maybe...it will do something. I’m desperate Zev.” Vic looked at him in a panic. 

Zevran stared at Hawke blankly. After a moment, he glanced at Fenris, who had returned to staring at the floor, unresponsive.

“That could be... suicidal,” said Zevran quietly. “But maybe....” He glanced back up at Hawke. “If I do this... you may need to restrain him. He may come out if it violent, much as he does if woken unexpectedly.” He flashed a brief humourless grin. “Much as I believe I do, in which case he will strike first before he is fully aware; you may need to distract him with your voice.”

“Of course, I hope this doesn’t end badly for either of us.” Vic kissed Fenris on the cheek then moved back.

Fenris didn’t move or give any sign he was aware of Hawke; the Champion may as well have been kissing a mannequin. Zevran took his place before Fenris. 

“Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured as he drew back his hand.

The first slap resounded loudly in the room; a distinct crack as Zevran’s palm connected firmly with Fenris’ cheek. His head snapped to the side with the force of the blow; he rocked back slightly, eyes blank as he turned to face Zevran. The Crow shook his head, then backhanded Fenris’ other cheek.

Something lit up in Fenris’ eyes as he reeled from the second slap, and then his brands lit up as he leapt for Zevran’s throat with a feral snarl. Zevran was struck down to the ground, Fenris pinning him down with his knees upon the Antivan’s chest, one hand about his throat and the other raised to strike. 

As Hawke lifted his hands ready to cast, Fenris blinked and shook himself, then stared down at Zevran, who was staring up at him wide-eyed.

“Zevran?”

“Fenris...you’re back?” Hawke asked hopefully. Fenris sat back, snatching his hand away from Zevran’s throat before glancing around at the mage.

“Hawke? What -” He put a hand to his head then looked around the room, blinking and disoriented. “Was I dreaming? No... no, not a dream....”

Zevran was still staring at Fenris, gasping slightly as he fought for breath, still pinned by Fenris’ weight upon his chest. 

“ _Venhedis!_ ” Fenris swore as he suddenly realised what he was doing, and leapt up. “Zevran! Are you hurt? Are you - did I harm you?”

Zevran sat up slowly, rubbing his chest with a wince as he took a deep breath. “No lasting harm, _carissimi_ ,” he assured Fenris with a small smile. “It is good to see you restored to yourself.”

Fenris stared at his hands, then around the room again as Zevran got to his feet. Fenris ran a hand through his hair then headed for the window, throwing the curtains back then staring around the room. “How long have I been like this?” he rasped, his eyes seeking out Hawke.

“Almost a week, love, you kind of...went away when you got the news,” Vic said as he helped Zevran up and approached Fenris slowly. “May I hug you?”

Fenris stared at his arms and the stained shirt he wore, plucking at it disdainfully. He lifted one arm to sniff then grimaced. “Pfaugh! I stink. Are you sure you want to?” he said. 

“Considering we couldn’t even get more than a few words and grunts out of you this past week, yes.” Hawke lifted Fenris into his arms and held his lover close until he felt the elf squirming.

“I am filthy and starving,” uttered the elf as Hawke set him back on his feet. Staring down at the shirt again in disgust, he grabbed the hem and tugged it off, balling it up and throwing it aside. He ran his hands slowly over his face. “I feel as though I have been caught in a nightmare -” he broke off as he winced slightly. “Zevran. Did you strike me?” he said slowly in disbelief.

“Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” said the Antivan as he approached slowly. “We could not think of any other way to bring you out of the state you were in. We did not think you would respond well to being struck by a mage, so it was I who slapped you.”

“You are either very brave or very foolish,” replied Fenris drily.

“Or very desperate,” shrugged Zevran.

Fenris stared at him for a moment then grasped the other elf’s wrist and drew him close to embrace him. “I forgive you, _amatus_ ,” he said quietly. “But if you slap me again I shall return the favour.”

Zevran laughed then kissed him before stepping back and wrinkling his nose. “You may wish to go take a bath, _carissimi_ ,” he suggested. Fenris nodded.

“Indeed, and then food - and then I wish to see Anders. And,” he added thoughtfully, “I should speak to Dorian.”

Zevran and Hawke exchanged surprised glances as the warrior strode off to find the bathing chamber.

“He wants to speak with Dorian? Sure we’re not the ones dreaming?” Hawke said in surprise.

Zevran shook his head wordlessly, as surprised as the Champion. 

Fenris took his time in the bath and returned in just a pair of leather trousers, the towel loose around his neck as he dug into the meal Vic had brought. Zevran had taken up a position sitting in the window, casually sharpening one of his knives, one foot braced against the stonework of the window frame. 

“Slow down love, I can get you more food if you need it,” Vic said as he ate albeit slowly.

Fenris glared at Vic but did stop trying to inhale half his plate. He glanced over to Zevran and waved him over. “Join us?”

“In a moment, _carissimi_ ,” he said, not looking up from his blade as he ran the whetstone over the edge. It had passed razor sharp some time ago, but the familiar movements were soothing, and Zevran was having some small trouble regaining his composure. He preferred not to let it show in front of Fenris so soon after the other elf had been restored to himself however. He wasn’t sure how much he was fooling Hawke; he’d been aware of the human mage casting him measuring glances as they waited for Fenris.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked once he’d sat back from his meal. “Come over love, please?”

Zevran lifted his head and glanced over at Fenris, then to Hawke before he tucked the whetstone away and sheathed the blade in his boot. He leapt lithely down from the window casement then strode over to join them, taking the seat on the opposite side of the table. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he looked across at Fenris and Hawke.

“I am glad you are looking more yourself, my heart,” he said gently. “We have been very worried for you.”

“I guessed that from the way you had to get me to react.” Fenris leaned over and gave Zevran a brief kiss. “You are unsettled, I see it in your eyes.”

“Yes, he’s been caring for you the most love. I’m going to get a bath myself so you two can talk. I’ll be by around dinner time,” Vic said with a grin. “A kiss before I go?”

“You should let Anders know that Fenris is returned to us,” remarked Zevran as Fenris and Invictus shared a long, slow kiss, parting only when they needed to breathe.

“Of course, he’ll be glad to hear it. Perhaps we can all dine in his room tonight?” Vic suggested.

“His room is larger than mine,” agreed Fenris. “The mages are well cared for here; he seems to be thriving within the Inquisition.”

“Yes...well, be that as it may none of _us_ are. I don’t like it here _that_ much. I’ll see you later.” Vic gave Fenris another lingering kiss before he left them to talk.

Fenris turned to face Zevran with a curious glance. “So…”

“My heart is glad to see you looking more yourself, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “But it terrified me how you seemed to... give up. I have been afraid that if I slept, you would take one of the poisons in my bag. I have scarce dared to close my eyes, though Hawke has sat with you often which allowed me to nap here and there. But now, I must ask: what lies in your heart? Do you have a little more faith that Anders and Dorian can find the answer?”

“I don’t know...I am sorry I worried you so my heart.” Fenris took Zevran’s hands in his and gave him a wan smile. “I don’t know your code for what is what, I don’t know if I would have succeeded had I tried to take my life.”

“You may well have done, but not all my little elixirs grant a peaceful passing. Some merely incapacitate through excruciating pain; others would ring you out in agony for days before you died. Some would put you to sleep.” He shrugged. “It is best not to experiment. Each vial is coded to my own system; I can feel by touch alone which is which. Even another Crow would not be able to identify them, much less yourself.” His fingers pressed lightly upon those of Fenris. “I am glad you did not. We will find an answer, I am certain.”

“I am glad you have faith, mi cariadad. I fear mine is gone for a long walk right now.” Fenris took each of Zev’s hands and kissed the palms. “I’m so sorry for making you worry.”

“I swear you have given me white hairs, my love; maybe one day you and I will match,” Zevran joked. He blinked rapidly as he pulled away a little. “Forgive me, I think I have something in my eye,” he murmured as he rose to his feet and turned away slightly. 

“Zevran? It’s alright, you can ...be open with me. You have seen me at my worst; I can offer you no less solace.” Fenris rose and made his way around the table to hug Zevran from behind, though not close enough to keep him in place. “It’s alright, you’re safe with me.”

Zevran took a long, slow, trembling breath. He leaned back into Fenris’ embrace as his hands lifted to cover the other elf’s as they rested over his heart; Fenris could feel it thrumming within the Antivan’s chest.

“I was afraid for you, my heart,” he said softly. “And for myself. I could not bear to watch you dying in front of my eyes yet still breathing, and yet I could not walk away.” He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “I was afraid,” he whispered.

“Forgive me for making you feel that amatus. I only seem to cause you pain and worry.” Fenris rested his chin on Zevran’s shoulder and squeezed him gently. “ _Te amo, mi cariadad. Siempre por mi vida_.” 

Zevran turned within the circle of Fenris’ arms and slipped his arms around the taller elf’s waist as he gave in to his tears. “My heart,” he whispered. “ _Carissimi._ ”

“I am yours, _amatus_. Funny, no, how we started yet here we are now.” Fenris gave a low chuckle as he leaned in for a kiss. 

Zevran returned it; tentatively at first, then with more and more enthusiasm until he was softly moaning into Fenris’ mouth, breathless as he clung to his white-haired warrior.

Fenris pulled away just for a moment to catch his breath then tried to pick Zevran up, only for them both to end up in a tangle on the floor. “Guess I need to rebuild my strength, huh?” huffed Fenris. Zevran laughed, curling up a little, breathless from their kiss.

“Oh _carissimi!_ ” he laughed. “What did you expect after a week of near-starving? It will take more than one meal, but you will be strong again, my love. It will not take long - and even in your current state, you were able to knock me down earlier. You are far from weak, my heart.” He smiled. “Though I would prefer not to have to do that again; I might not survive another attempt.” He winked.

“I would not harm you love, not if I am in my right mind.” Fenris rolled onto his back and opened his arms. “Seems you have the advantage here, do with me as you wish.”

Zevran chuckled and climbed over Fenris to kneel astride him, his hands either side of Fenris’ head. Barely had he begun to dip down for another kiss when they were interrupted as the door flew open and Anders burst in, out of breath.

“Zevran, Hawke said - Fenris, he - Fen-” He paused, chest heaving, and then his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh! I’m, I’m sorry, I... I’ll come back later, I....” 

Fenris looked up then back at Zevran before he burst out laughing. “I should be angry but I am glad to see you. Give us just a few minutes, love, so Anders can check me over?” Fenris had the nerve to wink at the other elf before he looked to his human mage. 

“But of course, _carissimi_ ,” smiled Zevran as he got up, holding a hand out to Fenris to help him to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just burst in on you like that,” said Anders as he closed the door behind him. As Fenris got to his feet, Anders took a step towards him, then another before rushing to Fenris and hugging him, burying his face against Fenris’ shoulder as he held him with careful gentleness. “You have no idea how much I have worried over you, love,” he breathed.

“I’m getting an idea of how much trouble I caused while I was… _away_ ,” Fenris said quietly

“It doesn’t matter; none of that matters now,” said Anders. “You’re back with us again, and we’re going to fix this, love - you’ve got to believe me, I’m not going to let you die. I swear on my life.”

“Enough of you swearing on your life, and giving it. I, too, have missed you all.” Fenris gave him another smile before he rose onto tiptoe to kiss Anders as well, glad to see his lover.

Anders smiled a little weakly as he pulled back reluctantly. “I think I was interrupting you both,” he said with a shaky laugh. “I should, um, go perhaps.” He took a step back, glancing to Zevran then back to Fenris. 

“I’ll make it up to you and Hawke after dinner? I was hoping we could all eat together in your rooms,” Fenris said with a devious grin.

Anders grinned in genuine pleasure at that. “I’d like that very much, love,” he nodded. “Till later then.” He bent down to press another kiss to Fenris’ lips before backing away towards the door again. He gave Fenris another smile before turning and leaving.

Fenris locked the door then turned to face Zevran. “Where were we?”

***

A few days later, Dorian pored over the latest tome Leliana had managed to unearth for him; something one of her scouts had discovered. Cullen’s forces had rooted out and routed a group of Venatori, and Leliana’s agents had traced them back to find their encampment. He wasn’t sure exactly where she had managed to find it; her expression as she handed it to him over the war table had suggested perhaps he should keep any questions as to its provenance to himself - as if he were about to start shouting from the balcony that he possessed a Venatori text. Enough of the guards now seemed to view him with renewed suspicion thanks to the templars’ rumours; he didn’t need to add fuel to _that_ particular fire, thank you very much.

The book was very old, of that he was certain; and over half of it seemed to be in an archaic dialect of Tevene interspersed with what he was certain were transcribed passages of elvhen. He frowned as he stared at one particular passage, tapping a finger on it thoughtfully as he sipped slowly from his glass of wine.

So absorbed was he in trying to decipher the passage that he was completely oblivious to anything else around himself; he didn’t notice when someone nearby coughed discreetly.

Fenris cleared his throat again and waited for Dorian to look up. When the mage didn’t, he called the man in the hope he didn’t startle him. “Dorian, a moment if you have the time.”

The Tevinter mage started, glancing up sharply with a quick inhaled breath as he strove not to spill wine on the fragile pages. When his eyes fell on Fenris, there was a brief flicker of alarm in his grey eyes before he quickly recovered himself and gave Fenris his customary charming smile. “Fenris! It’s good to see you on your feet again,” he said. “Care for a glass of wine?” He glanced around. “At least, I _think_ I have a spare glass here. It’s a rather cheeky little Orlesian number I think you’d enjoy.” He glanced up as he picked up the bottle, raising an eyebrow in invitation.

“Thank you for your generosity, I’ll take a half-glass, healer’s orders to not overindulge. May I sit with you?” Fenris asked, his expression and posture formal as if he were before a review rather than someone he was trying to make amends with.

“Of course!” exclaimed Dorian as he set his own glass down and finally unearthed a second glass from behind the large stack of books at his side. “Pull that chair over and do join me.” He half-filled the glass and offered it to Fenris.

“Thank you for your generosity...Dorian.” Fenris said as if he had to work at calling the other man his name rather than just Pavus. The use of his first name wasn’t lost on the Altus as Fenris took the glass and sat. Dorian laid a ribbon upon the page he had been reading and carefully closed the book, laying it atop the pile of books to his left before taking up his glass and refilling it.

“How may I help you? Please do excuse the mess,” he added, gesturing at the stacks and piles of books scattered around him. “I’m afraid people don’t come to visit me often, apart from Meneris and occasionally Solas or Vivienne.”

“I wished...to speak with you about the lyrium and to offer an apology now I am more myself,” Fenris hedged as he took the wine and sipped it slowly. “If you will accept it.”

“My acceptance was quite genuine and still stands,” replied Dorian with a little wave of dismissal. “Consider the matter done, at least on my part. My offer of assistance also still stands.” He took a sip of his wine, watching Fenris a little warily over the rim of his glass. He was somewhat hemmed in by his stacks of books, and although Fenris seemed to be genuine about his overtures of... well, not precisely friendship, but at least no obvious overt signs of imminent hostility, he nonetheless was currently sitting directly in Dorian’s only line of escape.

“Still, I was not wholly myself when I offered it, and I wish you to know I was sincere. As for help, if there is any hope of keeping this damned metal from taking my mind in less than three years, I will welcome your knowledge,” Fenris said quietly as he slowly turned the stem of the wine glass between his fingers.

“As to that, I believe I have found some encouraging and fascinating research,” said Dorian as he leaned back in his chair, lifting one leg to rest his ankle on the knee of his other leg as he took another sip of wine, taking heart from Fenris’ peaceful tone. “I had to send for several volumes from my own personal collection,” he explained (and hadn’t that set a certain number of cats amongst the pigeons for himself! Pigeons that he suspected would come home to roost at some point, though not too soon, he fervently hoped - not that Fenris need know of that). “That in turn led me to recall other works - older ones. The good spymaster was able to procure a handful of the books that seemed most promising, and I think I may be onto something. The only problem is that the most useful text refers to blood rituals; it will take me some time and... experimentation... to find a way to work around the requirements for blood.” 

He lifted a hand as Fenris half-rose from his chair, alarm in his eyes. “Oh, not upon _you_ , Fenris, I can assure you!” he said hastily. “No, I would not dream of putting you through that - not when I’m not certain of the outcome. There are... ways to perform such subjects without the requirement of someone or something to experiment on.” _Well, not in addition to myself,_ he added privately.

The elf sat down but with a decidedly less friendly expression. “Explain what you are on about.” 

“There are certain ways to test how best to proceed that do not require a living target,” explained Dorian. “Breaking the process into discrete steps, analysing the energy, experimenting with differing ways of shaping the energy and so forth. For certain parts it can be done entirely theoretically; for some I can test on inanimate matter. There is much that can be achieved without the need for a living test subject, but certain parts - those that absolutely cannot be tested any other way - I can test upon myself. Anders will also advise; he is the one skilled in Creation magics and familiar with the anatomy of bodies in general and yours in particular; he is already familiar with how your body operates with the lyrium. His input will be invaluable.” 

He gave Fenris a reassuring smile. _And he’ll ensure I don’t do anything likely to cause lasting damage to myself either,_ he added privately. He was uneasy sharing that particular aspect of his planned research methodology, but perhaps if the elf understood he was willing to risk himself to aid him, perhaps it would calm the elf and reassure him of the Altus’ intentions.

“I’d obviously prefer it if you didn’t mention that particular aspect of my research to Meneris for... obvious reasons,” Dorian added, taking a larger mouthful of wine as he glanced away.

“I will not aid or abet secrets kept from your lover. Not after my own failings. When do you need to begin these..experiments? Halamshiral grows closer and we do not have much time.” Fenris said.

“Meneris would not fully understand the precise scope or nature of the experiments I plan to conduct; he would worry unnecessarily. Either I or Anders will explain it further to him at a suitable point, but with Halamshiral so close upon us I prefer not to distract Meneris with further worries right now,” replied Dorian, reaching for the wine bottle. “I am currently in the process of deciphering one particular text that I think may well be one of the ones Danarius made use of in his early research. I’m having some slight trouble interpreting one particular passage but I’m certain I shall be able to translate it with a little further research. It concerns the Lyrium Warriors of Arlathan; are you familiar with those particular stories and legends?”

“I’ve heard of them, yes.” Fenris said distractedly. “I was...taunted with the knowledge yet it was kept from me entirely.”

Dorian had topped off his own glass and tilted the bottle towards Fenris in offer to top his off as well. “From what I have been able to decipher thus far of this text, it seems various magisters attempted to uncover how they could reproduce the methods used by the elves to create Lyrium Warriors. I think I may have stumbled on some very interesting passages that may elucidate me further as to how Danarius proceeded with his own experimentation. Of course, if I could lay my hands on Danarius’ papers it would simplify matters greatly, but it appears much of his notes were claimed by a surviving apprentice according to what Leliana was able to uncover.” He regarded Fenris with a curious look as he waited to see if the elf would react to that.

Fenris’ expression fell for a moment as he considered who that apprentice might have been. “I ...I do not think you will recover them. I do not wish to speak of that. I wish you well in your research. We can resume discussion after Halamshiral. I will take no more of your time ...Dorian.” Fenris finished his drink and rose slowly so the Altus wouldn’t think he was about to attack.

Dorian stared into his glass for a moment. “It was an elf,” he said quietly, then took a long swallow of his wine, not glancing up as he tensed slightly.

“A red headed elven woman, who is my sibling. I guessed as much.” Fenris said brokenly. “Forgive me, I cannot ...it is too much. Farewell for now.” 

Dorian’s head jerked up. He stared at Fenris then hastily downed the rest of his wine before lurching to his feet. “Wait!” He reached out a hand as though to stay Fenris then snatched it back as he thought better of it. “Please. Just... just wait a minute. Fenris. Please believe me - Leliana has the very best agents out searching, and I am not without my own resources and contacts in Tevinter. I have a friend - a very good friend - assisting me; she worked with Alexius on occasion and Felix spent a summer working with her under her tutelage. I trust her implicitly, and I am certain that with her assistance we will have success. Just... please don’t give up. Not yet.” He gave Fenris his best pleading puppyish look. “Please trust me,” he asked quietly. “I know that must be asking much after our past experiences, but... please trust me.” 

“It is not you...it is knowing that she has my past in her hands, the knowledge of what was done to me. So I have no hope she would give you this research. My sibling yet lives only thanks to Hawke’s intervention. She betrayed me in Kirkwall.” Fenris let Dorian see the faintest bit of hurt before he turned away. “Pardon me, the others are expecting me for dinner.”

“Forgive me, Fenris. I didn’t mean to stir up old pains and memories,” said Dorian. As the elf glanced back at him, the Altus gave him a look of genuine contrition and sympathy. “We may choose our friends, but not our family. I... understand. Perhaps more than you may realise.” He gave Fenris a sad smile.

“Very well...no offense taken. If you’ll excuse me.” Fenris headed off to Anders’ rooms at a fast clip, eager to put the past behind him and embrace the future, what was left of it for him.

Dorian watched him go, then dropped back into his seat with a low sigh. After a moment, he reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass. He sat back, drinking it slowly. When half the glass was gone, he set the glass down and reached for the book once more. Turning to the page he had been studying, he frowned and returned to wrestling with the elvhen text once more. 

He stared at the particular passage he’d been trying to decipher, and a thoughtful expression came over his face. Almost absently he lifted his hand, drawing slowly upon his magic, weaving the energies with an intricate gesture. He turned and stared at the arcane glyph he had created.

“But of course. How could I have missed it? It’s so simple,” he muttered to himself.  
He slammed the book shut and leapt to his feet. “Solas!” he shouted. “Solas, where are you?” He leapt through his stacks of books and took the stairs down to the elven mage’s rotunda two at a time.

“Solas! A word, if you would!”


	40. Chapter 40

Fenris entered Anders’ rooms and went straight to the blond mage’s arms and flung himself into his lover’s embrace. “Hi.”

Vic looked up in curiosity. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“Just needed a hug is all.” Fenris said as he pulled Anders’ arms around himself and sighed. “Better.”

Anders looked down at the armful of elf in his lap in some surprise; he’d been about to rise from his chair behind his desk but then found himself claimed quite thoroughly. He was about to make some quip about elves resembling cats but thought better of it.

“Trying afternoon, love?” he said quietly as he hugged Fenris and rested his chin on the elf’s shoulder. “It’s OK, I understand. You’ve not long been back on your feet; you should take it easy for a little while.”

“Just reminded of ...Varania and I needed some comfort. I’m trying to be better about not bottling things inside.” Fenris said as he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

“Varania?” said Anders, tensing slightly.

“Yeah, of course she’s the one that got the papers on what Danarius did to me. No matter, I want to forget her again.” Fenris turned and kissed the underside of Anders’ jaw. “Maybe we can play later? That will take my mind off it.”

“I’d quite like to forget her myself; being stabbed in the back with magebane has never been exactly my favourite pastime,” said Anders with a grimace. He pondered for a moment. “Do you mind if I just gently check how you’re doing physically, love?” he asked. “I want to be certain that you’re not likely to overtax yourself. Zevran told me you two ended up on the floor when you tried to lift him.” He looked rueful. “I should probably take it fairly easy myself. Frankly Cullen is doing a lot better than I am at the moment.” He looked a little disgruntled.

“I don’t fear your magic, do what you need.” Fenris said as he looked up to Anders with a smile.

Vic looked at Zevran with a shrug. “Can you uncork the wine? I’ll heat the food.” 

Zevran inclined his head with a small smile and reached for the bottle as Anders’ hands glowed a faint blue; the apostate laid his hands lightly on Fenris, careful to avoid touching any of the lyrium lines directly as he closed his eyes and reached inside with his senses. He frowned a little as he probed delicately, then shifted his hands slightly, tilting his head slightly to one side. Fenris felt an odd sensation; almost like a vibrating warmth inside, and then Anders lifted his hands away as the glow surrounding his hands died away. 

“How do you feel now?” asked Anders. Fenris realised he was suddenly thinking far more clearly, and an odd niggling ache in the small of his back had disappeared.

“Much...better. What did you do?” Fenris asked as he uncurled from Anders’ hold so he could join the others at the table. 

“There was some slight tissue damage to your kidneys from dehydration and some residual after-effects from effectively starving yourself for a week,” said Anders. “I healed the damage but you should be sure to keep the wine consumption down for a day or two, and I want to see you drink at least two glasses of water for every one of wine I see you drink tonight.” As Fenris got up to walk to the table, Anders leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead for a minute before rising more slowly to follow him.

“And you do the same Anders - I saw that.” Vic arched an eyebrow at his lover and slid him a glass of wine.

“Yes, healer, any other orders for my continued good health?” Fenris asked as he poured himself water instead of wine.

Anders looked up at Invictus and gave him a measured glance, then took the glass and sipped slowly before speaking again. “Make sure you don’t skip any meals - protein rich, you’ll have lost muscle mass and you’ll need the protein to rebuild it. Lots of meat, pulses, things like that; once you start training with your sword you’ll want to add starches to that - root vegetables, bread, and so forth. Give it a couple of days before you rush into training again though, and listen to your body. It’ll tell you when you’ve reached your limits; don’t be tempted to try and push past them yet.”

Fenris rolled his eyes at the missed innuendo but didn’t push it, he just filled his plate and started in on the ram roast and potatoes.

“Don’t give me that look Anders, you are the worst patient I have ever seen in my life,” Vic said with a grin.

Anders grimaced then shrugged. He had to concede that Hawke was right. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he muttered. He served himself then turned his attention to his plate for the next few minutes, oblivious to the looks Zevran and Hawke were exchanging over his head - and Fenris’ as well. The Antivan rogue and the human mage were well aware of the likely futile endeavour they would have, attempting to ensure their companions didn’t overexert themselves.

Fenris pushed his plate away and only poured himself a half glass of wine and looked up at Anders. “I’m behaving, per your orders...serah.” He gave his lover a positively filthy look at as he sipped his drink.

Vic nearly choked on his own wine and would have spit it back out if not for Zevran’s reflexes. “He has no idea how he sounds does he?” 

Anders’ head had jerked up with a momentary tenseness as Fenris spoke, relaxing slightly. For a moment he was certain the elf had called him ‘ser’ until the last syllable registered. “Good, that’s... that’s good,” he finished, haltingly. He reached for his own wine glass and hastily downed half its contents.

“I can be very good for you, all of you.” Fenris said before he slipped next to Anders and refilled his glass. “Haven’t done that in a while, I’ve missed it.”

“Maker...what’s got into him tonight?” Vic murmured to Zevran.

“It hasn’t yet, I think is the problem,” Zevran shot back smoothly as he reached for his own glass. Anders had just taken a mouthful of wine; he inhaled sharply then began to choke, coughing.

“Oh not you too.” Vic said as he thumped Anders on the back. “You alright there love?”

Fenris just gave them that same filthy grin in between sips of his wine. “You act like I never behave like this.” 

Anders coughed hard, his face going red as he tried to catch his breath. “Maker, Fenris, between you and Zevran I think the pair of you will be the death of me,” he managed to gasp. “I _know_ I didn’t do anything to touch... well... _those_ parts of-” He broke off as Zevran smirked. “Oh, Andraste’s flaming arse!” He shook his head.

“If it’s a problem Anders, I won’t continue to push you. I was ...just feeling playful for a change.” Fenris went back to the rest of his food and tried to hide his disappointment for reading Anders wrong. 

“No... no, it’s not,” said Anders quietly. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to try and quash your enthusiasm.” He pushed his plate away and reached for his wine glass again. “I’m afraid it’s me; I’m just... I should have realised, after receiving news like that, it’s only natural to want to reaffirm -” He broke off and took a sip of his wine to steady himself. “I’m just afraid I... don’t have the strength yet to give you what you need. Not like that. Maybe Hawke, or Zevran can.”

“It’s alright, just forget it I’ve lost the mood.” Fenris took his glass in hand and slumped in his chair with a frown. 

Anders regarded him guiltily. “Love, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m just... I can’t top right now. At any other time, if I had the strength, then believe me I would love to indulge you but - I _can’t_.” He glanced to Hawke pleadingly.

“I said never mind.” Fenris replied as he pondered filling his glass with more wine.

“Leave it be for now Anders, we can still have a nice night together. Maybe take Fenris to his room with Zev?” Hawke said as he felt a sharp pinch to his thigh and a glare from Zevran. “Or...not.” he hissed. 

Zevran rose from his seat, after one last pointed glare at Hawke, then made his way around the table to stand just behind Fenris. He trailed one hand slowly through the other elf’s hair; at the point he felt Fenris subconsciously start to relax, he abruptly tightened his grip in the soft white hair then yanked back sharply until the startled warrior was staring up at him in surprise. He leaned over Fenris and smiled ferally.

“ _Carissimi_ , if you will behave like a brat, then be certain that _I_ shall treat you like one,” Zevran breathed. “Am I clear?”

“ _Si maestro, perdoname_ ,” Fenris breathed as he stared into Zevran’s eyes. The Crow grinned, then tightened his grip slightly before releasing Fenris and trailing his nails down the other elf’s back before his other hand coiled into Anders’ hair. As his fingers slowly tightened, Anders went very still. 

Zevran leaned over towards the blond apostate. “You do not have to play,” he murmured very softly in Anders’ ear. “But if you do wish, then nod once. Twice, and I shall not touch you again unless you ask, yes?”

Anders swallowed slowly, then very slowly nodded once. Zevran waited a while, then slowly released Anders’ hair. “This is only with your consent, my friend,” he murmured. “You need not go any further than you wish, hmm?”

“I understand,” said Anders softly.

Zevran smiled, then returned to his seat next to Invictus.

“Damn…” Vic said as he stared at the other men in awe. 

Fenris was still looking to Zevran hungrily but was unsure whether he should ask for more or wait for his lover’s lead.

The Crow Master was leaning back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So.... Hawke. Do you lead, or will you be led?” His eyes glanced to the side and took in the Champion’s expression; he arched one eyebrow. “If you choose to be part of this, you will follow my lead, and I will only permit you to dominate Anders. You may not take Fenris unless he consents to ride you. Am I clear?”

“Very, I can go as well...I don’t try to top Fenris unless he tells me to. Do you wish me to go love?” Vic asked.

Fenris blinked as he looked to Vic. “If you wish to, we can play later, or you can watch.” the elf said quietly.

“I’ll take your lead Zevran.” Vic said finally. Anders shot him a grateful look; he was suddenly feeling rather like a deer caught between wolves.

Zevran inclined his head, then smiled. “We shall endeavour not to break our healer,” he grinned.

Fenris looked at his lovers and smiled before he slipped to his knees before Zevran. “What would you have of me?”

Zevran grinned.

***

Dorian had lost track of time. It was only when the level of light in the library was becoming poor enough to make him irritatedly call up a flickering wisp of magelight that he paused and glanced up from his reading and note-taking and realised how late it had become. Meneris would be waiting for him in the dining hall and growing impatient, he realised; it would not do for the Inquisitor to have to come and drag him from his books in person. As the date for the departure to Halamshiral drew closer, Meneris’ temper had been steadily shortening.

He closed the book, setting it aside with his notes, and got to his feet, reaching for his staff as he headed out of the library. He took the stairs two at a time. He heard voices coming from Anders’ quarters; evidently the blond healer was entertaining his companions to dinner. He pondered knocking to invite them to join himself and Meneris, but then decided to leave them be; Meneris was already none too fond of the Champion right now, Fenris even moreso, and he didn’t want to be responsible for arousing his ire further.

He took the nearest exit to head across the courtyard to the main central part of the keep. He was about halfway across when he became aware of several figures converging to block his path; as he slowed, he realised they were all wearing templar armour. He halted and stared at them as the eight men advanced on him with unwelcoming grins. Casting a brief glance over his shoulder, he saw seven more stepping in to block his way back.

Ah. No escaping this confrontation then.

“Gentlemen, I would ordinarily love to entertain you, but I’m afraid I must decline; I’m already late for an engagement with the Inquisitor. He does so _hate_ to be kept waiting.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Shame you’re going to be so very late, Ser Maleficar,” replied one templar; the others’ grins widened.

“Oh dear, not this dreary nonsense again,” sighed Dorian. “Step aside; you’re only going to bring down trouble upon yourselves.”

One of the templars stepped forward and spat; the globule of spittle struck Dorian upon the cheek. He stood stock-still for a moment as it slowly dripped down his face, then lifted a hand to wipe it away.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said quietly. He lifted his hands and magical energies began to swirl around his hands, bright green and gold as he reached for his staff.

“Now!” yelled the templar who had spoken, and all the templars pulled round their shields simultaneously with a shout as they slammed them down upon the ground in front of them facing inwards towards the Tevinter mage.

Dorian had never been on the receiving end of a Shatter, much less a whole ring of them, all centred upon him. He screamed in agony as the magic in his hands rebounded upon him, lightning dancing along every nerve; he shuddered as the magic tore through him like white-hot knives through every limb and striking deep through his body. His body shook and trembled with the aftermath and he staggered, gasping.

Before he had a chance to recover, two of the templars stepped forwards with their hands held upwards, palm out towards him, and suddenly his connection to his magic was gone, his energy draining away into what felt like a black void; he reached for it but there was nothing there; he felt strangely deadened and detached inside.

He stared around him with wide eyes. 

“Aww, the poor Vint’s never been Silenced before lads!” crowed the templar who seemed to be their ringleader. “At ‘im!”

If they thought they faced some Circle mage who had been cowed by templars all his life, they were very mistaken. Even without his magic, Dorian wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He spun his staff in a circle, then stepped towards the nearest, bringing his staff up to block the incoming sword stroke before ducking away from a second.

He had been taught by the finest staff fighters his father could afford, and he had always been a diligent pupil, no matter what he had turned his hand to. It had been amusing in Tevinter - something to impress others, and he’d always prided himself on keeping himself fit and trim. The months spent with the Inquisition had only honed his fighting skills. He had taken three down before they could react. A fourth went down swiftly before the first sword stroke slipped past his guard and drew blood.

“A little help here wouldn’t go amiss!” he yelled desperately as he brought his staff up to parry.

Things were looking very ill indeed for Dorian Pavus.

***

Anders dropped his fork and fell silent mid-speech as he turned to Fenris; the colour drained from his face as he turned to Hawke. “Did you feel that?” he whispered. “Sweet Maker, I never -”

He was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream outside; it sounded as though it came from the courtyard almost directly outside.

“Venhedis!” Fenris said as he grabbed his sword and went to the window. “Fifteen on one isn’t fair but it looks like Pavus is giving them what for. Let’s even those odds, meet me out there!” the elven fighter grinned as he flashed out of the room and reappeared in the courtyard, unhappy at the scene ahead of him.

“You’ve disturbed my evening in with all of this fighting, care to explain why so many of you wanted to have a word with warden Pavus at once?” 

Vic shrugged and threw the window open so he could step out to the grass. “Come on, this is going to be nasty.”

Zevran was already on his feet and heading for the window; he leapt through it, tucking into a dive roll and coming to his feet in one smooth motion, drawing throwing knives as he went. They flew from his hands as he sprang forward, hands going to his fighting knives even as two templars went down to his blades. He dove towards a third.

Anders jumped up onto the windowsill and paused to throw out barrier shields about Dorian and the others before dropping down to the courtyard stones and racing after the others, throwing a hand out to cast healing towards the wounded Altus who was desperately fighting off two templars at once whilst on one knee.

Fenris had one foolish templar that decided that a simple elf wasn’t deserving of his answer with a maleficar to kill. Unfortunately for him, said elf relieved him of his heart before he could get to his target.

“Pavus...how bad is it?” Fenris panted as he took another templar down. Dorian paused his litany of swears under his breath.

“Bad enough - about bloody time someone came to see what all the noise was about!” he snapped back, his voice high and edged. “They-” He broke off with a gasp as the templar to his left got past his guard and his sword slashed into the Altus’ bare shoulder. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , that bloody _hurt_ , you dog!” he exclaimed as he reversed his staff and jabbed the blade into the templar’s stomach just under the edge of the man’s breastplate.

“Well until you screamed the house down, didn’t know you’d taken up boxing templars as a hobby.” Fenris called back before he pivoted the slam the templar into the ground that was bearing down on him. “You fought in the streets, I can tell.” 

“Compliment his technique later!” Vic called as he stumbled back from a Smite that hit him. “You will pay for that!” he snapped as he bore down on the templar who’d Smote him and didn’t expect him to be able to keep fighting. 

A sudden lightning strike took out a templar who was trying to flank Hawke. “Watch your back, love!” called Anders as he spun his staff one-handed, already calling up another. Another templar turned and slammed his shield down just in time to deflect Anders’ second blast as he unleashed a Shatter back on the apostate; Anders cried out and staggered back before dropping to one knee, gritting his teeth as the spell rebounded on him.

The templar didn’t have much chance to follow up his attack however as Zevran appeared behind him and buried his knives through the back of the man’s neck before wrenching them free in a spray of blood, nearly decapitating him. 

WIthin a few more minutes, all fifteen templars were dead, the ground drenched with blood. Dorian was wearily getting to his feet, bleeding from various cuts, slashes and at least two stab wounds that he was aware of. Anders was still on his knees, clutching his head, as Meneris, Cullen and Cassandra surged out from the keep, swords drawn, several guards with them as the rest of the inner circle fanned out behind. Vivienne went straight to Dorian as Solas ran over towards Anders. Cullen was shouting orders, directing guards to go secure the courtyard whilst Cassandra led others to hunt for further templars.

Fenris sheathed his sword and went to get Dorian fully to his feet while Vic got over to Anders. “Dorian...should you be on your feet?” he asked in Tevinter.

“I’d sooner be on my feet than my knees,” muttered Dorian, then reeled, clutching at Fenris as his vision briefly whited out. “ _Venhedis_ , I thought I was dead for a few minutes there.”

“From the screaming we heard, I wasn’t sure we’d be in time.” Fenris said as he looked up to find Meneris heading for them with a furious look on his face.

“Let go of him, if you hadn’t been bellowing about maleficar at the top of your lungs this wouldn’t be happening.” Meneris hissed as he wrapped his arm around Dorian’s waist. “I feared the worst when the guards came for me.” 

“Meneris, it’s fine, please - he - _ah!_ ” he broke off with a low hoarse cry as Meneris’ arm tightened around his waist and inadvertently pressed against a sword wound in his side he had no recollection of having received. HIs voice trailed off into semi-coherent swearing in Tevene.

Anders was being helped to his feet by Hawke and Solas, not much better off than Dorian though at least he wasn’t bleeding. He staggered as they began to walk over to where Meneris was desperately trying to help Dorian stay on his feet.  
Fenris didn’t argue, he simply went to help Vic with Anders keep his footing. “Need help?” he asked quietly.

“How badly are you wounded? How many were there, and are any alive?” Meneris snarled as he saw how he was covered in his lover’s blood. “I’m going to murder them all, you’re going to raise them and I’m going to kill them again.”

“Think we got them all,” Dorian managed as he gritted his teeth. “Fifteen in all - and love, I’m not capable of raising even a dead fly right now. One of the bastards Silenced me - an experience I never wish to repeat again.” He sagged against the elf. “I don’t know how bad it is - not all of this blood is mine - oh.” He blinked, his gaze wavering. “On second thoughts... I fear it may be,” he said in a weak voice. His staff dropped from his hand as he tried to pull himself back up again before his knees gave way beneath him as he groaned.

Solas glanced up at Fenris. “Are you familiar with the effects of Shatter?” the elven mage inquired. “Quite unpleasant. Full maximum force of the caster’s spell rebound and focused on the caster together with a really rather nasty backlash. Wouldn’t care to be on the receiving end personally, and I fear Anders was in none too good shape to begin with.”

“Leave me be, I do not need your attempts at making me feel even more guilt. I have enough of my own.” Fenris said with no bite, he was worried for his lovers and Dorian. 

Hawke scooped Anders up in his arms and headed inside despite the blond mage’s protests. Fenris fell in behind them with Anders’ staff in his arms.

Cullen approached the Inquisitor as the elf caught Dorian. “Inquisitor, my deepest apologies. This should never have happened. I have no idea how those men were able to get that close to Dorian. rest assured I will have the full extent of this matter investigated; if any conspirators survive I shall have them dealt with immediately, and I’m putting all remaining templars on lockdown until we get to the bottom of this.”

“I will not tolerate another fucking attack on members of the Inquisition Commander Rutherford. Collar your men and get them to act as if they still believe in what we do. Else turn them out and black-mark them across Thedas. We will be in my rooms until you have answers for me.” Meneris said as he stretched Dorian on the ground and began to take stock of his lover’s wounds. “Get a stretcher, I’m strong but I can’t manage him on my own. You have work to do, I suggest you get busy.” 

Cullen stiffened at the Inquisitor’s rebuke. “I shall take personal responsibility for uncovering the full extent of this plot against Dorian, Inquisitor,” he stated.

“Inquisitor, do you think it wise to move Dorian so far?” said Vivienne as she crouched down next to the unconscious Altus. “His rooms would be closer after all, and I have healing potions in my own rooms, near his. The mages’ tower is, after all, closer to the infirmary than your own rooms.”

“A pertinent suggestion,” remarked Solas as he strode over to join them. 

“Fine, I just want out of the courtyard.” Meneris said as he glanced down at his lover. He only moved when a stretcher was brought over.

Iron Bull stepped in, blocking the stretcher bearers. “Let me handle this, Boss,” he suggested as he knelt down and carefully scooped up Dorian in his arms as though the Altus were a child. “Krem - get the rest of the Chargers. New duty - guard the mages’ tower.”

“Sure, Boss,” agreed Krem. “We’re on it.” The Tevinter mercenary glanced at Dorian in his commander’s arms with a dark look that was almost possessive. “No templar piece of shit’s going to get anywhere near him, Inquisitor.”

“Lead on, Boss,” said the Bull. “I’ve got this.”

“Thank you Bull, Krem.” Meneris said as he turned and headed in towards Dorian’s room, glad that he had a key made for himself as he let them in. “Lie him on the floor so I can get him cleaned up. He’ll have kittens if I ruin those silk sheets,” Meneris said with no humor as he started to undress Dorian; each wound he uncovered made his expression darken. 

“Madame de Fer, if you’d be so kind as to get potions for our Altus, I would appreciate it,” Meneris said as he rose to get a basin and clean off his lover’s wounds, a curse for every one he found.

Vivienne inclined her head and disappeared to fetch potions as the Bull crouched down to help Meneris. 

“Aw, Boss,” the Qunari groaned as he shook his head. “This is a bad business. Dorian put up a damned good fight though,” he added, impressed.

“I’m going to beat Fenris into a pulp. If he hadn’t been screaming about blood mages and maleficar they wouldn’t have been hunting Dorian like this,” Meneris said as he wrung out a cloth and tried not to break down at all the blood.

“Easy, Boss,” said the Bull quietly. “Those templars were already looking for an excuse. Vint’s just an easy target, but it could have been any one of the mages here that they went for - too bad for them they picked one who could kick their asses long enough for help to come. Likely the Commander is going to find that Dorian isn’t the first mage to be attacked.”

Vivienne reappeared at that moment with an armful of potion bottles and soft white cloth for bandages. As she crouched down next to them to assist in dressing Dorian’s wounds, Meneris realised that the fabric was a fine linen remarkably similar to high quality bedlinen.

Dorian began to come round after the second healing potion the Inquisitor managed to get into him; he spent a moment or two blinking slowly, his eyes blank, and then the Altus abruptly sat up and lashed out with his hands with a rough cry before his eyes focused on Meneris.

“Easy love, easy you’re in your rooms,” Meneris said quietly. “Can you take a bit of water?” 

Dorian clutched at his ribs with a grimace. “Help me up off the floor,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Alright, just don’t overdo it,” Meneris said as he got Dorian to his feet and to a chair. “What can I do for you love?”

Dorian dropped, rather than sat, into the chair. “Pour me a very large glass of wine for a start,” he said. “Damn do I need a drink after that. I have never felt anything so excruciating as whatever that was those templars did to me. The fight afterwards was quite frankly nowhere near as painful as that was.”

“I believe they used Shatter upon you, my dear, though from the sheer power of what they unleashed upon you, it is a wonder you were capable of standing afterwards,” replied Vivienne. “We could feel it in the dining room.”

“No wonder; all fifteen of them unleashed it upon me at once,” sighed Dorian. Vivienne’s eyes widened.

“Darling, how are you even _alive_ after that?” she exclaimed.

“Believe me, I was asking myself the same question by the time Fenris came to my rescue, dear lady,” replied Dorian. “I doubt I should have lasted much more than a minute or two without his timely aid.”

“He… helped you?” Meneris said skeptically. “Well...he should since his ranting caused this.”

“Meneris, did you not hear me? I should have been dead without him. Hawke and his companions arrived in very timely fashion, but it was Fenris who saved me, without a doubt.” Dorian glanced around. “Wine? Please?” he pleaded.

Meneris poured him a drink and handed it to him with a grim expression. “I heard you, but you seem to have forgotten he rang your bell and was screaming at you at the top of his lungs about being a blood mage?” 

Dorian winced, then downed half the glass before answering. “I do recall, Meneris, thank you,” he replied tersely. “I’d say he has certainly made a most fulsome apology for that this evening however.”

“Not to me he hasn’t. You wouldn’t have been in danger if not for him to begin with. I should put him and Hawke on the road first thing tomorrow,” Meneris snapped as he prowled around the room and finally yanked his own tunic off so he could wash up. 

Dorian rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair and dropped his head into his hand, the glass of wine dangling from his other hand as he gave a very quiet groan. “Meneris,” he said very softly.

“Boss, I think we can leave you to it from here,” said the Iron Bull with a glance to Vivienne; a look passed between them and she nodded and stalked out as the Qunari retreated after her. “Good work out there, Vint.”

“Good work?” exclaimed Dorian in disbelief as he raised his head.

“You’re still alive. They’re dead,” shrugged Bull. “That makes it a win for you in my books. Plenty of others will see it the same way. Sends a signal to anyone else thinking of trying it.” He nodded to Dorian, then Meneris. “Inquisitor.” Then they were alone.

Dorian buried his face in his palm. “Of _course_ there’ll be others thinking of trying it,” he muttered. “Because it couldn’t be so easy for us, could it? Too much to hope we killed all the blighters.” He sighed.

“I will make an example of them, and no one will think of trying it. After I’m done making an example of your new friend,” Meneris snarled.

Dorian lifted his head and stared at Meneris. “No,” he said quietly. “You’ll not touch him.”

“You dare argue with me on this? I’m not going to let this go unpunished, Dorian. Why are you ignoring the fact that you wouldn’t be in this state if he hadn’t raised their suspicions?” Meneris knew he was being unreasonable but seeing his lover drenched in blood and fearing he was dead had snapped his tenuous ability to be reasonable.

“Yes, I damned well dare!” roared Dorian as he surged to his feet and hurled his wine glass at the wall. “I dare! In case you hadn’t noticed, he _saved my fucking life_ out there, and if you’re not grateful for that then _I bloody well am!!_ ” He took a step towards the startled elf and then blanched, clutching his side. “Oh... oh,” he said in a soft voice as he fell to his knees. “That... that was foolish of me,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it was,” Meneris said as he knelt down and pulled Dorian into his lap. “I apologize, _amatus_...I thought you dead when I ran into the courtyard. Have to say I’d never thought I’d see you defend _him_.”

Dorian stared down at the spots of blood leaking through the white bandages. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice a little too calm and quiet. “And now I’ve spilled my wine.” He tried to straighten himself then fell back in Meneris’ arms with a small gasp. He stared up into the elf’s worried face and tried to smile. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. His eyes fluttered closed as he fainted.

“Damned mage, be glad I love you.” Meneris said as he pressed his fingers to Dorian’s neck to make sure he still had a pulse. “I can’t take this, I don’t want to be the damned Inquisitor and cause this in my loved ones’ lives,” Meneris said as he cradled Dorian and let his own tears fall.


	41. Chapter 41

Fenris had remained in Anders’ rooms only because the mage had asked, though he was restless and could not sleep. His guilt had deepened when he saw the Iron Bull carrying Dorian past Anders’ open door. He finally gave up and slipped from the bed and to the writing desk in his lover’s room. He found he actually missed the challenge of writing his thoughts out as he pulled ink, a quill and a few sheets to him.

Hawke had retired to his own room, Zevran choosing to go sleep in Fenris’ room for the time being. Fenris was alone with the blond apostate - and his thoughts.

As the quill scratched across the paper, Anders sighed softly as he rolled over onto his side. His eyes drifted open and he stared perplexed around the room until he finally spotted Fenris. The mage had had to collapse in bed immediately upon reaching his rooms, complaining of a splitting headache and nausea, but despite the light hurting his eyes he had insisted on the candles remaining lit. Fenris had extinguished all but the ones standing around the desk, but he could see Anders quite clearly in the dimness of the room.

“Love?” said Anders, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, you were injured,” Fenris replied absently as he scratched out a line and went back to his thoughts.

Anders sat up slowly. “Maker, haven’t been on the receiving end of a Shatter in years. I’d forgotten just how painful an experience it tends to be,” he said as he drew his knees up under the sheets. “Just as well I wasn’t calling up anything _really_ nasty like a tempest. And that it was only the one templar using Shatter. How on earth Dorian is still alive, much less was still standing after what Hawke and I could feel...” He shuddered. “I’m guessing he hadn’t finished forming the spell and hadn’t drawn all the mana he needed to power it yet.”

“Guess he’s made of sterner stuff that we realized,” Fenris mumbled as he scowled at the paper and crossed out another line. “Fuck...I lost my thought.”

Anders looked contrite. “Sorry, love,” he said. “I didn’t mean to distract you. What were you writing?”

Fenris dropped the quill and rubbed at his eyes. “My thoughts...on all that’s happened, my guilt, and apparently why I tried to whore myself out to all of you last night.”

Anders blinked then frowned. “Is... that what you thought you were doing?” he said slowly. “Because we seem to have rather different memories of the same night.” He pushed aside the blankets and swung his legs to the floor. Straightening, he stretched until his spine cracked, then walked over to the desk, rubbing the back of his neck absently. He perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at the elf with a small frown.

“All I missed doing was crawling under the table and offering to suck your cock. This fucking lyrium poisoning is messing with me. I guess, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I go from wanting to die to acting like every moment could be my last.” Fenris leaned forward and rested his head on his folded arms.

Anders reached out and gently carded the fingers of one hand through Fenris’ hair. “Maybe I should see if there’s something I can do to strengthen the barrier I put up to block the rift energy disrupting the lyrium?” he suggested.

“It’s in my head, I’m broken and I don’t know how to heal my mind. I can’t decide if I want to live or die from one day to the next,” Fenris whined when he felt Anders’ hand in his hair. “I’m ashamed for what I did to Dorian.”

Anders stared down at him thoughtfully. Hawke had told him what had happened after he’d passed out from healing Cullen; Fenris himself had been unable to tell him - perhaps afraid Anders would turn away from him. He slid his other hand into Fenris’ hair, rubbing his fingertips against the elf’s scalp slowly, soothingly. “Would you like me to try, love?” he said quietly. “I won’t do anything without your consent.”

“Try what?” Fenris asked sleepily.

“Fenris?” said Anders, frowning a little. When there was no answer, he called the elf’s name again, a little louder.

“Hmm, what? You were talking?” Fenris sat up a little and stared up at Anders sleepily. Anders lifted his hands out of Fenris’ hair and shook his head.

“I think maybe I should wait until we’ve both slept,” he said thoughtfully. “I prefer you to be awake if I’m going to be poking around. Come to bed, love.”

“Will you keep giving me head scratches?” Fenris said as he let Anders pull him to his feet and steered him to bed. “You can do what you need to, I trust you,” he added as he got under the covers.

Anders sat on the bed and smiled fondly down at the drowsy warrior. “You are so a cat,” he grinned. The tabby on the end of the bed lifted its head and yawned, its green eyes regarding him for a moment before it curled up again. Anders threaded his fingers into Fenris’ hair again as he rested his back against the headboard of the bed.

“Tell me the moment you feel any pain,” he instructed before he drew on his power and sent the gentlest whispering tendrils of magic into the elf’s body.

He let his power ghost through Fenris’ flesh, following the lines of lyrium as they twined across the tawny skin. He closed his eyes as he let his awareness sink into skin, flesh, blood and bone and the quiescent metal branded into Fenris. As he drifted deeper in, he carefully felt for the barriers he had placed. They were still in place, though weakened slightly. He deftly rewove them, then slipped in deeper still until he was aware of nothing save the heartbeat and breathing of the other man, the rush of his blood in his veins, the thrum of life itself and the metal; like a living thing, bound into living flesh.

He found particles of lyrium swirling free within Fenris’ blood, and frowned. It seemed almost like something truly alive - as alive as Fenris himself. His eyes snapped open, unseeing; no, not seeming... the lyrium _seemed_ like something living because it actually _was alive_. Now he was aware of it, he couldn’t unsee it; it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Something completely outside his experience. As he reached out with his magic, he touched the lyrium and it _sang_ to him - an eery, unearthly sound that was more a feeling or sensation than anything audible. It was the lyrium itself singing; and as he traced it through Fenris’ body, he slowly became aware that somehow, the lyrium was also aware of _him_.

He tried to snatch his hands away, but now something seemed to be holding him there; the lyrium itself drawing him in and holding fast to his magic, to his connection to the Fade. Frantic, he tried to disengage himself, but he could hear, feel, sense the lyrium calling stronger. Distantly he was aware that Fenris’ brands had lit up brilliantly; desperately, he strengthened his dampening barrier to try and block the pain from Fenris and shut off the lyrium’s own draw upon him.

Abruptly the lyrium released him and he wrenched himself away, gasping as his own heart raced. Fenris’ brands were dulling, the room becoming dim once more; as Anders glanced down at the elf, he realised Fenris’ eyes were open and staring at him.

Something alien seemed to regard him through the elf’s eyes for a moment, but then it was gone as Fenris closed his eyes again with a strange little half smile.

Anders felt drained and exhausted, his body sluggish and weak. He felt himself slumping sideways onto the pillows, without even the strength to draw the covers over himself. He fell asleep, Fenris’ head still nestled against him.

***

Hawke found them like that in the morning, Anders sprawled across the pillows with his head hanging over the edge of the bed, Fenris practically using the sleeping mage as a pillow.

“You look adorable like that, but I’ll bet neither of you had breakfast or even dinner last night,” Hawke said as he approached the side Anders was on and nudged him. “Wake up sleepy heads.” Anders would likely have a stiff neck when he woke up, Hawke mused as he reached over and cautiously nudged Fenris’ shoulder before pulling back. The elf didn’t always wake gently, and Hawke was familiar enough after years of living with the man to be wary.

“Fenris...come on Fen...wake up,” Hawke said as he nudged the elf again. He jumped back just in time as the elf’s hand snatched out for his hand. When it grasped nothing, the elf lifted his head and stared around with a small frown until he noticed Hawke.

“Ah. Good morning, love,” he rumbled quietly as he sat up. He stretched slowly, feeling more rested than he had in months.

“One of these days I’m going to lose a hand trying to wake you up,” Vic said quietly. Fenris turned and nudged Anders.

“Wake up, Anders.” He stared at the sleeping mage expectantly, then frowned. He shook Anders’ shoulder, gently at first and then more roughly. “Anders. Wake up.”

“He’s hard to wake up but this is worrisome. Let me try a bit of Rejuvenate.” Vic pressed two fingers gently to Anders’ forehead and cast. “Come on love, you’re worrying me now.”

Anders awoke with a start, pushing himself upright and away, scrabbling backwards as pillows scattered. He tumbled off the far side of the bed then backed away until he hit the nearest window, pressing himself against it wide-eyed as he panted.

“Anders? What’s wrong?” Fenris said as he stretched out across the bed with a low rumble, more like their cat than he’d admit to. Anders stared at him, then at Hawke, before lifting up his own trembling hands to stare at them.

“Not dreaming. Awake,” he said to himself. “I’m awake. Awake.” He ran his hands through his hair then exhaled shakily.

“You’re worrying me, love; what happened when you checked my brands last night?” Fenris said as he climbed off the bed and approached his lover.

“Talk to us, Anders...this worries me too,” Vic said.

Anders pulled himself together with a visible effort as he walked over to his workbench. He pulled open one of the cupboards beneath and pulled out a squat, square glass bottle two-thirds full of a dark amber liquid then fumbled for a glass. He poured out a generous splash of the amber liquid into the glass then knocked it back. He coughed once, then took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he said as he poured himself another shot of the liquid then corked the bottle. He picked up the glass and turned to face them, resting his back against the edge of the workbench. “Bad dreams,” he shrugged. “Well, for me, anyway.” He raised the glass towards Fenris in a toast. “You should be fine however - at least for now. I was able to strengthen the dampening barrier around the lyrium which should limit the rate at which it’s leaching into your bloodstream. It resulted in your brands activating, and the damn stuff just started draining away my mana just like when you use my magic to take us into or through the Fade.” He pondered mentioning the way the lyrium seemed to be a living thing then decided against it. He wanted to talk to Solas and Dorian before mentioning anything to anyone else, and he didn’t want to risk freaking Fenris out any more than he was already. “There was a bit of a backlash when I pulled away and I think I ended up going much deeper into the Fade than usual when I dreamed.” He tossed back the contents of the glass.

“I don’t...understand. Am I fixed?” Fenris said as he watched Anders finish his drink.

“Not quite, but I think I’ve stopped it from deteriorating for now,” replied Anders. “At some point I can try again, to see if I can filter the existing lyrium out of your bloodstream and try to reverse some of the damage it’s already done, but I need to be more rested first - and it’s still only delaying the inevitable until Dorian and I can come up with a way between us to actually fix it.” He rolled the empty glass between his hands as he stared at it. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” he apologised.

“Don’t apologize, I’m going to get breakfast then a bath, after I see if Zevran is still in my bed.” Fenris said as he grabbed his tunic but realized it was stiff from Dorian’s blood. “I’ll get a clean shirt while I’m at it.”

“I’ll get us breakfast, if you wind up busy I’ll save you some food,” Vic said with a wink.

Anders took a seat at the table and set his glass down. He pondered pouring a third glass, but he could feel the first two glasses going straight to his head. Three shots of brandy first thing in the morning - and on an empty stomach at that - would not be an ideal way to start the day. Two was bad enough. Hawke’s innuendo, aimed at Fenris, went clean over Anders’ head as he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the hair-tie free before scraping his hair back and retying the ponytail again. He tried to gather his thoughts as the two men left. The room seemed much emptier and quiet once they had gone, his own thoughts far too loud.

**

Fenris found Zevran barely awake in his bed as he entered. “Morning, love,” he said as he stretched next to his Antivan.

Zevran lifted his head from his arms and gave Fenris a sleepy smile. “Your bed is far too comfortable, _carissimi_ ; I think perhaps I should sleep on the roof tonight before I become too soft.” He winked.

“No, you’ll freeze up there. You can always sleep here.” Fenris pulled Zevran to him and kissed him. “I slept well for a change, though I was troubled the night before.”

“I will not freeze, my heart - though I likely will not sleep either. I needs must keep my edge however - a Crow who grows soft will not be a Crow very long, and there will always be someone else looking to become the next Crow Master, hmm?” Zevran kissed him back. “I am glad you slept well however, _carissimi_.”

“I would have slept better if not for all the fighting. Perhaps we can have a quiet morning in before we go back to Anders’ rooms?”

Zevran straightened. “I need to call on friend Anders this morning, alas; he has asked me to assist him with preparations for this journey to Halamshiral. He cannot attend the ball and peace talks as himself, so I must help him disguise that pretty blond hair of his.”

“Damn...I take it Hawke and I are to be left behind? Though considering the way the Inquisitor hissed at me, I doubt he wanted me there,” Fenris said quietly as he watched Zevran wash up quickly. He wanted to enjoy his lover but knew things would have to wait.

“I do not know what the Inquisitor’s intentions are regarding we three, but I know he considers Anders part of the Inquisition - and I believe he prefers to keep a healer close at hand during this trip, for Cullen’s sake.” Zevran gave a quick grin. “The Ambassador was discussing it with Leliana two days ago. Do you know, there is a certain spot high in the rafters of the war room where one may sit in complete secrecy, and hear every small whisper? The sound carries wonderfully to it.” He reached for the towel and dried his hands. “I think the Inquisitor will find that friend Anders will not be happy to go without his two lovers however. And I think _you_ will not be happy to see him travel without you, no?”

“No but considering he blames me - rightly so - for the attack on Dorian, I doubt he wants me there. I’m another dirty knife-ear to the Orlesian nobility anyway. I’d rather not revisit the insults I’d had last time I was paraded around like a prize breeding hound for them.” Fenris had leaned back against the headboard as he watched Zevran get ready.

Zevran shrugged philosophically. “Perhaps the palace in Halamshiral will acquire an extra, devilishly handsome serving elf then,” he remarked and grinned. “One of us should go, after all.”

“I do not like it but I would not rest easy without one of us there. Vic has his own reputation to save him, we...do not.” Fenris frowned.

Zevran smiled mirthlessly. “It is not for nothing that I am the Master of the Crows, Fenris,” he pointed out. “But come; I help Anders assume his new guise, and we may be glad of what little time is left to us before he - and I - must depart. Perhaps you may yet find a way to gather the Inquisitor’s favour to you once more.”

“Very well, I will be at loose ends without you all here.” Fenris said slowly.

Zevran paused as he reached for his shirt. “There is still Hal. The Iron Bull will be accompanying the Inquisitor, which will leave Hal undefended. And I know for a certainty that Dorian was only the latest mage to be targeted, though the first in the inner circle. There is a significant number of mages who have... disappeared recently.” He gave Fenris a significant look before turning away to dress.

“Hal does not wish to see me, I remind him of a spectre of who he lost,” Fenris said petulantly.

Zevran tugged on his black leather tunic then reached for the black leather sleeves. He frowned. “ _Carissimi_ ,” he said slowly, “Hal has been little better than catatonic for weeks now. He is perhaps a little better than Tranquil, but his current state is... unhealthy. Belann may decide to go with the other Wardens to Weisshaupt - would you leave him alone then, with no familiar face?” He turned and his frown deepened as he tugged on the arm-length steel pauldron plates that buckled to his tunic before reaching for his greaves.

Fenris scowled as he watched Zevran dress. “As you wish then.”

The Crow began to secrete away all his various daggers and blades; as Fenris watched, the Antivan pulled part of his hair into something like the half-ponytail Anders often wore then braided the fall, tucking two blades in behind the braid. The hilts looked like nothing more than fancy hairsticks he’d seen some noblewomen back in Tevinter wear. A garrotting wire was slipped down the back of his tunic, the reinforced loop at one end seeming to look like ornamentation on the back of his tunic. No fewer than fourteen throwing knives seemed to disappear behind the armour plates running down his arms. Four knives in a back harness over the small of his back, two larger knives over his shoulders, another pair on his hips, and Fenris counted at least four that Zevran slipped into his boots.

As Zevran turned and smiled at the other elf, the white-haired warrior had the uneasy feeling that he had seen perhaps less than half of the Antivan’s arsenal.

“You’re a walking arsenal, and gorgeous,” Fenris said as he took one loop around his lover. “Crow Master Arainai indeed.”

Zevran smiled and inclined his head. “How do you think I have survived this long?” he asked. “You have seen only the weapons I carry. My most lethal weapon is _here_ though.” Zevran tapped his temple, just above the sinuous blackwork tattoo.

Fenris gave him a low bow and a smile as he rose. “You are formidable my love. I really wish you were staying now.”

Zevran went still, his face an unreadable mask for long moments, and then he glanced away with a look of profound regret. “I cannot. I have reasons of my own why I must go to Halamshiral, beloved. Had Anders stayed here, I would still have to go.”

“I know...I don’t have to like it though. I will be lonely without you my heart.” Fenris gave him a brief kiss before he stepped back.

Zevran caught hold of Fenris’ hand and drew it to his lips. “You cannot know how much it grieves me to part from you, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “Soon, I think, the Master of Crows must die, that I may simply be just Zevran once more. But it is not yet the time.”

“Very well, let us go before you see my heart breaking.” Fenris kissed him again before he led them to Anders’ rooms again.

Fenris felt a sense of irrational anger burn when he opened the door to find Anders dressed in decidedly Tevinter-styled robes; it was little consolation to him that Anders seemed uncomfortable as he tugged at the collar and regarded him nervously.

“I’m going to take them off,” said Anders hastily as he let Fenris in. The elf entered to find Dorian sitting - or rather, slumped - in the chair behind Anders’ desk. As the two elves entered, the Altus glanced up, then gave Fenris a smile of genuine warmth. Dorian raised his glass of wine towards Fenris.

“My rescuer has arrived!” the Tevinter mage remarked. “It is thanks to you I even lived to open my eyes this morning. I cannot tell you what a sight for sore eyes you were when you appeared at my side last night. I don’t know how you did it, but I cannot tell you how grateful I was to hear your voice.”

“It was only right since I caused you to be a target. If you all will excuse me please, I should make amends to the Inquisitor.” Fenris gave Dorian a deep bow and turned to go.

“Stay!” said Dorian, pushing to his feet. “Fenris, I... I really do not recommend you go. Not yet.” He leaned heavily on the desk as he stared at the elf.

“Why? I am just in the way while you all make preparation for Halamshiral. I know he is furious with me, I can take it.” Fenris gave him a sad smile as he gathered his things.

“Because I would like you to stay,” said Dorian as he stared at the elf. “I don’t care what Meneris says; it was _my_ life on the line, not his, and damn it all to the Void - if _I_ say I’ve forgiven you then he has no right to - to - to punish you or hold you to blame for anything I suffered!”

“Dorian, sit down,” said Anders, moving swiftly to the Altus’ side. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone drinking wine and ordering anyone around.” He gently pushed Dorian back down into the seat.

“Damn it all, do I _look_ capable of giving orders to Fenris?” snapped Dorian. “I’ve had enough fussing from the Inquisitor; you’re not taking my wine as well!”

“Sit down Pavus,” Fenris said tiredly as he took his seat. “I’m sure the Inquisitor will enjoy telling me to stay behind anyway.”

Dorian allowed Anders to push him firmly back down into his seat. His face looked a little grey as he reached for his wine. “Call me Dorian. Please,” he said a little plaintively. “You saved my life and frankly, I am not so fond of my family name as to have it thrown in my face continuously.” He regarded Fenris wearily. “I have no doubt I am even more of a disappointment to my family than I am to the Inquisitor right now.”

“As you wish...Dorian.” Fenris sat on the bed and stared at Anders with a sad look. “I hate this.”

Dorian let his head drop back to rest against the back of his chair. “I am none too fond of it myself,” he said quietly. “Meneris and I had the most blistering argument about it this morning. I’m surprised you couldn’t hear it; I swear half the keep did. I most heartily wish you were coming with us, Fenris.”

The elven warrior looked away so the others could not see the look of seething jealousy on his face. “As do I but nothing to be done for it I...have other duties my Crow Master has given me.”

Anders glanced at him, his brow creasing slightly. His lips parted to speak, but Zevran laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Come, my friend,” said the Crow. “Say farewell to your golden locks.”

Fenris sat there in silence as he listened to Zevran and Anders preparing to dye his hair. He didn’t even look up until Hawke forced a glass of wine in his hand and pointed him to the table. “Eat, don’t mope.”

As Fenris pushed food around on his plate with a fork, he let the sounds of the others’ conversation wash over him until Anders’ voice raised in dissent drew his attention.

“No, I won’t cut it. No. I refuse. The colour, fair enough, but the length stays, dammit!”

“Anders,” said Dorian gently. “My cousin’s hair is not that length.”

“I am not your cousin!” exclaimed Anders, then softer, “Might his not have grown since you last saw him?”

“Anders, this seems to mean more to you than we perhaps can see. What is your objection?” asked Zevran softly, as Fenris slowly looked up.

Anders was standing with his arms crossed defensively. He wore only a pair of faded grey pants, his damp hair tumbling about his shoulders in raven-black curls. The transformation of his appearance was quite dramatic; his face seemed positively translucently pale in contrast to the inky hue of his hair. Fenris almost would not have recognised him. Anders was slightly hunched over in a defensive posture the elf knew only too well as he glared at Zevran.

“I’m not cutting it,” he said again, then glanced pleadingly at Fenris.

“Please don’t make him do that. Put it into a ponytail or a bun. I can do that if you wish.” Fenris offered.

Dorian shot him a look, then glanced back at Anders with a thoughtful look. “No one has seen dear Antonius outside his bedchamber for over five years. I dare say his hair may well have grown longer since then; he was never one to care overmuch for fashion,” he said slowly.

“Good, it’s settled, Maker...it’s such a difference,” Hawke finally chimed in as he stepped out from behind the dressing screen, clad in his Champion’s arms and armor with a tired grin. “One more time for this eh?”

“Just wait till I’ve done his face,” said Dorian as he beckoned Anders over. As the mage dropped into the chair next to Dorian, the Altus pushed his glass of wine over to the Warden. “Relax and let me work,” the Tevinter mage suggested. “Now, look up.” He leaned forward with the kohl stick. Anders glanced over to Fenris then obediently stared at the ceiling, resigned to his fate.

Fenris glared the entire time as he watched Dorian work on Anders. When the Altus was done, he was stunned at the difference, and if he didn’t know better he’d have not recognized his lover at all.

Anders glanced at Fenris then Hawke, his expression nervous.

“I’d not know you if I hadn’t watched this change happen.” Fenris said quietly.

“And I dare say no-one in Halamshiral will recognise him,” said Zevran quietly.

“Dress in my spare robes, and like this I dare say no-one here will recognise him either,” said Dorian as he reached for the fresh glass of wine Zevran set before him; Anders had steadily drained Dorian’s glass as the Altus had worked, even though Dorian had finished quite swiftly with a few minutes’ practiced strokes of the kohl stick. “In fact, perhaps we should send for Meneris. It would not do for Anders to set foot in the dining hall only to be accosted by the guards who will doubtless fail to recognise him.”

“And I shall have a word with Leliana regarding any that _do_ recognise him,” said Zevran quietly. Anders shot him a sharp look.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d ask whose side you’re on, Zevran,” said Anders.

Zevran merely grinned.

“I will make myself scarce then, I ...am sure he does not wish to see me. I’ll be there to see you off,” Fenris said with a hitch in his voice before he made for the door.

Anders leapt to his feet and somehow managed to be standing in the doorway blocking Fenris’ path as the elf reached the door.

“Please,” he breathed quietly. “Don’t go. Fenris, I _need_ you. Please.” He stared at the elf pleadingly, the dark amber of his eyes all the more striking for the dark kohl lining them. Somehow Dorian had managed to tint Anders’ pale eyelashes; between that and the ink-black hue of the mage’s hair, it only served to emphasise the lack of pallor in his skin.

“I need you,” Anders repeated. “Please don’t go. I don’t even recognise myself right now. I can’t do this, Fen,” he pleaded.

“The Inquisitor wants to kill me...but I will risk it for you love. Just...never mind,” Fenris said as he sat down and let Anders take his hand.

Zevran spared them both a glance as he made his way to the door to speak to one of the guards.

“It will be alright Anders, just sit with us yeah?” Vic said as he pressed a kiss to the damp, dark locks.

Anders looked up at Hawke. “I scarcely even know myself any more,” he laughed nervously.

Dorian regarded him silently, his gaze sympathetic. “You are playing a role, no more,” he said as he lifted his glass. “Play the performance of your life - it’s what everyone else will be doing in Halamshiral, after all.”

“The Game has never been my forte, for all my cunningness I was terrible at it as Champion,” Vic said.

Fenris simply sat with Anders’ hand twined in his, a pensive look on his face.

“I don’t know the first thing about the Game - how on earth am I supposed to survive in Halamshiral?” exclaimed Anders. “I was a... a _peasant_ in _Ferelden_ for the first ten years of my life that I can actually remember, then spent the next ten years trying to escape the Circle! Then a Warden, then hiding in Darktown for six years! What do _I_ know of nobles’ politics and charades??” He stared at Hawke. “They’re going to eat me alive!”

Dorian was regarding him with a faint air of dismay. “Oh dear. I advise you to keep your mouth shut and just look confused; let me handle conversation.”

“That won’t be difficult!” said Anders.

Fenris was about to speak, but the door opened to let Meneris in; he seemed angry to see him, then confused at what appeared to be a magister in their midst.

“Who is that and how did they get into Skyhold?” he snapped.

“Meneris,” said Dorian with a weary sigh. “Look closer.”

“What do you...oh. Well, you, well, uh hello Anders,” Meneris said with a bit of a blush. “Apologies, I think they did too good a job on you.”

Anders curled in upon himself in his chair. Dorian merely smiled.

“Oh ye of little faith,” he chided his lover with a fond look. “Meneris Lavellan, meet my dear, sickly cousin, Antonius Pavus. He’s been sequestered in solitude for years and I’ve dragged him to this forsaken pit of barbarism to introduce him to the fascinating culture of the south for his health and to spare me my terminal boredom.” Dorian waved a hand indolently.

“If you don’t need me, I will take my leave,” Fenris said quietly as he tried to get past them without Meneris noticing him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.

“You don’t have to leave, someone should know our plans that won’t be there.” Meneris said with a sly grin.

“Inquisitor...while I know you are displeased with Fenris, I will not sit by and watch you needle him for your own amusement. He feels bad enough as it is,” Invictus said as he sheathed his staff with that toothy grin that sent lesser men running.

“It’s alright Vic, it’s what I deserve for endangering his lover. I’ll just be going.” Fenris kissed Anders on the cheek before he hurried past them and made straight for his rooms.

Anders watched him go with dismay, then sat back and nodded to Dorian who was holding out the bottle of wine to top up their glasses. Dorian smiled at Meneris as though they hadn’t had a blazing argument over the lyrium-marked elf not three hours before.

“I will be back after I check on him, carry on with plan making...gentlemen.” Vic said with a withering glare at the Inquisitor.

Anders steadily downed half his glass of wine.

“Steady on, Anders,” said Dorian in mild reproof. “It takes practice to be able to put away the amount of wine I do!”

“You mean it isn’t just the Imperium’s national pastime?” said Anders. “Between you and Fenris, you certainly had me fooled.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got the sarcasm down pat,” remarked Dorian drily.

“He had that well before the Inquisition. Now let’s get him dressed as the cousin to a wealthy Altus once more, yes?” Zevran said with a glance to the others. “You wouldn’t want to keep Halamshiral waiting, it simply isn’t done.”

Anders sighed. “Well, at least there’s no corset,” he remarked as he got to his feet.

“Afraid not; I’m rather partial to breathing, and I’m certain that nothing of Vivienne’s would fit you,” replied Dorian as he leaned back in his chair to watch Anders dress.

The apostate was staring down at the outfit Dorian had brought him; unlike the Altus’ own practical garb, this was a set of robes though obviously of Tevene style. The under-robe was black, embroidered with red serpents around the hem and the cuffs of the sleeves; the snake motif was repeated on the dark, wine-red over-robe with black serpents along each sleeve and curling about the wide collar. Anders shrugged and began to dress.

Dorian watched him openly, eyeing the other man with a small smile. When Anders finally turned, fully dressed, the Altus slowly clapped. “Look, Meneris - cousin Antonius looks ready to join Imperial society once more, don’t you think?”

“Very nice, you could fool anyone except for that pallor. Hopefully he can get some sun as we travel yes?” Meneris gave a nod to them all before he finished his wine. “We set out at first light tomorrow, I’ll see you all in the dining hall for lunch, and love try not to be too tipsy while you’re healing?” 

“I’m sure a good long ride to Orlais will put colour in his cheeks quick enough,” Dorian replied. “We will endeavour not to be _too_ late, Meneris. I can’t swear that Anders shan’t be tipsy however.” 

“As long as he’s capable of upright motion and keeping down a meal, I’ll be satisfied,” replied Meneris. “If he’s hung over tomorrow then _you_ get to handle your ‘cousin’ though.” He nodded to them both as he left.

“Now, where were we?” said Dorian as he refilled their glasses. He was about to speak when there was a knock at the door. “ _Malum_ , what now?”

Zevran went to the door and opened it to find Leliana, Josephine and Cullen waiting.

“Ah, good, we are in time I believe,” said Leliana as she led the others in.

“What’s this?” said Anders, looking perplexed. “Did you decide to move the war room to my rooms or something?”

“We are here to discuss your cover story, Anders,” said Cullen. “We need to be sure everyone’s got their stories straight well before we arrive in Halamshiral.”

They all took seats around the table, Dorian joining them there.

“Right, as I was saying before we were interrupted,” said Dorian. “My cousin. Now, pay attention, Anders - you’ll need to know this, as people are sure to inquire as to why you’re so pale. Antonius is Ferelden on his mother’s side - her father was Poul Trevelyan, originally the third son of the Arl of Ostwick. There was a little bit of scandal there as I understand it - first showed signs of being a mage at eight, father wanted him sent straight to the Circle, mother promptly sent him away with his tutor who turned out to be an Altus. The tutor - Perrin Garamond - adopted Poul as his own son, renaming him Paulus, and the lad by all accounts did astoundingly well in the Circle at Vyrantium. This made him the perfect match for Andromeda, the daughter of Caius Calomides, a magister living in Qarinus -”

“Wait, wait!” exclaimed Anders. “I’ll never keep all these names straight! Maybe I’d best stop drinking.”

“Nonsense,” replied Dorian. “Believe me, I’ll be drilling this into you all the way to Halamshiral, Anders - every Altus is capable of reciting their family lineage back at least fifteen generations by the time they’re four. Now, no-one will be expecting such a performance from you - but they _will_ expect you to have a full story as to why I am dark whilst you are practically as white as the driven snow - of which this wretched country has far too much, I might add. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Paulus married Andromeda, and they had only the one child - Nyaestra Garamond, who inherited her father’s pale skin, hazel eyes and talent for magic, and her mother’s raven-black hair. She was quite devastatingly attractive by all accounts in her youth. She married my uncle, Gallius Pavus - my father’s younger brother. Gallius died fifteen years ago - poisoning, we believe, though we never heard which of his rivals did it. Nyaestra never did fully recover, so Antonius was left free rein to live much as he wished. He retreated to his chambers and has rarely been seen out of them since, and I can count the number of times he’s left the house on the fingers of one hand.” 

Dorian paused to take a sip of wine. Zevran was sitting at the table, listening with rapt attention; Anders was rubbing his forehead and frowning as he attempted to memorise everything Dorian was telling him. Cullen’s eyes flicked between Anders and Dorian; Josephine and Leliana appeared to already be familiar with the story already.

“Antonius always was a little on the pale side,” continued Dorian. “Takes after his mother, and between that and never coming out of his room, you wouldn’t think he was Tevene at all if you didn’t know the family lineage.” He smiled at Anders. “You’re a little easier on the eyes than Antonius though, I must say. He takes after my uncle a little too much.”

“You don’t resemble your father then?” said Anders.

“Oh-ho, flattery is it?” Dorian laughed. “No, I don’t take after Halward; everyone tells me I have my mother’s eyes. I certainly inherited her tolerance for drink - people tell me I get my wit from her as well.”

“And did Antonius inherit a tolerance for drink?” asked Anders.

“You tell us,” said Leliana, eyeing him sharply. “Because as of now, _you_ are Antonius. Dorian wrote to you some weeks ago concerning the Breach, and it piqued your curiosity enough that you finally decided to leave your bedchambers and your home and come see it in person, and you arrived this morning.” 

“By complete coincidence, poor Anders was struck with a mystery illness and has taken to his bed and won’t be accompanying the Inquisitor to the peace talks,” Josephine added as she gave Anders a small smile. “Terrible shame, wouldn’t you agree? Apparently he’s too sick to leave his room. Hal and Fenris are going to move into Anders’ rooms to take care of him - awfully decent of them both, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Awfully,” nodded Anders.

“That’s another thing,” said Dorian, switching smoothly to Tevene. “ _From now on you speak only Tevene. You’d best start now. If people think you don’t speak Trade, they’re less likely to question you - and they’re likely to let slip all sorts of fascinating details_.”

“ _I understand,_ ” said Anders, slipping fluently into Tevene.

Leliana turned to Zevran. “ _It would be unheard of for someone like Antonius to come so far without a bodyguard. Nyaestra is known to be eccentric; it would not be unheard of for her to send a freed elven slave - one of the Liberati - to guard her only son. The perfect cover for you, Zevran._ ”

“ _Indeed,_ ” the elf agreed in flawless Tevene.

“ _Very good,_ ” she nodded.

“I didn’t understand a word of any of that,” said Cullen frowning. “Am I the only one here who doesn’t speak a word of Tevene?”

“I am afraid so, Commander,” replied Josephine. 

“That’s going to make talking to Anders damned difficult then,” Cullen frowned. 

Dorian waved a hand. “You’ll just have to let me translate whenever we’re in public, and we’ll need to use a silencing cantrip in private,” he said airily.

Cullen turned to Leliana. “Will one of you give me a report on what I need to know?”

“I believe all the particulars are in the report I left on your desk two days ago, Commander,” she replied. Cullen groaned.

“There’s an entire day’s worth of reports on my desk since yesterday!” he groused.

“Then you should read quickly, Commander,” suggested Josephine with a smile. “And I believe that is everything. The Inquisitor is waiting for you in the dining hall, Dorian, Anders - forgive me, _Antonius_.”

“This is going to take some getting used to,” said Anders.

“In Tevene!” hissed Dorian.

Anders’ retort was flawless and untranslatable.

***

Meneris sat with Dorian at his side with a glance over to where the Champion’s group was gathered, and smirked at the way Fenris seemed to fall in on himself. He really was enjoying the other elf’s discomfort. He noticed how the warrior would look up at Anders and then back at his plate quickly.

“Now, now,” said Dorian quietly. “Gloating openly is so uncouth.”

“Sorry I don’t have the ability to hide behind a false smile and good cheer love, I never made it through finishing school in the Dales.” Meneris replied drily.

“You should ask cousin Antonius for lessons then,” the Altus replied. “He’s putting on quite the masterful display.”

Across the room, Anders was putting on an act of being a complete stranger forced to make idle chit-chat with a group of barbaric southerners. He had a polite smile on his face, though occasionally when he thought Fenris wasn’t looking, a haunted, unhappy look briefly washed across his face. Several times he began to reach forward as though to lay a hand upon Fenris’ arm, only to deflect his reach to the bottle of wine instead, topping up his glass.

Invictus tried to comfort Fenris but the elven fighter was having none of it. “Do you need to leave love?” Vic whispered in his ear.

The elf swallowed hard but shook his head. “I shall see this through,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Perhaps it is as well I shall be remaining behind. I do not think I could bear to travel as a stranger with him, having to look upon him dressed like that, with Dorian dancing attendance upon him.”

“I’m sorry, I will make sure you have a good night to remember me and Zevran by if you cannot bear this charade behind closed doors. Forgive us Fenris, I don’t want this.” Vic said as he leaned in to whisper to his lover. “Besides I don’t want the Inquisitor to see you so down, I plan to have a very long, unpleasant chat with him.” 

“Dorian has arranged that I should pay a call upon him after lunch to meet his... _cousin_ ,” Fenris said quietly. “Anders and I shall... make our own memories together. He will be sleeping in Dorian’s room tonight. I mislike that this deception should start so soon.” He scowled suddenly. “Meneris has stolen even our last night together. He is gloating; I can feel it.”

Vic tipped his lover’s face towards him and gave him a gentle kiss. “I am so sorry my heart, I will make sure he pays for it.” The Champion looked over Fenris’ shoulder at the Inquisitor, his gaze hard enough to cut glass.

“I am sure I shall have adequate time in which to curse his name whilst you are all gone,” growled Fenris. “I shall trust to you and Zevran to keep Anders safe. It is only the knowledge that you will be with him that eases my heart, love.”

“Doesn’t matter...he’d better cut out the gloating or he may not make it _to_ Halamshiral.” Vic snarled.

Anders was staring fixedly at his glass of wine. “ _Excuse me, gentlemen,_ ” he said quietly in Tevene. “ _But your tones of voice are quite... concerning. Enough to make a stranger almost... anxious,_ ” he added, before glancing up at Fenris. Although he still wore that fixed, polite little smile, it didn’t reach his eyes, which glistened suspiciously - almost as though he were on the verge of tears.

“ _Apologies serah Pavus, we did not mean to distress you with our chatter. I do hope you are enjoying your visit to the Southern parts of Thedas._ ” Vic said in Tevene.

“ _Please do excuse me, I fear I am not feeling well,_ ” the black-haired mage answered as he slowly got to his feet. He glanced over towards Dorian, who was getting to his feet also.

“I think Antonius has had as much as he can handle of this charade,” Dorian muttered in Meneris’ ear. “We’ll be in my rooms if you have need of me, though I warn you now that Fenris will be dropping by later.” He hurried over to Anders’ side.

“ _Excuse me, gentlemen; my cousin is still exhausted from his journey; come along Antonius, I’ll show you my rooms,_ ” he said.

Fenris looked away as he tried to keep himself together, and not let the others see how broken he was feeling.

“Come by in half an hour,” said Dorian very softly as he and Anders passed Fenris’ chair.

Various heads turned to glance at the strange new mage in idle curiosity as Anders and Dorian made their way out of the hall before turning back to their meals and conversations.

** 

The time spent with Anders was painful for Fenris, and he cut it short when he couldn’t cope with the stranger that stared back at him but spoke with his lover’s voice. It made for an uncomfortable, awkward night spent with the others that was worse when daylight came.

Getting ready for the journey went far too quickly for Invictus’ liking, especially when he caught a glimpse of Fenris in the mirror. They were silent as they headed out to the stables, with Fenris pausing to give his lover a token before he stepped back to watch the line up of the Inquisitor, advisors and others as they prepared to ride out. If he’d been able to appreciate the pageantry on display, he’d have been impressed with how impressive they looked, especially with an elven leader at the front of their forces. 

Hal stood next to him, barely looking at the line of horses, carriages and footsoldiers that awaited the signal to go. The red-headed mage seemed focused just on The Iron Bull and to a small degree, the new mage that was being assisted into a carriage by Dorian, who climbed in after him.

The new mage seemed to be feeling sick to his stomach; he had his arms wrapped around himself and had to pause beside the carriage looking visibly nauseous for a few minutes before he could manage to climb inside with Dorian’s help. Fenris found himself wondering just how much wine Anders had tried to drown his misery in after the elf had left him the previous evening.

Fenris waved at Invictus as he went by, his expression neutral though he wanted to run after them and go with his lovers. He gave Zevran a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as the Crow Master passed, he was already missing them before they got out of the gate.

Even before the carriage containing Anders and Dorian had passed through the gate, Hal had turned to return back inside the keep, not glancing back to see if Fenris followed.

The weeks would seem long indeed before the Champion, Anders and Zevran would return.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Game is in full swing, Crows get clipped wings and Lord Antonius Pavus cuts a mean rug when he wants to.

Hawke rode to the WInter Palace from their Orlesian accommodation in a carriage with Cullen, Cassandra and Varric. As they entered the foyer of the palace, it was to find Anders, Dorian and Zevran already waiting.

The journey to Halamshiral had taken almost as long as it had to reach the Western Approach, though the journey was at least blessedly free of sandy wastes. Hawke had had little chance to talk to Anders; the apostate spent most of each day riding in a carriage with Dorian, and slept each night in the tent he shared with him and Zevran apart from those nights the Altus spent with Meneris. He’d had to resort often to updates and messages passed on by Zevran, and the occasional passed note.

The Inquisitor’s party were presently staying at the country estate of a minor noble who was distantly related to the Ambassador Josephine through marriage, or at least that was how Hawke understood it. Josephine had rattled off a long explanation that had had him lost after the first five minutes.

Dorian was dressed in the same uniform the rest of the Inquisition wore - a smart red jacket, white pants and a blue sash draped diagonally across his body; Hawke had to admit that on the Tevinter Altus it looked good indeed. Anders, by contrast, was wearing a rather ornate asymmetrical Tevinter-styled set of robes in green and black with an odd motif of birds around the hems that didn’t seem something he could imagine Dorian wearing; on Anders it was very striking however - and no-one staring at him would be put in mind of a certain blond apostate in feathers and fury in Kirkwall.

“ _You look rather striking love, too bad I can’t be seen ravishing you on the street, it would be rather gauche and we’d lose the Game before it’s begun,_ ” Vic murmured from next to him.

Anders darted him a startled look, then hesitantly grinned. “ _Why, Champion, whatever can you mean?_ ” he said in Tevene as he glanced up at the ornate stucco ceiling of the foyer. Dorian chuckled next to him.

“ _Strangely enough, dear Antonius appears to have had a similar effect upon the Iron Bull,_ ” the Altus remarked. Anders blushed and coughed.

“ _Your cousin should appear more often, he’s quite the looker with a bit of sun and colour to him,_ ” Vic said with a sly smile though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was incredibly aware of the eyes on them, and the gossip being passed as they entered the ballroom earlier. The scent of intrigue in the air was almost as thick as the perfume of the ladies - and more than a few of the men; cloying and floral, Hawke had found himself regarding the doors to the balcony more than once with wistfulness for the promise of fresh air. 

As Anders bent over to fiddle with a buckle on his boot, he took the chance to murmur quietly to Hawke. “ _Keep on your alert; there are two elves directly to your right - supposedly servants, but Zevran says they’re not regulars on the staff. The woman keeps staring at you - do you know her from somewhere?_ ” As he straightened, Hawke got a whiff of some faint scent about Anders - a hint of cinnamon and spices overlaying that subtle fragrance of elfroot and sandalwood that was completely the healer.

“ _Your scent, it’s… new isn’t it Antonius?_ ” Vic asked out loud while he took the moment to reach for a new glass of wine and check out the elven woman. 

“ _A small gift from Dorian; it wouldn’t do to appear in society without that final touch._ ” Anders smirked a little. “ _Do you not customarily wear perfume in noble society in Kirkwall, Champion?_ ”

As the ballroom doors opened, they caught the tail end of Meneris’ introduction. The majordomo upon the doors glanced to Hawke and nodded to him.

“ _Not usually ser Pavus, if you will pardon me._ ” Vic gave him a bow before he entered the room, head up, winning smile in place as he was introduced as Invictus Endrin Hawke, son of Malcolm Hawke and the Lady Leandra Amell, former Champion of Kirkwall and friend to the forces of the Inquisition. 

Cullen was called forward next, then Cassandra, and then the majordomo nodded to Dorian and Anders.

“Dorian Pavus, Altus of House Pavus of Minrathous, Enchanter of the Circle of Vyrantium and member of the Inquisition; Antonius Lord Pavus, Altus of House Pavus of Qarinus, Enchanter of the Circle of Vyrantium and friend to the forces of the Inquisition!”

“ _ **Lord** Pavus?_ ” hissed Anders in an undertone to Dorian.

“ _But of course. Your father died fifteen years ago leaving you the heir to his title, Antonius, remember?_ ” remarked Dorian softly. “ _Now remember. You are an Altus and these are merely barbarian rabble. Act like it._ ” He snatched two glasses of wine from a passing waiter, thrusting one into Anders’ hand as he directed them both over towards Hawke and Meneris.

“Magister Maevaris Lady Tilani, Altus of House Tilani of Minrathous!” rang out the announcement behind them. Dorian’s eyes widened. 

“ _Mae?_ ” he exclaimed. “What the deuce...!”

“ _Someone we know?_ ” asked Anders.

“ _An old friend,_ ” replied Dorian. “ _Wait here._ ” He darted off into the crowd.

“ _Will this throw things off, Lord Pavus?_ ” Vic asked as Zevran hovered nearby as if he was merely observing the artwork rather than being a shadow to his employer.

“ _Not at all; I’m sure Dorian is just letting Maevaris know we’re here._ ” Anders toyed with his glass, glancing in the direction Dorian had gone.

“Did I hear correctly?” said Varric as he made his way to their side. “What’s Mae doing here?”

“Don’t tell me you know her as well?” said Anders in an undertone.

“Well, yeah, she’s my cousin,” he said.

Hawke and Anders both turned to stare down at Varric with mirroring expressions of disbelief.

“She married my cousin,” Varric shrugged. “Look, it’s a very long story; I’ll fill you in later.” He leaned in close to Anders. “Your Trade’s coming along wonderfully there, Lord Pavus,” he muttered.

“ _Vishante kaffas!_ ” Anders exclaimed in disgust.

“ _Indeed…_ ” Vic agreed as he stared across the ballroom, and watched Dorian and Maevaris chat rather animatedly. Dorian gestured in their direction, and led the tall blonde woman towards them.

“Varric!” she exclaimed, rushing forward and bending down to hug the dwarf.

“Mae, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” he grinned. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?” 

She laughed, then straightened. Anders was surprised to find she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was; the Tevinter woman was tall and elegant with a willowy figure. “ _Antonius! It’s been too long! My, but haven’t you grown into the most beautiful man!_ ” She embraced him and kissed him on one cheek then the other; she murmured something in his ear as she drew back. He looked blank for a moment then nodded.

“Maevaris, may I introduce Meneris Lavellan, the Inquisitor?” said Dorian as he gestured towards the elf.

“You most certainly can!” smiled Maevaris. “Inquisitor, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Lady Tilani, tis a pleasure to finally meet you, Dorian goes on about you so much, it’s nice to see you in person.” Meneris gave her a hand a brief kiss as he straightened.

“Does he indeed?” said Maevaris, darting Dorian a fond look. “He _is_ such a darling boy, isn’t he? Now, darlings, you must excuse me - _Antonius, dear, will you give me a twirl around the dance floor please?_ ” she added, switching smoothly to Tevene.

Dorian looked briefly alarmed. “Mae, I don’t think -” he began, but Anders was already bowing to her and leading her out onto the dance floor.

“She’s in for a treat, he can cut a rug when he feels like it,” Vic murmured.

Dorian gave Hawke a disbelieving look then turned to watch.

He wasn’t the only one; quite a few heads were turning as the two Alti made their way onto the dance floor. They made a very striking couple, standing head and shoulders above most of the other dancers, and as a waltz was struck up, Anders whirled Maevaris off across the dance floor.

The tension left Dorian as he realised Hawke was right; Anders knew what he was doing and the pair were light upon their feet, Maevaris’ dress and Anders’ robes swirling about them as they glided across the polished marble floor.

“And that is precisely the distraction we need,” said Dorian quietly. He glanced to Meneris. “I suggest we take advantage to begin reconnaissance.”

“Have our...servant do so love, I am unfortunately being summoned by yet another Dowager to discuss...something,” Meneris said with a false smile.

Cullen approached. “Our forces are taking advantage, Inquisitor,” he said quietly. “Leliana’s people are all in place.”

“Our turn to stand around looking conspicuous in public then,” remarked Dorian.

“Quite,” said Cullen. “I’ll just-” He broke off as he stiffened in surprise. 

“Problem, Commander?” asked Dorian.

“Someone just pinched my - my rear!” whispered the Commander indignantly. Dorian laughed, taking another glass of wine.

“It _is_ rather nice, especially in those trousers dear Commander,” Vic laughed as he watched Cullen turn almost as red as his jacket. Cullen cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, I’m, er, I’ll just go talk to Cassandra,” he said awkwardly and beat a hasty retreat.

“Dorian...” said Josephine as she appeared in the wake of the Commander’s departure.

“Ah, our dear Ambassador! What can I do for you my dear?” Dorian smiled. She leaned up and murmured in his ear. “Indeed?” he said slowly. He handed his wine glass to a passing servant then offered Josephine his arm. “Shall we?”

The Tevinter Altus led the Ambassador out onto the dance floor as the waltz ended and a lively foxtrot began. Anders was leading Maevaris off for a second dance; they were remarkably quick and lithe on their feet for such a tall couple. Hawke kept an eye on them, sure that despite the smile on Anders’ face he would be flagging soon.

His gaze flicked to the staircases beyond the dance floor and grinned when he caught the hint of a shadow that was gone as fast as he’d noticed Zevran’s approach. “Anything to report?” he asked in Antivan.

“A larger number of elven servants than normal, and I believe over half of them are armed,” Zevran murmured as he glanced around. The Empress’ people’s ranks seem to have increased with significant numbers of people whose accents are not Orlesian. Oh, and there are three other Crows here.”

“Are you well to be here?” Vic asked behind his drink without looking to his companion, instead he tracked his lover on the dancefloor. Zevran’s answer was a chuckle.

“There is a reason why _I_ am Crow Master and not they, friend Hawke,” he replied. “Please excuse me. There will shortly be only two.” He was swiftly gone.

“The Champion of Kirkwall!” cooed an Orlesian noblewoman who rushed up to him and engulfed him in a cloud of cloying perfume and powder, attended by her three simpering friends. “How _marvellous_ you are here! Please do regale us with the tale of how your defeated that Qunari monster in Kirkwall!”

“I beg your pardon madame but such a grisly tale is not fit for ladies’ ears or in such august company. Perhaps you could regale me with a bit of yourself, I fear I’ve not made your acquaintance.” Vic gave her a grin that could have lit half the lanterns on the street along with a courtly bow. 

It had the desired effect; nearly two hours later however, he rather wish it hadn’t. He finally managed to extricate himself from the company of the four noblewomen and all their assorted friends and hangers-on, and realised he’d completely lost track of Anders, Dorian or, indeed, any of the Inquisition members.

“Bloody hell, where is Antonius?” Vic said as he looked around and finally spotted Cullen. He made his way over and gently pulled him away from another group of simpering noblewomen that had surrounded the former templar.

“Ah, Champion - thank you for that,” panted Cullen. “Maker, I thought they were going to eat me alive.”

“It seems to be the rage this year in Orlais,” Vic murmured. “I was waylaid and lost track of cousin Pavus.”

“Which one?” muttered Cullen as he peered around over the heads of the dancers. “Antonius I presume? He had a dizzy spell and had to go lie down in a quiet room - which _actually_ means Dorian, Varric and Maevaris wanted a chance to go snoop so he gave them the perfect excuse.”

“Alright...I don’t like this place, I suggest we make our way to a quieter space. I believe the plan was to find the Empress so we may have a moment of her time before we refresh ourselves for dinner,” Vic said softly.

“Mmm,” agreed Cullen as he glanced around. “Ah. I’ve spotted Meneris. I think he’s heading for the room And-Antonius is, ah, _resting_ in. Follow me - I know another way round.”

They slipped out through a side door; after a short while of dodging around gossiping nobles, servants and guards, Cullen led Hawke into what seemed to be some sort of drawing room. It was dimly lit by a handful of candles. There were three sets of doors into the room - one set to the left and to the right of them, with full-length windows leading out onto a balcony directly opposite.

Meneris appeared through the set of doors to their right just as Cullen was closing the door behind himself and Hawke; the Inquisitor nodded to Cullen.

“Where’s Antonius?” hissed Hawke.

“I’m over here,” Anders said quietly. As they made their way into the room, they realised Anders was lying on a chaise longue; the back of the chaise was towards the door, hiding the mage from any casual passers-by.

“Are you alright love?” asked Hawke as he made his way around the chaise to crouch down next to Anders.

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” Anders replied, his voice still low. “I was just tired from dancing is all; that last gavotte pretty much did me in. Haven’t danced like that in years. When Dorian and Mae said they needed an excuse to get out of the ballroom and investigate elsewhere in the palace, I just staged a rather dramatic fainting fit right into Dorian’s arms and the servants found us this lovely quiet room where Lord Pavus could rest and recover himself under the watchful eye of his cousin and their dear friend. Look, they even left me some brandy!” He smiled and waved a hand at a low table nearby. “So I’ve just been lying here quietly whilst they go off and do their skulduggery, and I’ve heard all sorts of fascinating gossip that I’m sure Leliana will be very interested in later. People have been sneaking in and out of here for quiet chats - either they don’t spot me, or I just feign an exhausted sleep and they just dismiss me as that pretty Tevinter fellow and isn’t it fortunate he doesn’t speak a word of Orlesian and he’s asleep anyway and they just natter away.”

“Where are Dorian and Varric?” asked Meneris.

“They should be back here soon,” said Anders. “They said they’d be back in an hour, and that’ll be up any minute now.”

“Good,” said Cullen. “We need to have a quiet word with Celene before everyone goes in to dinner.”

Anders folded his hands on his chest and watched Hawke as he got up and moved over to the other set of doors to the left of the ones they’d entered by, to listen carefully. Cullen moved round to stand behind the chaise longue so he could keep an eye on the middle set of doors whilst Meneris watched the last set. Anders glanced over to his right to the balcony doors.

“Someone’s coming,” said Hawke as he ducked to one side of his set of doors. Anders closed his eyes, feigning sleep once more.

Celene entered the room and sighed. “Hopefully I can get a few moments to myself, even my handmaidens are clinging like hungry children tonight.” She whispered before she turned and nearly screamed at the sight before her. “Maker be damned, not even a quiet place from duty. I greet you Champion, Inquisitor.” she said with a nod to them. “Who else is here?”

Anders kept his eyes closed, still feigning sleep for the moment. Cullen stepped forward into Celene’s line of sight and bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said politely.

“Commander Rutherford, a pleasure to meet you.” Celene gave him another nod before she looked to the tall, raven haired man apparently sleeping. “Should we go elsewhere as not to disturb your companion?”

“This is fine, he’s deeply asleep, enough that our chatter hasn’t awoken him already Majesty.” Meneris said as he gave her a slight bow. “It’s good that you found us like this, as you were next for us to chat with.”

Cullen leaned against the back of the chaise-longue. He spared Anders a brief glance then looked back to the Empress. Celene swept over to one of the ornate sofas and gestured to the three men to sit.

“What was it you wished to discuss, Inquisitor?” she asked, once they’d taken seats.

“There is much to discuss but limited time Majesty. We believe there is a plot against you brewing, and whoever it is will take advantage of the festivities to finish their attempt to usurp you. We need to keep Orlais from falling into chaos, as it’s what our enemy wishes.” Meneris said.

Hawke fidgeted slightly as he sat there, content to let Meneris lead their talk.

“Inquisitor, this is Orlais. There are _always_ plots against me. Please be more specific,” Celene replied with a polite half-smile.

“We have narrowed it down to Gaspard, Briala or your ...cousin but that is the most tenuous of ideas.” Meneris said.

“Briala? She would not turn against me, Inquisitor; of that I am certain. However, I knew of Gaspard’s likely attempt at treachery. Briala and I have been deliberately turning a blind eye to his machinations; he is headstrong and foolish, and he will be inclined to make some rash move. Tell me more of this possible plot concerning my cousin - and I would like to know on what grounds you suspect Briala,” she added, glaring at him intently from behind her ornate golden mask.

“There are some...additional elven staff, as well as some who seem far too interested in our party’s comings and goings. The Duchess’ possible involvement is by far the faintest whisper, possibly by someone wishing to divert attention from Gaspard.” Meneris said placidly.

Anders shifted slightly on the chaise. He could hear that the Empress was sitting on a seat slightly behind him, facing towards the north door where Hawke had been standing earlier. From her position, she couldn’t see him; he chanced opening his eyes very slightly. From beneath his eyelashes he could see Cullen sitting very stiffly in a chair near the end of the chaise, facing towards Anders and the Empress. Meneris was sitting on a couch to Cullen’s left, facing the Empress. Rolling his head to the right a little, he could see Hawke sitting on the couch in front of the balcony doors, his back to them as he turned towards Celene.

Anders frowned a little; he thought he saw movement outside on the balcony. He glanced back at Cullen, who was eyeing him discreetly from the corner of his eye. Anders rolled his eyes very obviously in the direction of the balcony doors behind Hawke and jerked his head very slightly as he mouthed “Outside”.

Cullen casually put his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it as he turned his head a little as though trying to uncrick it, glancing quickly at the balcony doors before turning his attention to the Empress as she continued to discuss the plot with Meneris. As the Inquisitor nodded at one of her comments, Cullen did as well but his eyes were on Anders. Whatever it was, Cullen had seen something out there as well.

Anders glanced to Hawke, glad that the headrest of the chaise obscured him from Celene. As Hawke casually turned his head towards Cullen, his eyes sought out those of Anders. The apostate mouthed, “Behind you.” Hawke’s eyes narrowed before he glanced back to Celene.

Hawke stood and stretched casually as he moved as though to get some air from the slightly cracked balcony doors. Meneris missed their interplay but Hawke’s movement caught his eye, but he missed his chance to remark on it when Celene countered his claims.

“Majesty, I do not say these things lightly nor to cast aspersion upon your inner circle. I do not know Briala personally, but there is much chatter among the elven servants that leads me to---” Meneris was cut off by the sound of a glass pane cracking and falling to the balcony and the feel of a blade whipping by him. 

Anders was off the chaise in a flash. He put one foot on the coffee table that stood in the middle of the rug bordered by the couches then sprang forward to vault over the couch Hawke had been sitting on earlier, one hand raised as he called up a paralysis glyph. Behind him he heard Celene exclaim in alarm, but he was too intent on paralysing the Crow who was readying another blade as he stared at the Inquisitor.

Vic doubled the glyph and once it was set he pulled the dagger from the failed assassin’s fingers. “Cullen do me a favor and drag this fellow inside? We don’t want a scene.” 

“I wonder if he’s a Crow?” Meneris said as he rubbed his neck, unsettled as to how close they came.

“What is going on?” exclaimed Celene as she rose to her feet, her silk gown rustling. 

Cullen was moving forward to deal with the assassin when the man suddenly made a strange gurgling noise then sagged in the grip of the paralysis glyph. Anders pushed forward past Hawke, but it was too late. He knew as he touched the man with his hand, glowing with blue healing magic, that the man was already dead.

“Assassins!” Celene gathered her skirts and fled.

“Well, that could have gone better,” sighed Cullen.

“Or it could have been a lot worse,” replied Anders as he dispelled the glyph. The would-be assassin crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Anders toed the corpse with his boot then glanced towards the Inquisitor. “Are you alright, Meneris?” he asked.

At that moment Dorian, Varric and Maevaris burst in through the door behind Meneris. Dorian stared at the dagger embedded in the wall, then glanced back along what must have been it’s trajectory and his eyes widened. “Meneris!” he exclaimed as he rushed to the elf’s side. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Just...a little ...dizzy.” he mumbled before he fell into Dorian’s arms. While the blade hadn’t taken him out as planned, it had nicked him as it flew by. 

Dorian’s eyes widened. “Meneris, what’s wrong?” he exclaimed, his voice going higher as he began to frantically search for injuries on the elf. He touched the side of Meneris’ neck as he gently lowered him to the ground, and it came away bloody. Turning the elf’s head slightly, he saw a thin scratch on the side of Meneris’ neck where the assassin’s blade had grazed him.

Anders rushed over to their side, dropping to his knees as he reached out for the Inquisitor. He closed his eyes as he dropped his senses into the Inquisitor’s body, searching for what was wrong.

“What is it? What’s wrong with him?” said Dorian, his voice full of worry.

“Poison,” said Anders tersely as he began to work healing magic on the drowsy elf. Meneris was slipping in and out of consciousness as the poison began to work on him.

“Meneris! Meneris, wake up! You can’t do this to me - I won’t lose you! Please, _amatus_ , open your eyes!” he begged frantically.

“Calm down and let Anders work. Also, now would be a really good time for Zevran to pop out of whatever shadowy corner he’s in.” Vic said as he closed the doors and pulled the blinds in the room.

“ _Antonius_ ,” said Maevaris as she pushed forward, giving Hawke a pointed look as she stressed the name slightly before turning back to Anders, pulling a vial of lyrium from a hidden pocket in her dark blue silken gown. “ _You may need this,_ ” she suggested.

Anders’ hand reached out for the vial, his attention still on healing Meneris; she opened it and put it in his hand. He knocked it back then let the empty vial fall from his hand, concentrating still on his work.

“ _Save him. Please, you have to save him!_ ” begged Dorian, dropping back into his native Tevene in his distress. “ _Meneris, love, please. You can’t die on me. Please, open your eyes!_ ”

“Apologies; Antonius is doing what he can for Meneris, but Dorian, you need to calm yourself,” Vic said as he turned and nearly screamed when Zevran appeared from a dark corner of the room. “Maker, you are going to make me piss myself or die of fright one of these days!” 

“My apologies, Champion,” said Zevran as he swiftly made his way over to where the dagger was still embedded in the wall. Yanking it out, he sniffed the blade then very cautiously touched the tip of his tongue to the bare metal then frowned. He reached into his belt pouches and pulled out a small vial as he hurried over to where Anders was still busy trying to save Meneris’ life.

“Here, this should be the antidote,” he said as he uncorked the vial and carefully trickled the contents into Meneris’ mouth. The drowsy elf swallowed convulsively, then his eyes drifted open a couple of minutes later as the antidote began to take effect and Anders’ magic finally was able to start countering the damage the poison had wrought upon his nervous system.

“ _Meneris?_ ” said Dorian hopefully. “ _Amatus?_ ”

“Hmm, yes still here though it feels like a baby bronto is running over my chest, repeatedly.” Meneris said as he looked up to his lover then Anders. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” murmured the healer as he felt inside with his magic then sent a wave of soothing magic through the elf’s chest, healing the damage to his heart and lungs. Suddenly Meneris found the crushing feeling had receded and he could breathe properly again.

“Nearly done,” Anders whispered, his head slowly drooping as he sent magic through the rest of Meneris’ body, directing a Rejuvenate through the Inquisitor’s body to dispel the last lingering effects of the poison.

Meneris sat up as he felt the spells take effect. “That was a bit too close, I don’t want to meet the Creators yet.” He felt a stab of guilt as he thought about how Anders had helped him with no thought after he’d been a right ass to them, especially about Fenris before they’d left. “No, thank you. I’ve not been kind lately and you could have let me perish.”

Hawke’s eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline but he kept his mouth shut as he watched over them. 

Anders’ hands dropped to his lap as he sagged, drained. “No. I won’t stand by and watch someone die whilst I still have breath and mana in my body to heal,” he said tiredly.

“I think dear cousin Antonious needs to get to bed, poor man has exhausted himself among the Southern barbarians. Don’t you agree Dorian?” Hawke asked as he got “Lord Pavus” to his feet. Anders staggered a little as he stood, leaning heavily against Hawke.

“The ball... the peace talks,” he said, his voice slurring a little with tiredness as he lifted a hand to rub the scar on his forehead. “Can’t leave now.”

“Your Trade is coming along so well, cousin. One would barely realize you’re not supposed to know it.” Hawke said in his ear. “Go on, I think I need to tend to him, you all go on. It will be no tragedy if I miss the ball.” 

“We will make apologies for you Hawke, thank you for being here.” Meneris said quietly as he tried to get Dorian to stop fussing over him like a hen.

“Thank me by stop being such a dick to Fenris when we get back. If you all will excuse me, our Lord Pavus needs a fainting couch and rest.” Hawke didn’t pick Anders up but he did keep the man upright as he made his way towards the far door. The raven-haired “Altus” was slumping heavily against the Champion, softly protesting in an almost incoherent mix of Trade and Tevene that he couldn’t leave now, he was still needed, even as he pressed his hand over the scar and his eye, wincing at the light as they passed through the nearest door and emerged into the brightly-lit hall.

By the time Hawke managed to get Anders into the carriage for their return to the estate, Anders’ protests had subsided to be replaced by murmured apologies and faint moans.

Meneris stared at the door for a moment after Hawke and Anders departure, his mind running in circles as he tried to avoid the ‘I told you so’ look he knew his lover had. “Go on, say it just get it out Dorian.”

Dorian shook his head, his eyes still full of distress as he hugged Meneris. “No. Not now. Maybe later; right now I’m just far too thankful you’re still alive, love,” he said quietly as he pressed his face against Meneris’ neck. “I thought - I was afraid -” He drew a ragged breath. “I just need a moment,” he murmured.

“That was too close,” muttered Cullen as he stared down at the dead assassin. Zevran turned the body over then briskly checked it over. 

“This man was a Crow. That means there is still one other somewhere in the palace.”

“If possible, someone should update the Empress. I think I need a stiff drink before the ball begins. Zevran, if you can find out more about the plot against her especially Briala and Gaspard. She seemed disinclined to believe our claims. I think there’s more to that story.” Meneris said before he turned to kiss Dorian briefly. 

“Come on, we should be seen again. The Game is afoot and we’re a few steps behind.”


	43. Chapter 43

It had been a week without Anders, Vic and Zevran, and Fenris was ready to climb the walls. Even the advisors had gone along with the Inquisitor. He’d sparred with Krem twice but even that didn’t keep his interest.

It was late afternoon, and he was currently watching the Chargers train for lack of anything else to do. Hal was at his side like a silent spectre. The young man had shown signs of interest only when he was half-awake and spoke to Fenris as if he was confessing his fears to his lover’s spirit rather than the still living version of him.

“I used to love watching you spar,” said Hal quietly with a wistful tone. “Even when you practiced alone. I wonder, did you know how beautiful you looked? I thought my heart would stop with the overwhelming feeling of love I had when I watched you. You were so graceful.”

“Thank you love, I...never knew that.” Fenris replied as he stared at Krem going through his forms with the massive maul he carried. How a human man carried that thing was beyond him. He felt so guilty for answering as if he _were_ that Fenris but it actually got Hal to say more than three words.

“I wish I could watch you again,” sighed Hal. “I miss you.” The red-haired mage stared at Krem going through his forms, and then abruptly turned away, burying his face in his hands as he drew a shuddering breath. “I _miss_ you! Maker, I miss you so much. It’s torment seeing you haunt me, and yet I cannot bear to let your memory die. Fenris. Fenris!” His shoulders shook as he sobbed, more emotion in his voice than Fenris had heard in weeks.

The elf dropped to his knees in front of Hal and took his hands. “Hal, I’m here. I’m right here look at me. I’m with you still _amatus_. Please, if it will make you happy I’ll practice just for you.” He turned to Krem in a panic unsure what to do for the distraught mage.

Krem lowered his maul as he glanced over to them, then began to make his way across the practice ring towards the elf and the distressed mage.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked. “Is he alright? What happened?”

“He started talking about...me and missing me. He’s distraught about my, demise.” Fenris said quietly. “Spar with me Aclassi, maybe watching will help him.”

“Sure,” agreed Krem. “If you think it’ll help, I’m happy to. I’m always up for a spar anyway.” He glanced to Hal. “Hey, Hal. Would you come and spot me? Just stand and observe.”

The mage glanced up at him, wiping his eyes. “Alright,” he said in a subdued voice. “If that is your wish.” 

Krem shot Fenris a worried glance, then slung his maul over his shoulder as he headed back into the practice ring. Hal followed to stand at the edge.

Fenris followed with his two hander at the ready. He gave Krem a short bow and waited for him to make a move. Krem moved in fast and low, the maul aimed at Fenris’ legs. The elf had to dodge quickly as he brought the sword up to deliver a reposte; Krem blocked it with the haft of the maul as he moved in close and kicked Fenris’ hip, knocking the elf back. 

Fenris’ brands lit up briefly and he appeared behind Krem; the Tevinter mercenary was ready for him and Fenris had to swing his blade around to block the maul’s stroke.

“Come on, Fenris, you’re getting sloppy!” Krem taunted as he shoulder-rammed Fenris and the elf staggered back. The maul swung for Fenris’ legs and the elf had to jump to avoid it; as he did so, he brought the massive sword around to deliver an overhead strike that Krem barely dodged. The mercenary recovered quickly.

As they fought, Fenris realised his reactions were not as fast as they used to be; he was sweating already, and his arms ached with the strain of wielding the massive sword and having to block the heavy blows of the massive hammer. He had to start tapping into the power of his brands more to dodge and avoid getting hurt. Krem seemed tireless and the weight of the maul didn’t seem to impede him in any way; he wielded it with effortless skill. Fenris began to bitterly regret his lack of practice recently. He had spent too much time brooding in his room or in Anders’ quarters when he should have been here, in the practice ring. He resolved that he would make more of an effort to get out and train more often.

From the corner of his eye as they both moved around the ring, neither man giving quarter, he was aware of Hal watching, a confused and yet somehow hopeful look on his face. The red-haired mage had eyes only for Fenris.

Fenris was distracted watching him, and Krem darted in. The next thing Fenris knew, he felt something large and heavy crash into his ribs on the right-hand side, sweeping in under his upraised arm. The force of the blow drove all the breath out of him and he heard a loud crack as he was sent flying sideways. He staggered a few steps then fell heavily.

There was a shout, then a brilliant flash of light. From somewhere behind Fenris he heard Krem give a grunt and then there was the sound of a thud as something hit the ground. As the elf looked up there was a swirl of robes, and then Hal was dropping to his knees and reaching his hands towards him.

“You’re hurt - he hurt you - Maker, no, I - Fenris!” 

“It’s...ok...I think.” Fenris groaned. “My ribs, got me in the ribs, fuck me Krem is fast with that thing.”

“Stay still - let me help you,” said Hal as he lifted his hands, already glowing blue with healing energy. “Please?”

“No argument from me, that’s gonna be a terrible bruise later.” Fenris winced as he moved and felt another sharp pain up his side. 

Hal laid his hands gently over Fenris’ ribs, and the elf felt a cool, soothing wash of energy flow over and into him. His lyrium brands tingled a little as he felt the pain ease. After a few minutes, Hal lifted his hands away. “Does that feel better?” he asked.

“Yes... thank you,” Fenris said as he let his head back on the ground and sighed. “Did you ...stun Krem?”

There was a groan from behind them. “Yeah, he got me good. Nice one, Hal - I never even saw that coming.”

Hal looked around. “Oh Maker - Krem, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think - I saw Fenris go down and I... I just reacted. Are you hurt?”

Krem was getting back to his feet. “No, I’m fine; I’ve had worse. You pack quite a punch, Hal - even from half-way across the practice ring.” He grinned. “You OK Fenris?”

“I’ll tell you once I stop feeling like I’m going to throw up. It’s what I get for not practicing.” Fenris slowly rolled over to his hands and knees, then reached for Hal. “A little help please?”

Hal put an arm around Fenris’ waist and took Fenris’ hand, then helped him up. He kept his hand around Fenris’ waist though he let go of the elf’s hand; he remained standing there, looking down at the ground somewhat shyly.

“It’s alright, I’m still dizzy. Can you help me back to the room?” Fenris said with a shake of his head that he regretted. “Bad...bad idea, maybe I should just sit on the bench.”

“Lean on me,” suggested Hal. “Let me help you.”

“Alright, sorry to be a bother. Meant to cheer you up a bit, not frighten you.” Fenris said as he slowly started for the stairs that led into the Keep. “That’s going to take a while.”

“We’ll just take it slow and steady,” replied the mage.

“Do you need a hand?” called Krem.

Fenris glanced at the stairs, then at the slight mage at his side and nodded yes. He hated needing the help but accepted it. Krem laid his maul to one side then came over. He stepped in close to Fenris and pulled the elf’s left arm across his shoulders.

“Come on then, let’s get you back to the room,” said Krem.

Their progress was slow, but between them Krem and Hal managed to get Fenris back to Anders’ room. They paused outside the door.

“Do you need a hand inside?” asked Krem.

“No, it will be fine,” Fenris said hastily. “I... don’t want to disturb Anders too much.”

Krem levelled a sceptical look at him. His voice dropped. “Fenris, let’s drop the pretence. I know Anders isn’t in this room. He’s in Halamshiral with the Inquisitor, isn’t he?” As Fenris gaped at him, Krem shrugged. “The Boss isn’t the only one who can use their eyes. He trained me up. Don’t worry, it’s not like everyone knows. And us Chargers aren’t going to blurt it out - the secret’s safe with us.” He reached out and opened the door. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said.

They got Fenris over to the bed, and Fenris crawled onto it then rolled onto his back, giving a relieved sigh.

“OK, I’ll leave you two to it,” said Krem. “Just give me or any of the Chargers a yell if you need help, OK?”

“We will,” nodded Hal. “And thank you, Krem.”

“No problem,” smiled the mercenary. He threw them both a salute then left, closing the door behind him.

Fenris stared up at the ceiling as he heard Hal moving around, and looked at the red head once he sat down. “Welcome back.”

Hal sat on the edge of the bed, not quite looking at Fenris. “I feel as if I’ve been sleepwalking through a nightmare,” he said quietly. “As if I passed from dreams into the waking world but I was still half in the Fade. I thought none of it was real - that _you_ weren’t real,” he added, finally looking up at Fenris. “I’m sorry. You were worried about me.”

“Yes, we all were. Glad to see you back to yourself Hal.” Fenris rolled to his uninjured side with more effort than he liked. “One of these days I’ll learn to dodge better.”

“That was my fault,” said Hal. “I saw you glance at me just before Krem hit you. Would you like me to see if I can fix that a little more?” 

“If it’s not a bother, yes please.” Fenris said quietly. “I’m sorry Hal, that I have...been distant. I though it would hurt you to see me.”

Hal scooted a little closer to Fenris until he was kneeling on the bed next to the elf. He laid his warm hands on Fenris’ side, and the elf felt the familiar cool wave of the red-head’s healing magic washing through him again, smoothing away the aches and pains and restoring him.

“I... thought you were a ghost - _his_ ghost. I felt overwhelmed by sadness, grief - it was easier not to feel. I almost found myself wishing I were Tranquil again because it would make things so much simpler.More bearable. But when I saw you hurt, something in me just... took over. A flash of Endrin perhaps; I don’t know. I only knew you were hurt and I had to help you.” Hal spoke quietly as he worked on Fenris. “And then, it was like I finally woke up and knew what was going on. As though I’d finally shaken off the nightmare.” His face fell a little. “I still miss him, and knowing that he’s dead... I... it does hurt. I miss him so much.” 

The healing finished, Hal sat silently for a moment, looking down at his hands in his lap; and then slowly, his shoulders began to shake. He breathed in a hoarse ragged breath that then escaped from him in a sob. Then another, and another as he began to cry in earnest. “I-I-I _miss_ h-him, and - and - and it h- _hurts_ so _much!_ ” he managed to gasp out between sobs, the words wrenched painfully from his heart by his grief.

Fenris pulled Hal down to his chest, rubbing circles on the mage’s back as he comforted him. “I’m so sorry Hal, I am here if you wish a poor substitute to lean on.”

Hal curled up against Fenris and buried his face in his hands as he wept. Eventually the convulsive sobs lessened until he was silent apart from little hitches in his breath, his tears finally exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It just... suddenly hit me that I’m trapped here and...and I never had a chance to say goodbye, or tell him I loved him.”’

“I’m sure he knew that Hal, I ...is there anything I can do for you?” Fenris asked quietly as he reached up to massage the back of the other man’s head slow and easy.

Hal glanced up at Fenris, his eyes still reddened from crying. “Please sleep here with me tonight. I can’t bear to be alone right now.”

“Of course, anything you need Hal, alright?” Fenris blew out the candles except for two so there would be some light. He stretched out next to Hal and let the mage hold him close. He gave the young mage a slight smile as they rested together. 

Exhausted from the crying fit, healing, and overwhelmed by the rush of emotion, it wasn’t long before the young mage grew drowsy, drifting off into a light doze there in Fenris’ arms. The elf stared down at Hal’s youthful face, and marvelled at the red-head’s total trust in him.

Fenris brushed some of the red strands from Hal’s face and simply watched him sleep peacefully next to him. He felt more guilt for the young man’s trust in him than anything else. Finally, he stretched out next to Hal, determined for no more than a nap.

When he next opened his eyes, the sun had set and the room was in darkness save for the two candles he’d lit earlier. Hal still slept in his arms; the mage had curled up close to him in his sleep, his head resting against Fenris’ chest over his heart, one arm flung around Fenris’ waist, their legs tangled together.

“Hal… wake up, we should have dinner.” Fenris nudged at the other man, worried he’d wake up convinced the earlier part of the day had been a dream.

The young man’s eyes slowly drifted open and he frowned, his eyes still dreamy and unfocused. “Hmm?” He glanced up at Fenris, then stiffened slightly.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered. “Please tell me this is real - that I didn’t dream everything.”

Fenris looked away as he answered. “Apologies, I’m still not _him_ , you came out of your...spell when I was hurt sparring earlier Hal. You cried yourself out and we fell asleep.” 

“Then it _did_ happen?” Hal’s arms suddenly tightened around Fenris. “You may not be _my_ Fenris, but you’re here, you’re real and I’m not dreaming,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes, very real Hal.” Fenris said as he sat up so he could stretch a bit. “Feel up to eating something?”

Hal sat up and glanced around. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I - I’m hungry.” He got up and glanced around, then with a brief gesture and a spark of power he lit all the candles, brightening the room. He headed over to the wardrobe and pulled out fresh clothes.

“Should we have something sent to us?” he asked. “We’re supposed to be keeping up the pretense that Anders is here sick, aren’t we?” He paused, then turned around to Fenris. “That _is_ right, isn’t it? I didn’t dream that? Maker, this is... I’m not sure what’s actually happened and what I dreamed happened.”

“No, you’re right and considering we don’t know how long they will be gone, we should be seen as little as possible. I hope you don’t mind being with me that much. I’ve ...I’ve not been the best man I could be for a while.” Fenris stepped out to request a tray be brought and that the servant knock rather than just walking in because of how ill warden Anders was.

When he returned, Hal had changed into a clean pair of pants and a light grey shirt, and he was tugging out a long sleeveless tunic in a muted slate blue-grey twill. He tugged it on, then pulled out one of Anders’ night shirts and laid it on the bed. “I’ll wear that tonight and cast a cantrip on myself to raise my body temperature,” he said. “The servants will start to suspect something if there’s never any laundry with sweat stains from a sick man from this room.”

“That’s pretty smart, I’d never have thought of that.” Fenris said as he sat on the bed and waited for their meal. He wanted to hold Hal, or just talk because he was incredibly lonely without everyone around. He had permission to go so far, but he didn’t know if Hal was getting his comfort from Bull.

Hal wandered around the room, touching his fingers lightly to the workbench, the desk, the book cases and the table as though seeing them for the first time, reassuring himself that everything was real and solid before he walked back to the bed and sat down next to Fenris. After a moment, he hesitantly leaned over to rest his head against Fenris’ shoulder.

Fenris turned his head and tentatively kissed Hal’s head. “Would you think me weak if I asked to be held?” 

Hal glanced up at Fenris. “You could never be weak,” he said softly as he slipped his arms around the elf and held him close. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against Fenris’ shoulder again, and after a minute, a small smile spread upon his lips.

That made the elf chuckle cynically. “Oh but I can Hal, oh but I can.” Fenris turned until he was resting on Hal’s chest, arm across the younger man’s waist and his leg curved around Hal’s. “I’m weak, pathetic and lonely.”

“You are not pathetic,” denied Hal. “And... I understand the loneliness.” He let his fingers drift to Fenris’ hair and gently stroked it. “Is this...OK?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, it’s nice, really nice.” Fenris said softly as he curled tighter against Hal and let his tears fall silently as he tried to keep himself from falling apart when Hal had just come back to himself. 

Hal felt the front of his shirt becoming damp. “Fenris?” he said quietly, startled. “Are you alright?”

“No...but don’t worry yourself over me. I, I miss them and I’ve been such an asshole to everyone I’m afraid they’ll realize they don’t need me to be happy.” Fenris admitted finally, he’d written it out several times but he finally said it out loud.

“No, no - they do love you, I’m sure of it,” argued Hal. His hand drifted over Fenris’ hair then down to rub gently at the back of his neck. His fingers itched to touch the silvery lyrium swirls but he resisted. “Anders worries for you. Zevran loves you more than life itself - he wouldn’t have gotten so angry with you if he didn’t love you. And Hawke....” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t speak for Invictus. He was Endrin, and as Endrin he, too, loved the elf more than life itself. More than that, as _Hal_ he loved him as well. Loved _his_ elf. But the lines were blurring; this Fenris smelled familiar - that same scent of sword oil, leather and lyrium and that faint musk that was undeniably _Fenris_ \- and he couldn’t help but respond to it on an almost instinctive level. “I - he loves you, Fenris. I am sure of it. He has loved you for so long. A love like that cannot just die away in a matter of a few weeks or even months. They know you have not been yourself.”

“I fell to my weakness Hal. I went with Belann because I was scared and felt unheard and weak. I hurt them so much. I though Vic was going to murder me with the look in his eyes. Zevran took a blade to me!” Fenris fell silent as he collected himself. “Apologies, I’m supposed to be comforting you tonight.” 

Hal blinked. “ _Supposed_ to be?” he echoed. “Because... I asked you to stay? Or because...” He frowned a little. “Fenris, were you told to watch me?”

“No, not at all. I wanted to comfort you after your upset earlier. I shouldn’t be sobbing on your shoulder like damned child.” Fenris rubbed at his eyes before he looked up to Hal with a sad smile. “Guess I’m not as ok as I thought.”

Hal stared down at Fenris;’ tear-streaked face; slowly he lifted a hand to gently wipe away a tear from the elf’s cheek. His gaze lowered to Fenris’ lips, briefly licking his own nervously. 

He remembered kissing those lips once before; it seemed a lifetime ago, a thousand miles away, and the memory was blurred and overlaid with memories of countless times Hal had kissed Fenris; with all the times Endrin had kissed him. Three different Fenrises, and he found it harder and harder to separate them all in his mind. 

Fenris felt the young mage tremble as he stared at Fenris’ lips as though transfixed. He watched as Hal’s tongue darted nervously out to sweep across his own lower lip briefly.

The elf closed the gap to kiss Hal again, his eyes closed and fresh tears fell. He knew he had permission but it still played with his head as he felt the other man embrace him. Hal whimpered faintly as he melted into the kiss; a sound of longing. Slowly Hal lay back upon the bed, drawing Fenris with him, neither one breaking the kiss until Fenris was crouched upon hands and knees over the young mage, who opened his eyes slowly as the kiss was broken and their lips parted. Hal reached for Fenris with another small whimper.

“What do you need from me? How far will you want to go? I have permission but I will not push you beyond your limits.” Fenris said as he was pulled down to the bed and found himself on his back and staring up at the younger mage.

“I have lost track of how many times you have told me that,” murmured Hal faintly. “You have never pushed me too far. Wherever you have led me, in all worlds, you never took me beyond what I could handle. I trust you. I have always trusted you.”

“It’s me I don’t trust sometimes Hal. Tell me, what do you wish? Lead me.” Fenris said as he watched the other man for a sense of what he might want and need from him.

Hal threaded his fingers into Fenris’ hair, his eyes sliding half-closed as he opened his mouth to speak; whatever he would have said was lost as there came a loud knock at the door which startled them both.

“Maker, I’m getting jumpy. Let me up to get that, you get under the covers.” Fenris said as he took a moment to calm himself before he got the door. 

“Thank you, I’ll take that.” he held his hands out for the tray and gave the servant a polite smile.

“Is Warden Anders no better, ser?” asked the servant sympathetically. From the room behind Fenris came a weak, pathetic moan from the hunched body bundled under the covers of the bed. 

“He’s not, if you can let the others know not to disturb us until tomorrow it would be appreciated. I’ll leave the tray out later tonight. Thank you messere.” Fenris shut the door quickly and set the tray down. “Come eat, and we can talk before anything else happens.”

Hal threw back the covers and sat up, his cheeks flushed and his hair dishevelled where it had come loose from his braid. He scrambled out of the bed then brushed stray strands of hair back out of his face, tucking them behind his ears as he straightened his tunic. He turned to the cupboard where Anders kept a few bottles of wine and set one on the table before taking a seat.

Fenris uncorked the wine with a flare of his markings and took a long pull straight from the bottle before handing it to Hal, whose hand lingered over his. Hal’s breath quickened at the contact before he turned to pour a glass for himself. He passed the rest of the bottle back to Fenris, his breath catching briefly as their fingers brushed again.

“Hal, do you ...what do you need, just tell me and if I can give myself to you, it’s yours.” Fenris said as he took the other man’s hand in his. 

Hal took a hasty mouthful of his wine to steady himself before setting the glass down and turning to Fenris. “It’s less... what I _need_... I think,” he said softly. “More what I _want_. Except... I can’t separate the two in my head or my heart. It’s less that I want you to give yourself to me and....” His voice trailed off as he blushed. “Maker, why is this so hard?” He put a hand to his forehead and winced as his fingers touched the scarred sunburst on his forehead. “I want... need maybe? I...want to give myself to you. I...” He made a faint whining noise in the back of his throat. “This is... Maker. I don’t know how to say this.” He glanced up at Fenris, a lost look in his eyes. “Help me. Lead me,” he whispered. “The - the Iron Bull... he just _knew_ what I needed. It’s hazy, like a dream, but... I know I wanted it. Needed it. Almost as much as I.... I need... you.”

There. He’d said it, his heart thundering in his chest until it seemed a wonder that Fenris couldn’t hear it too.

“You need what Bull gave you, from me?” Fenris asked after another drink. He went over to Hal’s side of the table and kissed him, just a long, slow kiss to calm them both. “You need me to guide you?” he asked again in a low rumble. Hal nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He leaned into Fenris’ touch and bent in to kiss the elf again, lightly, gently.

Fenris returned the kiss, slow and lingering. As their lips parted, the elf smiled gently then took a step backwards, his hand claiming that of Hal. He drew the mage towards the bed, their meal forgotten.

***

Belann strode the high walkway of the battlements, glancing out across the deep valley to the mountains. The evening air was cold and chill with a promise of yet more snow whispering upon the wind. He pulled the fur-lined warden cloak closer around himself.

As he passed a sentry, the man saluted him. “Evening ser.”

“As you were,” Belann replied automatically, not pausing in his footsteps. How often had he done this at Vigil’s Keep when he couldn’t sleep? Though this was not his world, this, at least, was familiar; the pacing of the high walls, the view of the mountains, the cold night air and the greetings from the sentries as he passed. They wore the brown and silverite of the Inquisition rather than Warden blue and grey, but in all other respects it was much the same.

He didn’t belong here, but there was no way to get back. The rift they had fallen through had been closed, and he had been too far back to be able to dive into the rift at Adamant. He was slowly becoming resigned to the likelihood that he would live out what remained of his life here, in this world. Perhaps ten years, if he was lucky; he knew that Warden mages came to their Calling sooner than others. No-one knew why; it was just one of those things. If you came to the Joining as a mage, you got fifteen, maybe twenty years, tops. Anyone else would get maybe thirty years. He hadn’t known the odds when Duncan led him through the Joining, but better he joined the Wardens than remain in the Tower for whatever punishment Greagoir and Irving decreed after he’d helped Jowan escape. Death or Tranquil; it made the Joining seem the only choice.

It was on the way to Ostagar and the Joining that Belann had cast aside his mage’s robes - and with it his former self. He’d left as Belanna Amell, the overly tall, plain, boyish-looking girl who had flirted with Cullen and made him blush. He took the Joining as Belann, the long blonde curls hacked short, chest bound, in men’s clothes and feeling truly himself for the first time, no longer living a lie. Few had ever learned his secret. Cantrips and healing magic gave him stubble, deepened his voice a little; but it could not take away what nature had given him and give him what he wished he had between his legs. But it was enough.

And now he lived in a world where he felt wrong again - where another had his name, was the hero of Ferelden, and he was the false one, the interloper, something he wasn’t. It was unpleasant, disquieting. He slept poorly. He'd caused conflict with Hawke, Zevran, Anders - all because in a moment of lonely weakness he'd offered a hand of friendship to Fenris that led to something more. Something they both regretted. He'd avoided all four men ever since, keeping to himself. He knew Fenris had remained behind with Hal, but though he had become good friends with the young mage as they'd journeyed together in their own world, he avoided the young mage now. He couldn't help Hal - though at first, on that long trip back from Adamant, Maker knows he'd tried. And he avoided Fenris altogether. He didn't want to complicate things further for the elf.

The other wardens, Loghain and Nathaniel, had left two weeks ago with the Orlesian Wardens. The Orlesians had been exiled from Orlais, cast out by order of the Inquisition. They would go to Weisshaupt, where they would become the problem of the First Warden. Loghain and Nathaniel were going as well, to give a full report before returning to Vigil’s Keep.

Belann had remained behind. He wasn’t the Hero in this world - merely one more Warden, with no place to call home and no orders. Skyhold was as good a place as any to be, he supposed. The three-bed dormer room he’d shared with the other two Wardens seemed cold and empty with only him.

Solona had been left behind. She was locked away in the dungeons below Skyhold, uncommunicative. The Inquisitor had not yet decided her fate; he would deal with her on his return from Halamshiral.

Belann found himself growing curious about the woman who had his name. Evidently she also resembled him, at least superficially enough that Anders and Hawke had mistaken him for her at first. He hadn’t gotten the whole story as to what had happened to her; blood magic was involved somewhere, she was somehow responsible for the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall - and not Anders, though evidently he was still blamed for it, much as he had been in Belann’s own world - and she had done something to the blond apostate, who apparently had been too ill to accompany the Inquisitor to Halamshiral. Fenris had remained behind to look after him.

Lost in his own thoughts, it was only when a guard greeted him that he realised he had taken the stairs down off the battlements and made his way into the keep proper, his feet taking him down towards the dungeons. 

And yet, why not? Maybe he could talk to Solona. At the very least, he would look upon the woman who had his name.

She was in one of the private cells. There were not that many of those; it wasn’t difficult to find the right one. The guards were deferential too him; he was a Warden who had accompanied the Inquisitor, after all. The guard before Solona’s prison door gave him a respectful nod.

“I wish to speak to the prisoner privately,” Belann told him. The guard stared at him, nonplussed, for a moment; his orders had said nothing about the prisoner having visitors. Then again, they hadn’t said she _couldn’t_ , either - and this visitor was a Warden.

“Very good, ser,” the guard nodded, unlocking the door. Belann forestalled him with a hand on the guard’s shoulder. 

“Keep your ears open. Can you write?”

“Yes, ser,” said the guard slowly.

“Listen carefully then. If she begins to talk, write down everything she says.”

The guard’s eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, ser.”

Belann nodded his thanks and stepped in, the guard locking the door again behind him.

Solona sat in a huddle by the far wall. Manacles bound her wrists; even from here, Belann could feel the enchantments that blocked her magic. No doubt her food was laced with magebane as well; perhaps that had contributed to her reluctance to talk.

Belann crouched down before her. “Solona Amell?” he asked softly.

She lifted her head slowly, and stared at him; and he realised why it was that the others had mistaken him for her at first. Her hair was black, but otherwise she could have been his sister.

Perhaps something of that recognition had dawned in her too, as she stared up at him. “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice cracked and broken. “Are we... related? You look like you could be my brother.”

And why not? It would be a lie... but he was already living a lie just by existing in this world.

“I’m Belann,” he said. “Belann Amell.”

Her eyes widened. “They never told me I had a brother!” she gasped. She stared at his Warden mage’s uniform. “They - they must have taken us to separate Circles - which one? Where were you? I never knew!” She flung herself forward, her chains rattling, as she clutched at him; his hands came up to encircle her shoulders as she pressed herself against him. “I never knew!” she wept. “Which Circle?”

“Ostwick,” he lied.

“But... how did you get out? When did you join?”

He thought fast. “When the Circle was dissolved. Weisshaupt offered amnesty to any mages that wished to take the Joining. I... was sent to investigate the disappearance of the Wardens in Orlais.” _That much is true, at least, though it hadn’t been Weisshaupt that sent me._

“They never told me I had a brother!” Solona wept. “Damn them, that’s _not fair!_ ”

He tried to soothe her, stroking her black hair. He found it hard to believe this broken woman, weeping almost hysterically, could have been responsible for the acts attributed to her.

“Solona, what happened to you? I know you were the Hero of Ferelden. How did you come to be one of Corypheus’ thralls?” he asked gently.

“I heard him,” she sniffed, sitting back as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the manacles around her wrists clinking. “He called to me. On Seheron. I dreamed of him, and... he promised he could help me. I didn’t know what he was, but I knew I had to find out. But before I found him, he found me. In my dreams.” She began to cry again. “I was too weak! He took me over. I couldn’t fight him; I was tired, hurt, in pain, almost out of my head with worry for Anders and Zevran, and in my weakness he came to me in the Fade and I couldn’t fight him off.” 

She buried her face in her hands. “It was horrible - horrible beyond words. I’ve seen, done things... such terrible things. I- I used _blood magic_ , on Anders of all people! The things I did to him - made him do, and... Maker, I didn’t want to, but... he was supposed to die in Kirkwall. Corypheus wanted him dead; he had no further use for him once the chantry was destroyed. Corypheus wanted a war - a war between mages and templars, and by Andraste’s ashes he got one. He wanted the mages. He’d gotten the Venatori already, but he wanted more; an army of mages calling up demons for him. So he went after the Wardens.”

She scrubbed at her eyes. “What must you think of me? Not such a great reunion with your long-lost sister, huh?” She tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a sob. “Corypheus let me go after the Inquisitor did... whatever he did in the Fade; we were all released at the same time, and... and I... I knew everything I’d done. All the horrible, terrible things he’d made me do. He didn’t need me any more; I was useless to him.” She looked at Belann hopelessly. “He’s going to execute me when he gets back, isn’t he? The Inquisitor? Maker knows, I deserve it.”

“You weren’t in your right mind,” said Belann quietly.

“That won’t matter to the Inquisitor,” she said brokenly. “I’ll hang, and it will serve me right. I was too weak. I let him in.”

“I’ll testify as your witness,” said Belann.

“The word of one man? Against what I’ve done?” she laughed, a little hysterically. “He’ll say you’re making it up.”

“Guard,” Belann called.

“Ser?”

“Did you hear everything? The whole conversation?” he asked.

“Every word, ser. It’s as true an account as I can make it,” the guard replied. “Though, Maker knows what the Inquisitor will make of it.”

“Solona, you have to write it out yourself. All of it. The Inquisitor will have to see it - between that, the guard’s account and my testimony, he must see that you have also been a victim of Corypheus’ machinations,” he said. “Do you know, he formally pardoned Anders? In front of the whole army, on the way to the Western Approach?” 

“He did that?” said Solona, wonderingly. As Belann nodded, she finally managed a small, trembling smile. “Oh, I am so glad,” she said gratefully. “Anders never deserved any of that.”

“Then you’ll write it?” said Belann.

“My confession, you mean?” she replied. “Yes. I’ll write it - but only because _you_ asked me to.”

“That’s all I ask,” replied Belann.

“Will you... will you stay? For a little while?” begged Solona quietly. “I’ve been so lonely down here. It’s... it’s almost as bad as the isolation cells beneath Kinloch. They kept Anders in isolation for a whole _year_ in the dark, and I... I can’t stop thinking about it. They let me have one candle, but... when it goes out... the dreams come, and I’m terrified that I’ll be forgotten down here. I’m not sure that I wouldn’t rather face hanging than that.”

“I’ll make them bring more lights,” Belann promised. “Maybe we can get you moved to a room. You’d still have to be manacled I dare say, and every meal will have magebane - but I don’t see why you should have to be locked up in the dark like this.”

She threw herself into his arms, clutching him tightly. “Stay with me, Belann. Brother. I don’t have anyone else in the world now.”

“I’ll stay,” he promised.

***

In the afterglow of their lovemaking, it had taken Hal a few minutes to pull himself together enough to help Fenris clean up and take care of himself. He was still sweating a little when he pulled on Anders’ nightshirt. His mind was still pleasantly fogged by what they had done as he worked a cantrip upon himself to raise his body temperature; he slipped into sleep easily as Fenris hugged him.

It was not so pleasant when he drifted awake to find himself feverish; he was drenched in sweat, and he felt terrible. His head was aching, and he felt half-delirious. He desperately needed water.

“Fenris... Fen,” he managed to murmur; and then he moaned. He ached; every joint seemed to throb.

He should have anticipated this, of course; by raising his core temperature like that, his body had assumed he was ill and reacted accordingly, rallying its defenses. Not finding a source of infection, it had turned upon itself; and he was ill for real. 

He tried to summon even a little healing magic, but his head ached too badly to concentrate. He knew that healing potions wouldn’t do anything; he wasn’t hurt, this was his body reacting to itself. Elfroot might take the edge off the headache, but he would have to ride this out, endure it as best he could.

He almost laughed as he reflected that this would make their charade all the more realistic. There was a sick man in Anders’ rooms indeed, now.

He moaned, tossing and turning, by turns feeling like his skin was on fire and then that he was freezing. The nightshirt was drenched in sweat. He moaned again.

Eventually he drifted to sleep. His dreams were strange, lurid, fever-induced nightmares, and he drifted between sleep and a half-awake state, still dreaming fever dreams until he slipped into unconsciousness again.

Fenris woke to find Hal tossing and turning, burning up from fever as he muttered to himself deliriously.

“Hal, Hal!” Fenris called out in a panic. “What’s wrong?” 

Hal’s eyes opened; they were too bright, glazed and feverish. He rolled his head to look at Fenris.

“Made a mistake. Should have known. Raised temperature... body fighting itself,” he murmured, then moaned. “Sorry... sorry, I’m... I’m sick,” he managed. “For real. Too hot. Head aches.” He rolled his head on the pillow, turning away from the elf with a piteous moan.

“Let me get a cold cloth and healing potion.” Fenris gathered things he needed with worry. He didn’t think Hal would make himself so sick by pretending. He laid a cold cloth over the mage’s forehead and tried to get him to take a healing potion.

Hal turned his face away. “No... won’t work,” he sighed. “Not hurt. This is just my body reacting to itself.” He coughed, then winced. “Got to... got to just ride it out.” He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Damn...I guess our charade will be a bit too convincing. What can I get for you then?” Fenris said as he looked in worry at the younger man.

“Water... water, please,” moaned Hal. “So thirsty....”

“Of course.” Fenris hopped up to take care of Hal, worried that he wouldn’t be able to do what the mage needed before he realized he could take care of a simple fever. “Maker, I’m panicking over Hal like a mother hen.”

The young man sipped at the cool water before falling back onto the pillows. He clutched fitfully at the covers then turned his face away as he weakly tried to kick the blankets off.

“Easy there, easy. I’ll get more water and some broth for you.” Fenris said as he laid another cool cloth on Hal’s forehead. While he tidied the room, the elven fighter wondered how the others were doing in Orlais.

Hal rolled onto his side and shivered as he curled in upon himself, sweating and miserable. He couldn’t pull two thoughts together long enough to concentrate on healing magic. He longed for Anders’ healing touch as he lay in the mage’s bed, but Anders was several hundred miles away.

Halamshiral. The name followed him down into fever dreams as a fitful sleep claimed him once more.


	44. Chapter 44

Hawke hated the Game, especially after half the night spent playing it with minor nobles more interested in petty squabbles and fashion than the giant hole in the sky. He’d taken a bath once Anders was settled with potions and a bath. 

He hated being idle but there was too much at risk to just leave Anders to the tender care of some court healer. 

Anders had slept for a while, exhausted though restored somewhat by the potions. Three hours later, he woke and stumbled back into the drawing room where Hawke was pacing restlessly.

“Hello love,” said the tall mage quietly. “Maker, but I needed that. I was shattered.” He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back out of his face. He cast a quick Rejuvenate on himself just to dispel the last fleeting remnants of sleepiness. “That’s better. So, what do we do now? Do we wait for the others, or do you want to return to the ball?”

“Let’s return, so there aren’t more rumors about the frail Lord Pavus, hmm?” Vic said distractedly. “ _I hate this place, and I miss Fenris._ ” he muttered in Tevene.

“ _Give me a moment to change,_ ” said Anders, slipping easily back into Tevene. “ _And... I miss him too,_ ” he said wistfully.

Anders disappeared back into the bedroom, emerging fifteen minutes later in a different set of robes. These were dark blue with golden butterflies rising up from the hem. An asymmetrical cut as the other robes were, a long, loose and full sleeve covered his right arm whilst his left was bare; a snaking golden bangle wound up his left forearm, another curling about his bicep. He’d straightened and neatened his hair and touched up the eyeliner slightly.

“ _I’m ready_ ,” he said.

“Maker...it’s like you are someone else entirely.” Hawke whispered.

Anders coloured slightly. “ _I have no idea where Dorian got all these outfits from,_ ”, he said. “ _They don’t really seem the kind of thing he would wear - and they fit too well besides._ ”

_“I’m sure he had them made, and I bet he would wear them love.”_ Vic said in Tevene before he leaned in for a brief kiss on the cheek. _It’s killing me not to be able to touch you as freely as I want, especially when you look so damned dashing._ ”

Anders smiled gently. “ _It’s frustrating for me too, love,_ ” he answered. “ _Come on, we’d best get back before Zevran gets himself into trouble._ ” He grinned.

The journey back to the palace passed uneventfully. The return of Lord Pavus caused a small ripple, and Anders and Hawke shortly found themselves surrounded by a large group of admirers. Several ladies were fawning over Anders, gushing over the style and cut of his robes and approving of how he’d fitted in so perfectly with Orlesian style by returning in a completely new outfit. There were several men also giving him admiring glances, and Anders twitched and jerked from unwanted caresses and pinches to his backside as he and Hawke tried to make their way through the throng. There were several inquiries after his health; Anders smiled vaguely at them and pretended not to understand.

“I beg your pardon lords and ladies, however Lord Pavus is versed just in Tevene as you know. I will translate your adoration of him later and convey your compliments and good wishes. For now, we must be on our way to meet our companions. Thank you.” Invictus gave them a bow and hurried Antonius away from the crowd.

“ _Maker, I think my arse is going to be black and blue tomorrow,_ ” Anders muttered. “ _We need to find the others quickly, they-_ ” He broke off as he caught sight of a dark-haired woman in a dark red and black ballgown slowly descending a curved set of stairs leading into the ballroom. 

“I know her,” he muttered, dropping back into Trade without thinking.

“ _Who, dear Lord Pavus?_ ” Vic replied quietly. Anders coloured, then coughed.

“ _Sorry,_ ” he replied. “ _I was startled. That woman on the stairs. I know her. What in Thedas is she doing here?_ ” He abruptly tugged on Hawke’s arm, leading them on further away from the stairs. “ _I need to stay out of sight. If I can recognise her then she’s bound to recognise me, which is the last thing we want._ ”

“Ah, Champion! I see Lord Pavus has recovered then?” said Cullen as they nearly ran into him. “Steady there!” he added to Anders as he caught his arm when the mage stumbled. He glanced to Hawke. “What’s happened? Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Anders glanced to Hawke. “ _That woman was Morrigan. Flemeth’s daughter,_ ” he said.

Cullen frowned, not understanding, and turned to Hawke for a translation.

“Witch of the Wilds, that’s Morrigan. She traveled with the Hero for a bit. You don’t recognize her at all?” Vic asked.

Cullen started, his eyes going distant for a moment. He glanced round, scanning the room until finally he spotted her. His breath caught in his chest, and his face grew paler. He stood stock still for a moment before wrenching his gaze away. “I’m... I’m sorry, I...” He glanced away to regain his composure.

“Cullen,” said Anders quietly. “It’s alright. You’re going to be fine. Kinloch is behind both of us.”

“Yes, it is,” said Cullen heavily. When he glanced back, he’d pulled himself together again. He leaned in close to Anders and murmured something in his ear that Hawke couldn’t quite catch. Anders patted him on the shoulder and murmured something back. Cullen slowly nodded then straightened. “Well. I’m not sure what she’s doing here, but I think the Inquisitor needs to know this. Come on, let’s go find him.”

“Yes, let’s and remember Lord Pavus that the few words of Trade you know aren’t enough to carry a conversation, eh?” Vic reminded him.

Anders glanced at Hawke and shook his head before turning to follow Cullen.

Hawke followed them to Meneris, watchful for anyone who lingered too long near their group. He couldn’t see Zevran but that was for the best. If he was spotted things were going to go to the Void in a handbasket pretty quickly.

Cullen pressed forward towards the Inquisitor. “Inquisitor, there is a woman here - a dangerous woman,” he said in a low voice as he bent down so his mouth was next to Meneris’ ear. “She is the daughter of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. She may well recognise either myself, Anders or both of us. I have no idea what she’s doing here, but whatever happens I would advise you not to trust her. Morrigan is a deceitful witch.”

“As you say then, let us hope she doesn’t recognize either of you.” Meneris said quietly as he glanced away from Morrigan and to Dorian. “Perhaps Altus Pavus can negotiate for me?” 

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” said Dorian, inclining his head. He glanced at Anders, who nodded towards the raven-haired woman who was now sweeping down the stairs and staring towards their group. Dorian started walking towards her. As he drew nearer, he flashed her a devastatingly charming smile.

“Ah I see that the Inquisitor takes no chances, tis a wise man indeed to send you ahead of him. Your name serah?” Morrigan asked.

Dorian swept into a deep bow. “Dorian Pavus, Altus of that house, of Minrathous my lady,” he said then straightened, still with that charming smile. “Dear lady, might I inquire your name?”

“Lady Morrigan, Imperial liaison to the Crown of Orlais. Might I ask what one of the Grey is doing here after they have been banished by the Inquisition?” She gave him a knowing wink as she looked past him right at Anders. “Make that two of you.”

Dorian didn’t miss a beat or blink an eye. “Ah, a long tale indeed, lovely lady. I am glad to make your acquaintance.” He took her hand and bestowed a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand, glancing up at her with a smile that made the skin at the edge of his gentle grey eyes crinkle a little. “The Empress must trust you greatly, my lady; it is my honour to meet you.”

“Smooth, very smooth. You play the game well ser...rather Altus Pavus. We should retire to a private salon yes? I do believe your ...cousin needs a fainting couch, after all being away from home after so long is tiring, is it not?” Morrigan grinned at them before she turned and bade them follow.

Dorian glanced back at Meneris, then at Anders who was indeed looking rather pale and a little queasy. Then he turned to follow Morrigan as the rest of the group glanced at each other then began to follow her through the crowd.

She led them deftly to her office near the library and shut the door behind Hawke as he squeezed by Dorian. “Now, perhaps we can drop the charade gentlemen and tell me why the Inquisition is here with the Champion, two wardens, a former templar and I believe Zevran is skulking about somewhere.”

Anders glanced at Hawke, then Meneris, and then Cullen before he stepped forward. “Hello Morrigan,” he said a little wearily. “It’s been a while.”

“Lovely look you’ve got there Anders. The work of your Tevinter brother in arms I see?” Morrigan said as she embraced him briefly before she turned to Cullen.

“Oh do stop looking as if I will bespell you templar. I’ve no axe to grind with you.” she took a seat and waited for Meneris or someone to enlighten her.

“Forgive me, I... was not exactly at my best when last we met,” said Cullen stiffly. His face was still rather pale. “I wasn’t really in any fit state to be appreciative of the efforts of _any_ mage at that point. My... views on mages have had cause to... change,” he added slowly, glancing to Dorian and then back to Anders, his gaze lingering for a moment before turning back to Morrigan. “May I present to you Meneris Lavellan, Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste.”

Anders glanced around and spotted a couch; he dropped into a seat and merely watched as Cullen introduced the others.

“Greetings Madame Morrigan.” Meneris gave her a slight bow before he glanced to Hawke. “It seems you have us at a disadvantage, as you know all of us already.’

“Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds,” said Anders, not taking his eyes off her. “Meneris, you would have heard of her mother as Asha’Bellanar.”

“Ah, yes. We have heard tales of her. But I believe friend Hawke met her on his travels yes?” Meneris deflected.

“As did I,” said Anders. “I was with Hawke when we encountered her.” He kept silent on the subject of how Flemeth had actually appeared. “Morrigan and I travelled for a while together with - with Solona,” he added quietly.

“So we’re all acquainted or connected, lovely. Let us get to the point. Why do you know all of our secrets Morrigan and what is it you want from us?” Invictus asked.

“The lovely lady Morrigan is an Imperial adviser,” said Dorian, inclining his head towards Morrigan. “Doubtless she has gathered us here for similar reasons to our own appearance here.”

There was a low chuckle from behind Morrigan. “Playing your games again, my dear?” said Zevran as he stepped out of the shadows. “Almost like old times.”

“And the gang’s all here, so let’s get to it for once. I’m rather tired of the Game as my companions can tell you.” Meneris said as he turned to her. 

“There’s a plot against Celene, I aim to stop it and would welcome your help since it appears you wish to stop it as well. Plain enough for you, Inquisitor?” Morrigan shifted aside to let Zevran go to Invictus and Anders. Zevran merely grinned and perched himself on the edge of her desk next to her.

“Did you deal with the last Crow?” Anders asked the Antivan elf. Zevran merely grinned at him.

“That’ll be a yeah.” Hawke said before he looked to the others. “So hear anything good while we were away Inquisitor?” 

“Many things, but we need to get into the rooms nearest the library and the servants’ quarters near the stairs. Those two areas show the most promise.” Meneris told them.

“There are several bodies in the servants’ quarters,” said Zevran quietly, no longer smiling. “And no, before you ask - I did not put them there. Gaspard is plotting against Briala. It would be well to focus on the library rooms.” Zevran drew a dagger from his belt and tossed it onto the desk in front of Morrigan. “I found that in the heart of a body in the courtyard,” he said quietly. “I believe the corpse was formerly the emissary of the Council of Heralds. You will note the crest upon the dagger.”

“Ah I see. Well, this puts a crimp in things. Come we must investigate these rooms, a few of us so we don’t draw attention. Who wishes to accompany us?” Morrigan said as she handed the dagger back.

Anders stood. “I’ll go find Maevaris and see if we can put on enough of a show in the ballroom to attract and hold attention there,” he suggested.

“And I shall go seek Briala,” said Zevran. “I have spoken to several of her people already.”

“Then that leaves Hawke, Dorian, Cullen and me. If that suits you gentlemen?” Morrigan reached into her desk for a small belt with lyrium and other things she tucked into her skirts. “Ready when you all are.”

Anders nodded. He headed for the door, pausing by Hawke to briefly kiss him. “Be safe, love,” he breathed quietly. He hugged the other man, then nodded to Cullen and Dorian.

“Mae was talking to Varric on the balcony when last I saw her,” the Tevinter Altus murmured quietly to him.

“Thanks,” said Anders. He squared his shoulders then headed back to the ballroom in search of the Magister.

Whilst the others were bid goodbye by Anders, Zevran quietly departed back the way he had come, through the window. He headed swiftly off in search of Briala, the dagger with the Chalon crest firmly tucked into his belt.

“You take me on such lovely dates Dorian.” Meneris said with a low laugh. 

“Merely returning the favour, Meneris,” replied Dorian. “Maker knows, you’ve dragged me to some... _interesting_ places of late. At least this one is actually civilized. The wine is decent, for a start.” 

“I suggest you find your arms and armor, just in case we find those behind the plot.” Morrigan said as she sheathed her staff. 

“This way, Inquisitor, Champion - Dorian,” said Cullen. He led them off to one of the other salons, where several Inquisition people stood guard. 

“Commander,” said one of the guards, saluting.

“Be on the alert,” Cullen warned him. “There may be trouble.” He headed into the room and the others followed.

Their armour, weapons and the mages’ staffs were all laid out, ready for changing swiftly. Dorian opted to simply grab his staff and strip off the red jacket; it would take too long wrestling with all the buckles of his usual garb. Two guards were busy assisting Cullen into his armour. Two more stood by ready to assist Meneris and Hawke.

Hawke got himself ready and waved off help, he’d gotten in and out of his Champion gear more times than he could count. 

Meneris let Dorian help him then made sure the Altus got into his Inquisition provided armor with as little fuss as possible. “There we should be ready, and I hope no one is in warden attire.” 

“Why would they be?” asked Dorian. “I don’t _sense_ any wardens - then again, I’m still getting used to this whole warden business.” He frowned.

“Barred from Orlais, remember love?” Meneris reminded him gently. “It is good gear though, but I don’t want to have to break out half our group either. Let’s get going.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dorian quietly. “It would be too much to hope they’d all gone to Weisshaupt with Nathaniel and Loghain.” He frowned slightly remembering Belann had remained behind.

“I”m sure they are fine.” Meneris said as he turned to Morrigan. “Lead on madam.”

Dorian walked beside the Inquisitor, Cullen and Hawke following up behind. The Commander loosened his sword in its sheathe, glancing at Hawke.

“Easy Templar, easy now. Don’t draw attention.” Morrigan murmured as she led them to the room and frowned at the bloody scene before them. “Tis a shame, we were not first here.” 

Dorian kneeled by a body, turning it over slowly. “Well, this wasn’t Zevran; not a clean enough kill for a start,” he shrugged.

“Nor is this one,’ Meneris said as he rose with some blood spattered parchment in hand. “More evidence against Gaspard. I wonder if there’s such damning evidence against Briala,” the Inquisitor mused.

“With any luck, Zevran will uncover it, if it exists,” suggested Cullen. “She’d likely trust an elf over any of us and maybe she’d let something slip.”

“Let us keep looking,” suggested Dorian.

“Damn this place, full of deceit in every dark corner.” Meneris huffed.

“I concur, but we should follow the bloody trail our predecessors left us.” Hawke said tiredly.

Dorian rose and picked his way with almost fastidious care between the bodies scattered bloodily around the room. Cullen followed, a frown on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Maker, man, you act like you’ve never seen bodies before.” Meneris whispered to Dorian as they followed Morrigan to an adjacent room, and more slaughter.

“Not so,” Dorian demurred quietly. “I merely wish to avoid bloodying my boots. They _are_ new, after all - and blood would be viewed askance on the dance floor later.” He gave Meneris a sharp look. “We _are_ going to dance, yes?”

“If we must; how can you even think of dancing at a time like this, or fashion?” Meneris asked.

“Are you surprised at all, Inquisitor?” Hawke asked as they wandered around the room seeking clues. 

Morrigan found evidence of magic cast in the room but not quite what spells were used. “Twas a battle I see, a combination of magic and blade.” 

Dorian frowned, extending his own senses out. His expression darkened as he looked up at Meneris. “Venatori,” he said quietly. “I’d stake my life on it.”

“Damned vermin. Well we know our prey, let us …” Meneris frowned as he heard the bell tolling. “We may need to reappear for a bit. Hawke and Cullen, keep on this until we can slip from the dance. Come on, love, you wanted a dance - let’s give them one.” 

Dorian nodded as he picked his way back through the bodies, already unfastening his Inquisition armour as he moved. By the time he and Meneris got back to their arming room he was able to throw it aside as he reached for the red jacket.

He and Meneris swiftly made their way back to the ballroom. Through the throng, they could just spy Anders leading Maevaris off the dancefloor.

“Care for a dance my love?” Meneris offered his hand to Dorian with a smile.

“Thought you’d never ask,” murmured Dorian as he glided into Meneris’ arms and they stepped out onto the dance floor. Off to the side, Maevaris leaned into Anders’ arms, both smiling as they watched the Inquisitor and his mage lover dancing.

“Now _that’s_ a fascinating sight,” murmured Dorian as Meneris whirled him around the dance floor.

“Maevaris and Lord Pavus or something else caught your eye my heart?” Meneris replied just before he was dipped and pulled back to his feet.

“Mae and Antonius,” replied Dorian. “I had no idea he swung both ways; I was sure he were an invert just as I am. I’m surprised I misread him so.”

“Oh love, you are blind as a nug at times.” Meneris chuckled.

“Hmm, I wonder if Hawke should be worried,” smiled Dorian. He twirled Meneris around then dipped him again; the surprised Inquisitor got a view of Anders and Maevaris upside down as Anders murmured something in Maevaris’ ear and her eyes fluttered closed. Then he was pulled swiftly upright and whirled away again.

“See what I mean?” purred Dorian.

“Well it might be a bit of a scandal, yes? Or just… the distraction we need. Encourage them, love?” Meneris whispered in Dorian’s ear. 

The dance ended and then another struck up; Dorian led Meneris off the dance floor, one hand possessively about the elf’s waist, lifting only to claim two glasses of wine from a passing waiter. He pressed one into Meneris’ hand as he made his way towards Anders and Maevaris. The two mages were making their way through the crowd towards the balcony.

As the Tevinter mage and Meneris emerged from the throng, they spotted Anders and Maevaris a short distance away. Anders had his hands loosely around Maevaris’ waist; her arms were draped around his neck as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He chuckled, then brushed a small chaste kiss upon her forehead. She said something, and he kissed her nose.

Then she grinned and reached up to kiss him upon the lips. His eyes widened for a moment before fluttering closed.

“My word,” murmured Dorian. “Are you sure they _need_ encouragement?”

“I doubt it, wonder what he’ll have to say to get Hawke to let him play eh?” Meneris chuckled.

Anders returned the kiss, but as they parted for breath, his hands lifted from Maevaris’ waist to her shoulders, stepping back a little. She said something and he turned his head a little to one side, staring at the ground. She spoke again, and he lifted his head to say something as she brushed his hands aside then swiftly stepped into his space and kissed him again firmly.

As their lips parted for breath, Anders gave a breathy moan before wrapping his arms around her and claiming her mouth , one hand upon the small of her back, the other lifting to cradle the back of her head.

“Well now,” said Dorian quietly. “I think we’ve seen quite enough, Meneris. From the looks of the spectators, I’d say they’ve provided a more than adequate distraction.” As they slipped back inside, Meneris could see he was right; quite a few nobles were clustering at the windows, gasping in scandalised delight.

They joined Varric at one side of the room where the dwarf was leaning against a long buffet table spread with canapes and small finger foods.

“Varric, didn’t you say Maevaris is married to your cousin?” asked Meneris quietly.

“Well, was,” said Varric with a shrug. “Thorold died a few years ago. Mae inherited his estate, title, holdings - everything. Not that she needed it; she’s a magister in her own right. We’ve stayed close though.”

“Are you aware your... cousin-in-law... is busy kissing the living daylights out of Anders?” murmured Meneris as he bent down to select a couple of canapes.

Varric groaned. “Aww, no,” he said. “Hawke’s not gonna like that. Was Blondie... you know?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly putting much effort into fighting her off,” remarked Dorian. “They _could_ just be putting on the show to scandalise the nobles and distract them.” His tone was dubious.

“I’d better speak to Mae,” decided Varric. “I know she’s been lonely as a widow, but Blondie’s not exactly himself much at the moment and neither of them need that kind of trouble.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dorian sharply. “What is ‘that kind of trouble’?”

“Long story, Sparkler, but needless to say they’ve both got their own troubled pasts, and Anders comes with extra baggage in the form of Broody and Hawke,” replied Varric. “Listen, I appreciate the heads-up.”

“Any time, Varric,” replied Meneris as the dwarf headed off in the direction of the balcony.

“Oh dear,” said Dorian. “I hope Hawke is kept busy with Morrigan then. We needed a distraction, but not the kind likely to occur if the Champion sees his favourite apostate being kissed silly by a Tevinter magister. And I’m rather fond of Mae. I know she could hold her own against Hawke, but I’d rather not see them come to blows.”

“Doubtless Anders would prefer that not to happen either,” replied Meneris drily. “Let us hope they’re merely putting on a performance to give us the distraction we need.”

***

Anders and Maevaris had left the balcony and slipped into the garden, where they managed to find a secluded arbour where they could be alone, away from the prying eyes of Orlesian nobles and other guests.

Maevaris had claimed his hand as they sat; he had thought briefly of pulling away, but found he didn’t really want to. It had been so long since he had been the recipient of a woman’s attention that he had almost forgotten how much he missed it. He glanced from their joined hands up to Maevaris’ face, and found she was studying him just as intently.

“So,” he said, to break the silence, then realised he had no idea what to say. Thankfully. Maevaris rescued him from trying to find words by lifting her other hand to cup his cheek as she leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t like being kissed by Hawke or Fenris; no sense his mouth was being claimed, dominated possessively; this was a gentle sweep of her tongue across his lips, like a polite request for admittance; as his lips parted, her tongue darted in to taste him lightly, then curling beneath his as if encouraging him to do the same. He tasted her and moaned, leaning into the kiss. He wanted more. He threaded his free hand into her hair, his eyes closed as they kissed, slowly and gently, only parting regretfully when the need for breath became too pressing.

He stared at her, panting a little, aware his heart was racing, sure his desire for her must be readily visible upon his face.

“ _Dear Antonius,_ ” she said softly. “Or should I say, dear Anders?” she added in Trade.

He started in surprise, then exhaled slowly. “Dorian told you, of course.”

“But of course. I know Antonius fairly well - well, as well as anyone can know someone who’s shut himself away for years and refuses visitors,” she shrugged. “Don’t worry though. Your secret is safe with me.” She smiled a little wistfully. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“That’s comforting,” said Anders. “I have more than a few of my own I’d rather weren’t shared too.”

She smiled gently as she laid her hand atop his hand that she’d already claimed in her grasp. “You would do well in Tevinter then.”

Anders laughed. “I didn’t, the last time I was there.”

“Oh?” she asked, in an inviting tone of voice. He found himself talking of their journey through Tevinter.

“Being a spirit healer, it wouldn’t have been long before some magister decided to try and enslave me, so it seemed safest for Hawke to play the magister whilst Fenris and I played as slaves. It... wasn’t fun, and I... didn’t cope very well with it.”

She lifted a hand to gently stroke his hair back from his face. “I can imagine,” she said softly. “But have you never thought of coming to Tevinter as yourself? We heard of you and what you’d done. You actually have a number of admirers in the Empire you know.”

Anders glanced away. “I...had. Before I met Fenris and heard just how slaves are treated there, and the attitude to blood magic.”

“Not all of us practice blood magic,” Maevaris pointed out. “Dorian doesn’t. I don’t. And we are far from being the only ones. And I have been trying to persuade the magisterium to condemn the Venatori and further erode Tevinter support for them. I, and a small group of trusted magisters and alti, have been quietly pushing for a reformed and redeemed Tevinter. We want to see an Imperium free of slavery and blood magic.” She regarded him intently. “We would welcome you in our ranks, Anders. In Tevinter, you would be regarded with the esteem of an Altus.”

Anders laughed. “I very much doubt that,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t last five minutes before some magister decided to enslave me just for the kudos of owning the destroyer of the Kirkwall chantry.”

“Not if you came back with me,” said Maevaris. “I would protect you. No-one would dare anything against you.”

“Mae, I-” began Anders, but his protest died half-formed as Maevaris kissed him again. Against his better judgement, he melted against her, his arms lifting to embrace her and draw her close; she complied willingly, even eagerly, draping her arms over his shoulders as they deepened the kiss.

As they parted, Anders groaned. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I have Hawke and Fenris to think of.”

“You love them,” she said.

“I do,” he confessed sadly.

“But do they make you happy?” she asked. 

“Of course,” he replied automatically. “Why wouldn’t....” His voice died off, remembering all that had happened since they had arrived at Skyhold.

Did they make him happy? He wasn’t sure he could answer that in the affirmative truthfully anymore. Both Hawke and Fenris had succeeded in making all four of them thoroughly miserable; the good times seemed to be the few bright spots in what seemed to be otherwise a lot of misery, with he and Zevran continually trying to work to bring Hawke and Fenris back together.

He still loved Hawke and Fenris. But he had to admit that they didn’t make him happy much any more. Their relationship just seemed to stagger from one disaster to another, each one taking its toll on him emotionally, and he wasn’t sure just how much longer he could handle that.

Maevaris was watching him patiently as the different emotions flickered across his face. As finally he lifted his eyes to hers with a look of despair, she smiled sadly and drew him close again, hugging him gently. “You don’t need to speak,” she said softly. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re not happy, are you?”

“But I _used_ to be,” said Anders quietly. “Once.”

“A long time ago,” replied Maevaris. Anders didn’t answer.

She pulled back and took his hands in hers. “Come away with me. Tonight. After the ball, leave with me. We’ll go back to Tevinter together. You can help us work to free the slaves and turn Tevinter into the haven for mages it should always have been, instead of the honeypot trap it is now. That’s what you want, isn’t it? A place where mages can be free to live and love who they want?”

“Yes,” he admitted. And oh, Maker, he wanted it. Wanted it so desperately.

Almost as much, he suddenly realised, as he wanted Maevaris.

“Mae,” he began, but she silenced him with a finger upon his lips.

“Anders, I will be completely honest with you and to the point. I have been lonely since Thorold died. In the few hours I have come to know you, I have already become rather fond of you, and I suspect that given longer I would only grow even more fond of you.” She smiled a little. “I may well fall in love with you. I _know_ you are attracted to me, and you are deeply unhappy at the thought of returning back with the Inquisition. If you come with me back to Tevinter, you can still help the Inquisition in your own way - and you will be far happier as well.”

“Mae, I...I don’t know, I can’t...just....” He sighed. “I want to. But... I need to think on it. I need a little time.”

“Of course you do,” she agreed with an understanding smile. “I’m asking a lot of you, and we only met a few hours ago. But I am a woman who knows what she wants - and I think you are a man who knows the same.”

“Mae,” he began quietly; she laid a finger over his lips again.

“Hush. Think on it. That’s all I ask. I will be here in Orlais for a week.” She smiled a little coyly. “And there is no reason why we should not enjoy each other now.” She replaced her finger with her lips.

Anders responded ardently as he ran his hands slowly over her body. One hand reached lower; she caught his wrist, halting him. “There’s... there’s one secret I must entrust you with,” she murmured breathlessly as she pulled away from their kiss.

“You can trust me,” he responded breathlessly before mouthing lightly along her shoulder, up the side of her neck and then lightly nipped along her jaw.

She turned her head and whispered in his ear. He stilled, then smiled softly.

“Mae, do you really think that matters to me?” He gently kissed her. “You’re a beautiful woman. And I want you.”

Her answer was a low chuckle as she lay back upon the bench, drawing Anders down with her.

 

***

“Mae, you sure make it hard to find you at times,” panted Varric when he finally found them. He froze as he took in the dishevelled state of Anders’ hair and the way Maevaris was smoothing and rearranging her skirts.

“Oh no,” he groaned. “Please tell me you two didn’t....”

“Was there something you wanted, Varric?” asked Anders.

“Yeah,” said Varric with a frown. “A word with my cousin.” He gave Maevaris a meaningful look as she patted her hair. “Blondie, Hawke’s looking for you. He and Morrigan found out some interesting stuff and they’re waiting for you. You ought to run along. And you might want to do something about your hair.”

Anders glanced to Maevaris. “We’ll talk later,” he promised her.

“Take your time and think it over,” she replied.

“I will,” he answered. He gave her a courtly bow and she blew him a kiss before he turned away to head back to the palace. Behind him, he could hear Varric and Maevaris begin to argue in low voices.

He hurried back towards the ballroom, smoothing his hair back into some semblance of order as he went. He slipped quietly into the ballroom behind a group of noblewomen, liberating a glass of wine as he went. He’d barely taken two steps before another group of nobles accosted him, two of them attempting to practice their atrocious Tevene upon him.

Meneris spotted Antonius finally and waved him over, but couldn’t get the other man’s attention from his admirers. “Love, I dare say you need to rescue your cousin.” he murmured to Dorian.

“Leave it to me,” answered the Altus. He made his way deftly through the crowd until he was at Anders’ side. “My deepest apologies all, but the Inquisitor has asked for my cousin to attend him. Can’t keep the Inquisitor waiting!” he smiled. He turned to Anders, who was glancing at Dorian with a perfect expression of non-comprehension. “ _Come along, Antonius; we’ve been looking for you,_ ” he added in Tevene as he took Anders’ elbow. He tugged Anders away and they made their way back to Meneris.

Hawke glanced at Anders, his gaze flicked to the way his lips seemed swollen and he had a flushed look about him. He wanted to ask but it wasn’t the time or place. Vic hoped it was merely for show and not what his mind conjured up when he dwelled on it. He followed everyone into the large salon that had been given to the Inquisitor for receiving meetings. 

Meneris had the doors secured as Zevran and Morrigan entered finally. Once everyone was present he gave them a run down of what they had found, while he waited for Zevran’s report.

“And- sorry, _Antonius_ ,” Cullen corrected himself quickly, “provided an excellent distraction. You seem to have made yourself a perfect subject for gossip rather than what the Inquisition is doing here,” he added as he turned to Anders, who blushed a little.

“So I can tell.” Vic muttered under his breath. 

“That is for later friend Hawke.” Zevran said before he explained that Briala wanted to usurp the crown but knew she could not openly rule as an elf, so instead she sought to blackmail Celene with proof of their affair, knowing full well what it would do to her reputation.

“Gaspard is in this for revenge, and what he was raised to believe was his, and what Celene now holds. Both could be manipulated into taking the crown for themselves, with Gaspard as the face of the Empire while she pulls the strings, yes? The question is do we stop this assassination or let her live in shame for her time spent with an elven woman who she now rebukes?” Zevran asked.

“What of the Duchess?” asked Anders. “Wasn’t there some suggestion _she_ was up to something as well? I heard a few people discussing a rumour about her but couldn’t pin it down to specifics. Is she after the crown as well?”

“Unclear, she’s the anomaly in all this. Some say she is part of Gaspard’s group, others say she is simply trying to keep Celene in power by thwarting both of them.” Zevran shrugged.

“Leliana is still working on that,” added Cullen. “She has agents working as servants at the moment, plus I believe a few of the guests report to her as well. Josephine has also been pulling strings and collating data.”

“Creators, I thought squabbling petty nobles were a pain in the ass. So what’s our next move?” Meneris asked.

“I believe we have enough evidence to name either Briala or Gaspard in the plot, I suggest we leave off naming Florianne until we have more substantial evidence. For now, let Zevran do what he does best, while we make ourselves conspicuous in the ballroom.” Morrigan said as she gathered her skirts to go.

“If you are asked to dance, do so by the way. Tis a great offence in these lands to turn down a whirl on the dance floor. Almost enough to get a pinch of poison in your tea for the trouble.” 

“I don’t think cousin Antonius will have to worry about that,” Dorian replied as he darted a glance at Anders. “He’s made a head start on that, quite conspicuously. Of course, he’ll possibly have quite the bevy of eligible ladies clamouring for a dance now.”

Anders was deliberately not looking at anyone as he sat back in his chair, determined not to rise to anyone’s comments.

“I’m sure he will but Magister Tilani has laid claim to him already I believe.” Vic said rather bitterly. 

Anders got to his feet, his robes swirling about him as he turned towards the doors leading back out towards the ballroom. “Yes, well, we’d best get back to being visible, hadn’t we?” 

He was inwardly pleased he’d managed to say that with a level voice, as he strode towards the ballroom. He was engulfed by perfume the moment he entered, a crowd of nobles all around as he made his way through the crowd. He was determined to dance with the first person who claimed his hand. If Hawke was going to be that way, he’d dance himself insensible with every damned noble there if need be.

“Ah, Lord Pavus! Forgive me, but.. perhaps...?” 

Anders glanced at the simpering noblewoman who half-hid her masked face behind a fan as she gestured towards the dance floor hopefully.

He had no idea who she was and frankly didn’t care at that moment. He took her hand with a charming smile and led her towards the dance floor.

Invictus didn’t let the hurt show, but his heart ached as he watched Anders twirl about with everyone he saw, accepting every request to dance. When there was a moment’s break he slipped in and pulled the tall mage to him. _”May I have this dance, Lord Pavus?”_

“ _Of course,_ ” Anders said automatically without even looking to see who it was asking, already taking Hawke’s hand as he led him out onto the dancefloor. As he turned to rest a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, the Champion resting a hand on Anders’ waist, the mage finally realised who it was who had him firmly as they started to dance. His eyes widened a little.

“Hawke,” he said quietly; Hawke could hear the tiredness in his voice, and wondered how long the Warden could keep dancing like this.

_”Lord Pavus, may I suggest this be your last dance for a while this evening? You’ve not even had a proper dinner to counter the wine you’ve been taking in all day.”_

“ _I disagree; I haven’t had enough wine yet,_ ” Anders replied quietly, his eyes never leaving those of Hawke.

_”Well, you need dinner, and you’re looking a bit pale - well, more than usual. May we dine in the rooms the Empress has granted us? I need to chat with you,”_ Vic whispered in his ear right before he turned, dipped and brought Anders back to his arms without missing a step.

Anders blinked; his vision had whited out for a moment as Hawke had swung him down into the dip, and as the other mage brought him back up again, his hand firmly pressed against the small of Anders’ back, Anders clutched a little tighter at Hawke’s shoulder and hand.

“ _I think... I think that might be a good idea,_ ”, he confessed. “ _Can we... can we go now? I’m not feeling so great._ ”

_”Of course my lord, we’ll let your cousin know that I’ve taken you away for a bit.”_ Hawke kept his arm around Anders as they stopped by Dorian, then whisked him off to the rooms they’d been given. Once he’d locked the room, Vic made sure Anders had water and something to nibble on as they waited for food to be delivered.

Anders dropped into a seat, grateful for the water. He let himself slowly relax back against the chair. “I guess you want to talk about Mae,” he said quietly.

“Are you leaving with her? Or spending time just to be a distraction? I know you miss a woman’s touch and that’s one thing I can’t give you.” Hawke said quietly.

Anders stared at him. “How did you know she’d asked me to go with her?” he whispered.

“I guessed, it’s been quite the talk and the rumor mill is churning love. Besides, she’s powerful, beautiful and you could live like a king there with her protection. I’ve done nothing but hurt you since we escaped Kirkwall, so it wouldn't’ surprise me if you did consider it.” Hawke said tiredly as he got up and took their tray from the servant that had been knocking. 

“Here, you should actually eat.” Vic said as he set a plate for his lover and one for himself.

“Well, I guess we provided quite the distraction then,” Anders laughed weakly as he sat up and reached for his fork. He stared at the food, unsure just what to tell Hawke. The man deserved _some_ kind of explanation at least. “I... honestly hadn’t thought about how long it had been since I last lay with a woman, not until she kissed me,” he confessed. “We _were_ just trying to provide a distraction. I hadn’t realised I was the one getting distracted though.” He began to eat slowly. It wasn’t until he’d swallowed the first mouthful that he realised just how hungry he was. _Now there was an interesting parallel,_ he thought as he turned his attention to the food.

“I see...well I know you can’t be happy with us anymore. Seeing your face with her ...and the way she stared at you, it...hurt but I have to accept the truth of it.” Vic said softly. 

Anders nearly dropped his fork. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I haven’t given her an answer,” he said quietly, as he opened his eyes. After a moment, he resumed eating slowly.

“I see…” Vic said softly as he ate slowly and quietly while he pondered things. “What should I tell Fenris if you decide to go?” 

That made Anders actually drop his fork, as he dropped his head into his hands and gave a soft groan. “I told you, I haven’t decided. I told her I needed to think. I don’t know... Hawke, I love you and Fenris. I love you almost more than life itself. But since you found me and brought me to Skyhold....” He groaned. “Maybe I don’t deserve happiness. Maybe it’s all been only what I deserved. I know we used to be happy together, but between you and Fenris it feels as though you’re tearing all four of us apart.”

Hawke nodded before he took a glass of wine so he could stare out the window. He didn’t trust his voice or himself not to either lash out or break down in tears at the truth. “I’m sorry.” he finally said as he kept his gaze on the evening skies.

“So am I,” replied Anders hoarsely. He felt his eyes stinging and blinked hard. He picked up his fork and poked his food desultorily, his appetite gone.

“Do you wish to be alone for a while, or should I get Dorian for you, Lord Pavus?” Vic asked, his voice hoarse as he tried to keep together.

Anders gave up on the food and fell back into his seat, blinking rapidly as he stared at the ceiling. He wondered what was wrong with him; he was never this weak in Kirkwall - was he? Where had his surety, his strength gone to? How much of this was down to Solona, how much to the head injury? His head was aching again, feeling like it was going to split open.

He didn’t want to be alone; he didn’t want Hawke to go. But at the same time he couldn’t face the pain in the other man’s voice or his questions. He didn’t know himself what he would do about Mae’s offer; how could he explain it to anyone else yet?

“I don’t know,” he said miserably in a small voice.

Oh, Maker’s balls, he _was_ crying now. He could feel the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. _Dorian will be annoyed with me for ruining my eyeliner_ , he thought, and he almost laughed. All that came out was a choked sob however.

Vic came over to him and gathered him in his arms, without a word of argument. “I’m sorry...don’t cry that damn makeup will run and I don’t want to have to fix it. I’m bad at that.” 

“I’m sorry,” sniffed Anders. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and then stared at the black smears on his hand. “Oh, Andraste’s flaming knickers,” he groaned. “I’m a mess.”

“I’ll have someone get Dorian up here. Sorry, didn’t mean to make you cry.” Vic said as he let go just long enough to get a message off before he gathered Anders back in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” Anders sighed as he tried to get himself under control. “I just know I can’t keep going on this way, wondering when you or Fenris will blow up again, and always paranoid that this time it’ll be me that you both attack. We _used_ to be happy, dammit, but since the chantry it’s... it’s just a nightmare.” He rubbed one eye then frowned at the black smears on his fingers. “I just know I can’t keep doing this. And... I’ll admit, a part of me is very tempted by Mae’s offer. She seems to like me, and there’s good I could do in Tevinter, and I wouldn’t have to hide who I was anymore. I just... don’t know.” He gave a shuddering sigh. “But... I don’t want to turn my back on you or Fenris. I just... don’t know what to do.”

“Now isn’t the time or place to discuss it. You have to be Lord Pavus and my heart isn’t big enough for this. Maybe tonight after we’ve escaped this damn place for our lodgings.” 

Dorian entered the room, closing the door behind him before hurrying over to their side. “Dare I ask what-” He broke off as Anders lifted his head. “Oh Maker, your face! Oh this will never do. Come on, sit up, I need to repair this.” 

“I’ll be back, I need to check on the others.” Hawke said as he took the chance to flee when he saw it.

Dorian spared him a glance. “Meneris is speaking to one of the Empress’s emissaries I believe.” He turned back to Anders, shaking his head. “I’ll have to wash this all off and start again,” he said with a small frown. “Stay there and don’t move.”

Anders had nowhere else to go, and little inclination to face anyone in his current state. He sat still, staring at the remains of his meal that he had no interest in finishing. There was no wine, or he’d have been tempted to continue getting drunk. He knew Hawke had done that on purpose.

Dorian returned with a bowl of water, sweet-scented soap and a soft towel. He set to work to wash all the traces of smeared kohl and tears from Anders’ face, following it up with a dash of cold water to ease the redness of Anders’ eyes. It wasn’t until he had Anders staring at the ceiling whilst the Altus carefully reapplied the kohl that Dorian spoke.

“So. Care to tell me just why you felt the need to ruin my work, ‘cousin’?” he asked softly.

“Hawke guessed that Mae asked me to return with her to Qarinus,” Anders said quietly.

“It’s ‘Mae’ already?” said Dorian. “Oh dear me. It _is_ serious then.”

“Is it? I honestly don’t know,” replied Anders a little listlessly. Now the fit of crying was over, he was aware of how tired he felt. The nap he’d had earlier hadn’t been enough, and he’d been drinking steadily since he and Hawke had returned. He had danced with six people before Hawke had taken his hand, and now exhaustion was beginning to catch up to him.

“Hmm,” said Dorian. He got up and turned away for a moment, returning with an amber potion. “Stamina potion. You look like you need it.”

Anders sighed and took it. It did at least dispel the worst of his fatigue and strip away some of the fog of the wine he’d imbibed.

“So,” said Dorian as he set back to work to finish Anders’ eyes. “Will you go with her?”

“I honestly don’t know,” replied Anders as Dorian leaned back to eye his handiwork critically. The Altus crossed his arms and stroked his moustache thoughtfully.

“See, here’s the thing,” said Dorian leaning closer to Anders in conspiratorial fashion. “Mae is an old friend of mine, and whilst I would hate to see her hurt, somehow I don’t think you would want to see that either. Mae is very good at knowing what she wants - and getting it. And forgive me if I overstep my mark, but matters between yourself, Hawke and Fenris... well, there are plenty of rumours flying around Skyhold, and I think everyone’s aware there’s trouble between you all. I had the distinct impression I wasn’t the first indiscretion Hawke had committed, and that Belann certainly wasn’t Fenris’ first. Meneris would hate to lose a healer of your calibre, but at the same time we can both see that you would likely be far more use to the Inquisition as its agent in Qarinus assisting Maevaris than you would be in Skyhold.”

“Maker knows the only use I’ve been here has been as a distraction,” replied Anders dourly.

“And a very good distraction you have been too,” Dorian assured him, patting his hand. “If you chose to leave with Maevaris after this business is over - well, I will be sad to see you go, but Meneris will not stand in your way. And no doubt you and I will see each other again - I should imagine I would have plenty of reason to visit Qarinus.”

“Are you telling me I should go with Mae?” asked Anders slowly.

“I’m telling you that should you decide thus, you will have the Inquisition’s blessing,” replied Dorian.

“I will tell you what I told Hawke and Mae - I need to think on it,” replied Anders.

“Of course you do,” agreed Dorian. “Come along; they will begin to wonder where we both are.” He got to his feet and held out his hand; Anders took it, allowing the Altus to lead him back to the ballroom.

Hawke had taken a seat with Cullen, and looked as if he didn't have a care in the world though his heart was cracking as he sipped wine and watched everyone else pretend to be happy. He didn’t say anything to the former templar but Cullen had known somehow. There was a promise of drinks and talk once they were behind closed doors.

He knew when Dorian and Anders had returned to the room from the ripple of voices that spread out then followed the two men in their wake. Dorian was short enough to be hidden by the crowd, but he could see Anders. The tall mage appeared serene and calm, nodding to someone with a small, polite smile.

The crowd parted as Meneris came to join Hawke and Cullen, then drifted apart again as Dorian and Anders reached them.

“Inquisitor,” smiled Dorian; Anders inclined his head towards Meneris as though he truly were the stranger he pretended to be.

Meneris looked to Dorian to translate with a serene smile, to keep up the pretense and a half-lie in that he wasn’t fluent in Tevene. He’d simply asked what Lord Pavus thought of the party and if he had any room left on his dance card for his cousin’s suitor.

Hawke kept his back to them and studiously watched the dance floor for anything strange.

Anders glanced to Dorian and managed to keep a straight face both through Meneris’ request and Dorian’s relaying of it. Rather than go through the rigmarole of answering Dorian and having him relay the response, Anders merely turned to Meneris and nodded.

“Very good, when you are up to it, let me know.” Meneris said with a glance to Hawke then back to his paramour’s cousin. 

Anders merely waved a hand in the direction of the dancefloor, mutely inviting him.

Meneris took his hand and let Anders lead him around to a slow song, careful to whisper in Trade just low enough for the other man to hear. 

Anders glanced down at the shorter man, and couldn’t help comparing his height to that of Fenris as he bent down a little to catch the whispered words.

“What’s the matter? We can’t have dissent where all can see Lord Pavus.” Meneris whispered.

Anders inclined his head so his long black hair fell forward to hide his face. “You mean Hawke didn’t tell you?” he whispered back. “Maevaris wants me to go back with her to Tevinter. Dorian seems to think it would be a good idea,” he added.

“Venhedis!” Meneris said a bit loudly. “No wonder Hawke looks so forlorn.”

Anders’ head jerked up and he glanced around them, afraid they’d draw attention. A nearby couple whirled past them, the man eyeing Anders up with what could only properly be called a leer; Anders ducked his head. “A little louder? I’m sure the other half of the ballroom didn’t hear you,” he murmured.

“Sorry.” Meneris said as they continued to slowly make a circuit of the dance floor.

“Yes, Hawke isn’t happy,” Anders conceded. “I didn’t expect him to be. I... haven’t yet decided whether to take Maevaris up on her offer. I told them both I need time to think.”

“I hope you make the best decision for you then, Lord Pavus.” Meneris said as the song came to a close. He led Anders back to his cousin and took a glass of wine offered to him.

Anders stood by Dorian. He glanced at Hawke, noting the way the man seemed unable to bear to look at him.

“Antonius!” exclaimed a voice; Anders glanced around as Maevaris bore down upon him. She reached for his hand and held it firmly. “ _I have been looking all over for you!_ ” She paused as she followed his glance over towards Hawke. “Ah, yes, the Champion,” she added in Trade. “Greetings to you, Serah Hawke.”

“Magister Tilani, a pleasure.” Vic said with a brief look that could have cut stone before he got himself under control. “What do we owe the honor of your presence?” 

Maevaris leaned over and gave Anders a brief kiss on the cheek. “ _Oh, don’t look so distressed, dear,_ ” she murmured to him. “ _I’m merely going to talk to him._ ” She turned back to Hawke. “I wondered if I might beg a little of your time, Champion?” she asked.

_”If you wish, who am I to refuse such a powerful woman what she desires._ ” Hawke said with a dip of his head as he waited for her to lead them to a quiet space. 

Maevaris gave him an appraising glance then threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, so very prim and proper, Hawke!” she smiled. “Come on, I know just the spot.” She took his arm and hurried him away out into the garden. Once they were out of sight of the onlookers, she dropped his arm then strode a little way ahead. 

“You can stop scowling and trying to look daggers into my back, Hawke; that trick never works. If it did, I’d have been dead a thousand times over before I ever left Tevinter.” She turned on her heel to regard him with a humourless smile. “And you’re no magister, even if you played at being one once.”

“What do you want then, or was this just to twist the knife knowing I can’t so much as take his hand publicly?” Hawke sniped.

“Ah, I see - like that is it?” she replied, folding her arms. “You’re going to blame me for trying to steal him away from you, hmm?”

“No, I’m not blaming you for anything Tilani. What do you want from me?” Hawke said as he folded his arms and stared at her.

“I’ll be blunt, because neither of us has the time to dance around,” she replied. “I want Anders to come with me to Qarinus. He is conflicted as to whether he should come or not. And I have the feeling you haven’t given him quite enough reason to stay.” She eyed Hawke coolly, then relented a little. “He told me no, at first, citing you and Fenris as his reasons. But then he confessed that whilst he had been happy with you both for a while, he wasn’t happy any longer. It was fairly easy to see he actually dreads returning with the Inquisition, and I have to wonder why.”

“That’s none of your business, magister,” Hawke growled.

“Oh, but it _is_ ,” replied Maevaris. “Because I’ve offered him a way out. I don’t know what it is that you and this Fenris have done - and Dorian assures me that this Fenris is, indeed, that same Fenris who used to belong to Danarius -”

Hawke growled, fire wreathing his clenched hands.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Maevaris told him in icy tones. She didn’t move so much as a finger, but suddenly Hawke was aware of immense power only barely leashed in; he could practically taste it in the air itself as the magister stared him down. “You really don’t want to start anything here, Champion.”

“Fenris has done nothing to Anders,” growled Hawke.

“Oh? Then why does he look physically pained when he speaks of you both? Why can he not bring himself to lie and say he’s happy with you both? If he were truly happy with you, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Why _are_ we having this conversation?” spat Hawke.

“Because I wanted to see what Anders ever saw in you in the first place,” said Maevaris. “I wanted to understand why he feels so conflicted.”

“I love him - isn’t that enough?” protested Hawke.

“No,” said Maevaris simply. “No, it’s not. You can love someone and still hurt them. And Anders has been deeply wounded. I want to understand why. Varric has told me a little of Anders’ past, but a lot of his pain is recent. I would have Anders come with me, but I do not wish to tear him in two by doing so. What have you done that he would even be tempted by my offer, Hawke?”

He wanted to be angry at her. But his own guilt ate at him. After what he and Fenris had done, did they have any right to stand in Anders’ way?

Hawke glanced away, suddenly ashamed. He remembered Anders’ words. “ _We **used** to be happy, dammit, but since the chantry it’s... it’s just a nightmare._ ” Hawke covered his face with one hand, Anders’ voice still haunting him. “ _I just know I can’t keep doing this._ ”

“You win,” he said, waving his other hand at her without turning. “Go ahead. Take him to Qarinus. Give him everything I can’t.” He turned back towards her with a sad smile. “He’ll be happier with you, I know it." 

Maevaris merely stared at him. “Anders has a will of his own. You cannot hand him over like a plaything you tire of. This is no game, with winners and losers, Hawke. Anders will make his own decision - though if this is your attitude, no wonder he was tempted.” 

“As you say, Magister,” he sighed. “Was there anything else?” 

“Maker,” she exclaimed quietly. “You really _are_ that self-absorbed, aren’t you?” She shook her head. “Go ahead, Hawke. Run off in self-pity. I expected more for the Champion of Kirkwall. I expected you to fight for the man you profess to love, but you merely roll over and surrender meekly.” Her eyes narrowed. “I expected more. The problem is, I think so did Anders.” 

She stalked past him with a rustle of silk skirts, leaving the Champion to his self-pity. 

The worst of it was, he reflected, was that she was right. 


	45. Chapter 45

Hal had lost track of the days. He was aware of drifting in and out of consciousness; fever dreams and brief moments when he would open his eyes and see a pair of worried green eyes regarding him intently. His body felt sheathed in fire and ice, burning up and freezing somehow simultaneously. He was vaguely aware of himself talking, and he wasn’t sure if he were awake or asleep at the time or even fully what he was talking of.

Fenris haunted his dreams, as did Anders and Arden. Dreams of Arden being ripped apart by demons, or worse still - trapped in the Fade, calling desperately to Hal to help him, but no matter how Hal tried, he couldn’t reach him.

He dreamed of Anders swinging from a gibbet. Dreamed him burning, chained to a stake, screaming in agony as he begged forgiveness. Dreamed of Anders coming to him through the Fade, burned and blackened and yet somehow he still knew it was the apostate as Anders berated him for leaving him behind.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Hal wept. “We didn’t want to - didn’t mean to - I never wanted this!”

“Who are you apologising to?”

He didn’t know; one dream ending as another began.

He was walking through the Fade, calling for Anders, Arden, Fenris. Perhaps if they were dead, their spirits might yet linger there.

He was standing upon the ruined stones of Adamant in the courtyard, calling for Arden. He knew he had been here, in the Fade; Hawke had said Arden pushed him through the rift back into the waking world - that was after Endrin had pushed Anders through then dragged Meneris with him. Hal knew he was dreaming, walking between dreams; but here was where Arden had last been. Maybe if he called here....

“Who are you looking for?”

Hal turned quickly. Solas walked around a ruined archway and cocked his head upon one side. 

“And how did you get here?”

“I...willed myself here,” answered Hal slowly. “In a dream.”

“Truly?” replied Solas as he walked around Hal slowly. “Fascinating.” He regarded Hal thoughtfully as he came full circle to stand in front of the young mage. “And you maintain continuity of your appearance. That is... quite unusual for so young a dreamer.” He peered closer at Hal. “Ah,” he said in satisfaction. “You are two spirits in one, correct?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” replied Hal. “Though increasingly I cannot tell Endrin’s thoughts from my own. We are one.”

“Fascinating,” Solas repeated. “The spirit of a dead mage, fused with the living body of a young Tranquil mage. No wonder you seem older than your appearance would suggest. Tell me, who were you calling for?”

“My friend Arden,” replied Hal. “He pushed Hawke out of the rift at Adamant after ... I... pushed Anders and Meneris out... but remained behind in the Fade to fight off a demon.”

“And you thought to come here and see if he survived?”

“Or if I could somehow reach his spirit if he did not,” nodded Hal.

“You demonstrate a remarkable control and grasp of the Fade, child,” said Solas. “Almost on a par with the ancient Somniari of old.”

“Endrin had dwelt in the Fade for some time before we joined,” answered Hal. “He- we - _I_ have gained certain... abilities as a result of the joining.”

“How... fortunate for you,” remarked Solas as he tilted his head upon one side. “I wish to talk further with you about this, Hal Endrin. Though not, perhaps, here. There are demons here, attracted by the blood spilled and the rituals cast by the Wardens. It is not safe here.”

“And Arden?” asked Hal.

“I’m afraid if your friend lives, then he is not here. Perhaps he fell back through another rift into his own world - or elsewhere in ours. If he died, his spirit is not here.”

“I...see,” replied Hal slowly.

“Remain where you are in the waking world - I shall come to you and we shall talk,” decided Solas.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” replied Hal.

“Oh?” Solas frowned; evidently he was not used to being refused and it displeased him.

“I am... unwell. Seek me in the waking world and you will likely find me babbling my head off in a fever delirium,” Hal shrugged. “I...may have caught whatever has laid Anders low. It is probably unsafe for you to visit me. Us.”

“I see,” replied Solas in a tone that suggested he didn’t see at all but wasn’t going to push it. “Then I shall visit you when you are well then.”

“I should like that,” replied Hal.

The ruins of Adamant were shifting, changing; he was beginning to wake up. He was aware of Solas’ voice, distantly; “I shall hold you to that, Hal.” And then there was another voice calling his name; as he opened his eyes, his blurred vision slowly resolved into Fenris’ anxious face.

“Fenris,” he managed to say weakly, and the anxious look on the elf’s face changed to one of relief as Fenris realised Hal finally recognised him.

“You were talking in your sleep, you called out for many people but I only recognized Arden’s name, and Anders. Did you talk to them in dreams?” Fenris asked worriedly.

“I was searching for them,” said Hal weakly, then coughed. His throat felt dry. “Water, please,” he pleaded.  
Fenris got him a half full glass so he wouldn’t spill if Hal tried to take it from him. “Easy, easy...save your voice. I have broth and rice if you can take a bit of food.” 

“I was searching for them. I was at Adamant, in the Fade, but Solas was there. He said if Arden were dead, his spirit wasn’t there - and Arden may have fallen through a rift - either in this world or our own. He may be alive.” He struggled up to sit against the pillows with Fenris’ help. “How long was I out?” he asked.

“A couple of days, but you were fitful, I am concerned for how ill you have become so quickly lo---, Hal.” Fenris said.

“Managed to throw out my body’s own defences,” Hal explained. “My body effectively started attacking itself internally, and I guess I was already run down.” He glanced around. “Did you mention broth?”

“Yes can you make it to the table or should I bring it to you?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t think I trust my legs to hold me yet,” replied Hal. “I feel incredibly weak.”

Fenris nodded and got a tray for them both. He set it carefully over Hal’s legs and offered to feed him if need be. “If you can’t that is…”

Hal managed to feed himself, though his hands were beginning to tremble near the end. He laid the spoon down then lay back against the pillows. He glanced down and plucked at the front of the nightshirt he wore. “Ugh, I stink,” he said distastefully, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I can certainly supply the sweatstained nightshirt of a sick man _now_ to allay the servants’ suspicions.”

“I’ll get water for the basin and help you bathe if you wish.” Fenris said quietly before he took the tray away.

“That would be nice,” said Hal as he rested his hands atop his breast and watched the elf. “I’m sorry, you must have been dreadfully worried about me.”

“Yes but… you’re awake now and it will be ok.” Fenris before he rose to get clean water for them.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” said Hal quietly when Fenris returned with water and towels.

“Of course lo---, Hal.” Fenris said as he winced at the second slip up. “Why wouldn’t I take care of you when you’re ill?” 

Hal stared at Fenris. “That’s twice you’ve nearly called me ‘love’,” he said softly.

The elf looked away as he tried to find words. “I’m sorry if it bothers you. Guess, I’m falling for you too Hal. I shouldn’t...I can’t even treat them right and I shouldn’t lead you on or confuse you. I miss them so much, I’m worried and I’m scared they will be happier without me after this time apart. I’m...I’m sorry I shouldn’t do this to you, you’re not well.” Fenris looked at the basin then back to Hal.

“Should I carry you over there or bring the basin here?” he said instead of what was on the tip of his tongue.

“Could you carry me please?” asked Hal. “That way you can strip the bed sheets as well.”

“Of course.” Fenris tugged the sleep shirt off before he scooped Hal up and set him in the chair and started to clean him up. He was quiet, except for requests for the young man to move or lift his arms. “Sorry for the quick wash, I’ll try to get a tub in here later.”

“It’s fine,” said Hal, shaking his head slightly. As Fenris made to move away, Hal stilled him with a hand laid on his forearm, careful not to touch any of the lyrium lines. “Fenris... I wasn’t bothered. I...it was comforting. I know you’re not my Fenris... but it was... sweet.”

“I do not wish to hurt you anymore Hal.” Fenris said as he glanced up at the red-head. “I guess their absence is making me...it’s bothering me more than I expected. I’ve never feared losing them, but after my trespass, I worry they don’t need or want me. It’s silly but there you have it. The hurt and wrong I’ve done them would have sent others running by now.”

“Are you afraid one or both of them might not come back?” asked Hal gently.

“Yes, and no. Afraid they will come back and not want me. Or that something will befall them in Orlais, or they won’t come back and leave me here without saying goodbye.” Fenris shuddered as he considered that option then shook himself. “Forgive me Hal, I should not burden you with my fears.”

Hal leaned forward, his hand still upon Fenris’ arm. “I don’t know about Hawke, but I know Anders wouldn’t do that - leave and not even come back to say goodbye.”

“It’s what I’d deserve, even if they have forgiven me I have yet to give myself peace over it. I’ve caused so much pain Hal. So much pain.” Fenris leaned his forehead against Hal’s chest and let his tears fall silently.

Hal’s arms drifted up to hold Fenris comfortingly almost of their own accord; he rubbed Fenris’ back soothingly, resting his cheek against the soft white hair. This was familiar in a world where so much wasn’t.

After a while Fenris pulled away to gather himself and get fresh water so he could get cleaned up as well. He was silent as he gathered up the tray and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t leave “Anders” alone too long lest a servant come in and figure out their ruse, but he was getting twitchy after being cooped up for days.

“You should go practice,” said Hal quietly. “If anyone asks, Anders is sleeping and Hal is watching over him.” He smiled a little. “After all, that _is_ what I’m supposed to be doing - being the healer and all.”

“I don’t want anyone seeing me like this, what’s wrong with me Hal? Why am I so heartsick?” Fenris said as he started to strip the bed. Hal watched him quietly from the chair.

“ _Maybe it’s all your broken little pigeons coming back to roost, and Hawke and Anders aren’t here to ground you_ ,” replied Hal, his voice oddly distant and hollow. 

Fenris stumbled backwards until he hit the door. “Practice, yes practice. That’s a good idea.” he said before he nearly tripped on himself to get out of the room and the eery undertone that had crept into Hal’s voice.

He nearly ran straight into Belann, who was wandering past, deep in thought. Belann halted, his head jerking up and his eyes widening in surprise as he almost ended up with an armful of alarmed elf.

“Steady, Fenris!” Belann exclaimed. “Maker, man, what’s gotten you so spooked? You look as though a broodmother just popped up in the middle of Anders’ bedroom!”

“N...nothing. Pardon me.” Fenris tried to untangle himself and bolt for the safety of his room but he wasn’t able to get out Belann’s grip. It had always panicked him when Justice would appear and the sudden appearance of Hal’s spirit was too much when he was already off kilter.

“Hey, easy there,” said Belann, then stared at the door of Anders’ room with a frown. “Would you tell me what’s going on, Fenris?” he said, the tone of his voice changing. “Where is Anders? Don’t tell me he’s sick in his room - I know full well he isn’t in there. If he were, I would be able to sense him.”

“Let’s go to my room.” Fenris rasped as he finally got his footing. “I’ll explain.”

Belann stared at him for a moment then nodded once. He followed Fenris to the elf’s room, briefly glancing around to ascertain there was no-one watching before he followed the elf in.

“Alright, Fenris, what’s this all about?” he asked, folding his arms and frowning.

The elf sat down and poured himself some wine with a trembling hand before he offered Belann the bottle. “Before I explain what’s going on, I owe you an apology.” he said quietly.

Belann’s frown deepened as he took the bottle, hefting it in his hand thoughtfully. Not even noon, and Fenris was hitting the wine already? Belann fetched himself a glass and half-filled it with wine, watering it from the carafe standing on the table; Fenris may be used to taking his wine neat this early, but the Grey Warden preferred a clear head. He’d been on his way to visit Solona and he didn’t want to show up tipsy. 

“I used you, and I hurt you Belann. I took advantage of you and I am sorry. I was so deep in my own despair after being discovered, I didn’t come to you to beg forgiveness as well I should have. Please forgive me for my wronging you.” Fenris said with a hopeful look at the warden.

Belann blinked. “I seem to recall both of us being fairly eager for it, Fenris. You hardly held me down and raped me, after all. I was a willing participant.”

“Don’t use that word!” Fenris hissed. “I’ve been...used like that and I wouldn't’ do that to anyone.” 

“So have I, Fenris,” replied Belann quietly. “I had a life before the Wardens, remember. I came from the same tower as Solona did in this world - the same tower where Anders was thrown in solitary for a year. You think he was the only one to come out of Kinloch with scars? Not all of them on the surface, either.” Damn it, maybe he should have taken the wine neat after all. He was too sober by far for a discussion of this kind.

“I am tense, and weary Belann. Forgive my roughness this early. Regardless, perhaps we used each other and I have made things worse. Accept my apology if you will have it.” Fenris replied. 

“Not that I think you have any reason to apologise to me of all people, but if you wish my forgiveness, you have it,” shrugged Belann. “Apology accepted. Now. What of Anders? Where is he?”

“Orlais, pretending to be Dorian’s cousin. He very well could not go as himself. I’ve had no word since they left and for all I know they are slaughtered or jailed. It was at the Empress’ invitation to Halamshiral that they went. We can keep up this ruse so far, but soon people will figure it out. Maker some have already.” Fenris took the rest of his drink down and glared at the table as he let his mind run in circles, right to a dark place.

“I only know because if Anders were still in Skyhold I should be able to sense him. I’ve been somewhat distracted myself, otherwise I should have noticed sooner.” Belann frowned, glancing away. He took a mouthful of his watered wine and tried to hide a grimace; it was an inferior vintage, and watering it didn’t improve the flavour any.

Fenris shrugged and finished off the bottle instead of offering any more to his friend. “What have you been doing with the others gone?” he finally asked.

Belann gave him a long, measuring glance before finally answering. “Talking to Solona,” he replied. He didn’t _deliberately_ time it for the exact moment Fenris took a mouthful of wine, but the result was nonetheless quietly spectacular. The elf shot bolt upright, spitting out the mouthful of wine in a startled spray as he nearly choked. He stared at Belann in disbelief as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Belann stared at the mess mildly and waited for the elf to recover the power of speech.

“Why are you talking to _her_? Do you not know what she did?” Fenris finally said.

Belann smiled sadly. “Oh, yes,” he said with a small sigh. “I got a complete written and signed confession out of her.”

“A confession? We know what she did, there is nothing to confess!” Fenris snapped.

“You know _most_ of what she did. But not the whole story,” replied Belann quietly. “There is much that you do not know, and the Inquisitor knows even less. But we now know that Corypheus was active far earlier than we suspected, and his arms more far-reaching than we feared. The woman in that dungeon is a broken thing, Fenris; the cast-off puppet of a mad, would-be god. We saw the effect on the warden mages who had only been enslaved a short while at Adamant. They were not the only ones set free by whatever it was the Inquisitor and the others did in the rift - and only Hal could tell us what it was they did in there.” He dropped his gaze to his glass. “Now imagine what would happen if someone were enslaved to Corypheus’ will for months. A year.” He lifted his eyes to stare at Fenris. “Three years. How much of one’s mind would there be left, Fenris? How much after _six_?”

“I don’t know, nor do I care after what she put us through. She damn near killed me!” Fenris said as he got up to pace so he wouldn’t take his anger out on the other man.

Belann watched him pace. “And how many did you kill under Danarius’ control?” he asked softly. “How many did Anders kill when Justice was possessing him? I’ve done my reading, Fenris.”

The elven warrior turned and glared at Belann. “Do not compare me to that she-devil. Not for what I’ve done as a slave, property of another and subject to their whims. Do not put Anders in the same camp as her either.”

“Two hundred and forty-three,” said Belann flatly. “That was the number of bodies they pulled out of the ruins of the chantry in the Kirkwall of my world. All due to a mage possessed by a demon of vengeance. I don’t know what the reported figures were for your Kirkwall; after all, he was only enslaved by blood magic, not possessed directly as Solona was.”

“You dare ask me to give her a pass? Is this some warden brotherhood speaking or you think I should forgive her because you asked nicely? I hate her Belann and no amount of casualties, or reminding me of the red in my ledger will change that fact. You can forgive but I won’t, not ever.” Fenris’ brands were lit up as he rounded on the other man. 

Belann threw the glass aside as he got to his feet, undaunted by the glowing elf in front of him. “Then why should anyone in Thedas forgive Anders?” he hissed. “Why should they forgive _you_? What makes either of you so different?”

“Did I ask forgiveness for my own bloodstained path? Why are you so intent on making her a victim Belann? She’s the one who caused Anders to turn to such dark magics. What difference does it make anyway? You are determined to have her freed and pardoned, why should you care if I hate her till I draw my last breath?” Fenris snarled as he got into Belann’s face.

Belann stood his ground, staring Fenris in the eye. “I said nothing of freeing or pardons,” he said quietly. 

“Then why are you harping on forgiveness if we must be pedantic, warden” Fenris glared as he realized he and Belann were the same height of all the things to catch notice of.

“You asked why I would visit Solona and threw reasons in my face as to why _you_ would not. I merely pointed out the hypocrisy of your reasons,” replied Belann flatly. “Why do I visit her? Because she’s the closest thing I have to family in this god-forsaken world, and seems to be the only person in the whole of Skyhold who is actually glad to see me. And I look on her and I pity her.” 

Belann’s words struck Fenris as if he’d been slapped and he stepped back from the other man. He felt shame make his face warm as he stared at the floor while gathering his wits. “I...you are wrong. I was avoiding you but I was glad to see you.” He glanced at Belann then back to the floor. “You’re just as deadly with your words as with your weapon warden.”

“For someone who’s glad to see me, you have a funny way of showing it,” said Belann quietly. “A moment ago you were on the verge of taking my heart. As for my words, there was a time when they were all I had to stand between me and a whipping. You better believe I learned to give as good as I got. Funny how standing in front of someone who can strip away your magic with a thought teaches you to find other weapons.” He turned away. “You don’t have to keep avoiding me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be well out of your way down in the dungeons with my sister.”

“Belann…” Fenris pleaded, his voice soft. “I’m sorry, I ...it’s hard for me to let go of what she did to me in Tevinter. Please try to understand that.”

Belann glanced to the side, not quite turning to face Fenris. “Fenris... what happened to Solona? That could have been me.”

“It wasn’t though.” Fenris replied. “Don’t...hate me please. I’ve got enough of that in my life Belann.”

Belann kept his glance on the spot on the floor. “I don’t hate you, Fenris,” he said quietly. “But I cannot hate her either.”

“I will accept that, just understand where I see it that’s all I can ask of you, if anything.” Fenris said tiredly. He was worn out and wanted to just crawl under a rock and it wasn’t even noon.

Belann merely nodded. “I have to go. I was on my way to pick up clean clothes for her. She’s still in the same filthy shift dress she was brought here in.” He went to the door; he paused in the doorway. “Maybe one day you can both heal. Maybe we all can.” He closed the door behind himself and headed off to the laundry with a heavy heart.

Fenris heard the click of the lock as loud as a slam as he stood there for a long time wondering whether he had it in him to do anything but drink the day away rather than find Krem. Finally, he gathered his weapon and went down to see if the Charger was free before he caved to the urge to hide from his thoughts and unwanted feelings that Belann’s visit had dredged up.

He found Krem leaning against the wall outside the mages’ tower, laughing at some joke Dalish had made.

“Oh, hey, look Krem - it’s your glowy elf boyfriend!” she teased him.

Fenris didn’t rise to the bait of the other elf he just stood before Krem and waited for the soporati to acknowledge him.

“Hey, Fenris,” said Krem casually. “Don’t mind Dalish, she hasn’t gotten laid in a week.”

The elf stuck her tongue out at him, flipped the bird at Fenris then strode off laughing.

“I came to spar if you feel like it. If not I can leave.” Fenris said.

“That depends,” said Krem with a small grin. “Your red-headed friend going to knock me on my ass from halfway across the ring again if I knock you on yours?”

“No, he’s resting up. Might be getting sick from Anders.” Fenris said dully as he looked at Krem finally and noticed he was shorter than the other man.

Krem frowned. “Sure you’re not going down with it as well?” he asked. “There’s no point in even stepping into the ring if I’m going to hand you your arse with my first swing.”

“Not getting sick, at least not in the body.” Fenris answered off-handedly. 

“Your head’s not in the game,” said Krem, shaking his. “I’ll not spar with you like this, Fenris. Wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

“Then drink with me?” Fenris asked instead of trying to cajole Krem into a fight he didn’t want.

“Aye, I’ll drink with you,” nodded Krem. “Is Hal OK to be left alone though, if he’s getting sick?”

“For now yes, he’s sleeping I think.” Fenris hedged.

“Fair enough. Come on then, my round,” said Krem with a shrug.

“Oi, Krem, where you off too?” called Dalish.

“Tavern,” Krem called back. “Keep an eye on Anders’ room, yeah?”

She answered with a wave and he turned to Fenris. “Come on then. Dalish’ll keep him safe.”

“Alright.” Fenris followed Krem in to the Chargers’ part of the tavern and gave a wan smile at the glass of mead put in front of him. Krem dropped into the seat opposite Fenris and raised his own glass. 

“To absent friends,” he suggested.

“To absent friends...and lovers.” Fenris agreed before he clinked his glass against Krem’s with a tired smile. “Sorry about this, I did want to spar but…”

“It would have been a bad idea,” replied Krem firmly. “Your head’s in entirely the wrong space for sparring. What’s happened?”

“Just a lot of emotional things coming out...I miss them and I have a lot of fears about the state of...us.” Fenris replied cagily as he looked around to see who else was in the tavern.

“You know you can talk to me anytime, right?” said Krem, lowering his voice. “Not here, obviously, but... I’m always all ears and no mouth, yeah?”

“I ...might need that. I’m not ok Krem.” Fenris admitted.

Krem eyed Fenris for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision as he rose. “Come on,” he said. “You know the Boss keeps rooms upstairs here? The room you and I spent the night in when it all went to shit. Let’s go talk.”

“I’m still scared of him.” Fenris said as they went upstairs.

“Probably sensible, though the Boss was never actually mad at you, you know. But no worries - he’s in Halamshiral with everyone else. It’s just us this time.” Krem unlocked the bedroom door then gestured for Fenris to enter before following behind.

“So,” said the Tevinter mercenary. “What’s up?”

 

***

Belann’s mood had soured thanks to the altercation with Fenris. He continued on to the laundry; one of the laundry girls who looked to be about Solona’s size had promised to let Belann have one of her old dresses. The girl hadn’t forgotten; when Belann finally arrived, she’d dug out not one but three dresses, all quite serviceable if somewhat rather plain. She’d included some spare smallclothes and a pair of shoes, to Belann’s surprise.

“A lot of refugees showin’ up with nought but what they’re standin’ up in,” she explained. “Good of yeh to care for the poor lass.” She grinned and elbowed him. “Gone sweet on her, have yeh?”

He blushed and stammered.

“Aw, away wi’ ye! I’m only teasin’,” she grinned. “Go on now, and I hope they fit ‘er, alright?”

He gave her a thankful smile as he took the basket she handed him, then made his way to the kitchens to fetch some food - apples, some bread and cold meats, a half-wheel of some Ferelden cheese that he had fond memories of and hoped Solona would too.

There were a few other items he had collected as well - he’d visited one of the merchants in the yard and picked up a small polished bronze mirror, a comb and a brush, and a couple of bars of sweet-scented soap. Those went into the basket as well before he made his way down to the dungeons.

The guards hadn’t been able to move Solona without the direct order of the Inquisitor or the Commander, but their attitude to Solona had changed after they’d read the guard’s report. Somehow, it seemed a copy of Solona’s confession had also done the rounds; certainly Belann had noticed a softening of the guards’ attitudes towards their prisoner. They’d been a little more lenient; they’d allowed Belann to visit as often and for as long as he wished, and although they had to insist on giving a cursory once-over to anything he brought for her, they’d allowed him to bring her extra food.

He recognised the guard on duty; Gregory, the man who’d written down Belann’s first conversation with Solona. He gave Belann a smile.

“She’s been having a slightly better day today ser,” he nodded. “She’s been singing to herself. A lullaby, I think.”

“I’ve brought her some things,” said Belann. “Clean clothes, food, that sort of thing.”

“Very good ser. Just let me have a quick check.”

Belann waited patiently whilst Gregory checked through the items. Satisfied that there was nothing in the basket that Solona could possibly use as a weapon or to kill herself with, he let Belann into the cell.

It was brighter now, with more candles around the place to brighten it up. The cell was plain, but not dirty, at least. They’d taken off the chains apart from one attached to a manacle around her ankle, and the manacles around her wrists were no longer chained together or to the wall. She’d been given a bed, and there was a small table with a chair.

Solona looked up fearfully when the door opened, then visibly relaxed when she saw it was Belann.

“I’ve been waiting for you; I was afraid that today you wouldn’t come,” she confessed. He could see the tracks of tears down her face. He hurried over to the bed where she sat, setting the basket down near her feet before pulling her to him for a hug.

“I was just delayed a little,” he replied. “Look, I brought you presents!”

“Presents?” sniffed Solona, her eyes brightening a little. “What sort of presents?”

Belann could have been forgiven for thinking he had brought her fine gowns of silk and samite rather than worn hand-me-downs for how Solona reacted when he laid the dresses out on her bed. She actually burst into tears when he handed her the clean smallclothes. When he produced the bars of soap she went to pieces completely, clutching tightly to Belann as she sobbed her thankfulness.

Belann found himself wishing Fenris could be there to witness that - Solona reduced to a pitiful wretch, pathetically grateful for a bar of soap.

It took Belann quite some time to calm her down afterwards, but eventually he was able to disentangle himself from Solona. He cast ice into the washbasin then heated it swiftly with a touch of fire magic until the water was pleasantly warm. He carried it carefully over, setting it down by his feet.

It was a sign of how far gone Solona was that she let him undress and wash her. But then there’d never been any privacy in the tower, had there? Particularly not in the cells beneath the tower. He wasn’t entirely sure where Solona thought she was right now; since the day she’d made her confession, her mental state had deteriorated. Some days, she seemed to think she was in solitary back in the tower; other days, she was convinced she was in the Dark Roads. Others, she thought she were in her rooms back at Vigil’s Keep. But she always smiled when she saw Belann.

“You’re good to me, Brother,” she whispered as he gently washed her with the sweet-scented soap and the soft cloths he’d brought, drying her with his own towel.

“Tilt your head back; I’m going to wash your hair,” he said gently.

Afterwards, she sat quietly, dressed in one of the gowns he’d brought - the lilac one; she’d been quite insistent on it for some reason, and he’d indulged her quite cheerfully. She had little enough opportunity to make any decisions for herself down here, after all. She nibbled the bread and some of the cheese as Belann set to with the comb and brush to slowly unravel the bird’s-nest of tangles her hair had become.

It took a long time; her long raven tresses were nearly dry and she’d eaten all the bread, all the meat and over half the cheese plus one of the apples by the time the last tangled knot was teased free and he could run the comb through the loose waves smoothly. He pulled the little polished metal mirror out of the basket and handed it to her so she could watch as he parted her hair into three sections then began to braid it.

“Where did you learn to braid hair, Brother?” she asked, curious.

“Oh, you know what it’s like in the Circle,” he smiled. “All the time in the world to learn such things. The girls used to like having someone to play with their hair. Mine used to be much longer. They taught me how to braid it, and we used to practice on each other.” He grinned suddenly. “Mine’s too short to braid now. I can practice on you instead!”

She laughed, and bit into another apple with a grin.

“There you go - neat and tidy again,” smiled Belann. She turned to him with a sad little smile. “Oh, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“I’m so lucky the Templars let you visit me,” she sniffed. “No-one else is allowed to come see me. They won’t tell me what’s going to happen, Brother.” She began to cry again. “I didn’t know Jowan was a blood mage, I swear it! He swore he wasn’t, a-and I _believed_ him!”

 _Oh Maker. She thinks we’re back in Kinloch, right after Jowan’s escape - before Duncan recruited us,_ Belann realised. “Hush, hush,” he said gently as he gathered her into his arms and gently rocked her soothingly. “You’re safe. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Solona,” he said softly.

He hoped he could keep that promise.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke pushes Anders into a decision. But will it be the wrong one?

By the time Hawke had returned to the ballroom, he found he’d missed most of the action. Meneris was busy denouncing both Gaspard and Briala’s plots, and things had come seriously adrift for the Duchess.

He sidled in alongside Cullen, who - along with the rest of the Inquisition and their forces that had suddenly appeared - had his hand on his sword in case Meneris suddenly needed back-up.

Anders handed Hawke his staff, never taking his eyes off the Inquisitor.

Hawke didn’t sheathe the weapon, he just watched as things unfolded before them.

Florianne had revealed herself as a traitor when Meneris had foiled her attempt to kill Celene for Corypheus. It had gone to pot when the guards surrounded her in an attempt to arrest her rather than kill.

“So the truth comes out, and Corypheus’ pawn shows herself.” Meneris said as he watched her back away from them and onto the balcony.

“You’ve foiled him twice Inquisitor it won’t happen again and you can’t have me.” Florianne shouted before she vaulted off the banister and managed to land rather ungracefully thanks to a handy bush that snared her while it broke her fall.

Anders had thrown himself forward as she leapt, certain that a fall from that height would harm if not outright kill her; Dorian caught hold of him before he could move far, even as Cullen and the Captain of the palace guards leapt up onto the balcony to stare down in surprise as the Duchess managed to wrench herself free and flee into the palace grounds.

“How in the name of the Maker’s blue balls did she pull that off?” exclaimed Cullen as the Guard Captain ordered his men to give chase. “I was sure she would be dead!” He turned back to Meneris. “Apologies, Inquisitor; we should have foreseen such a possibility.”

“Get her, and someone make sure the Empress is safe!” Meneris called out as he dashed down the stairs and gestured for Dorian and Hawke to take the other side so they could flank their opposition.

“You’ll never get me Inquisitor!” Florianne called as she threw a flash bomb before she darted between them with blades drawn.

“Maker, she sounds like every bad guy in every one of your books, Varric!” Anders called as he and Maevaris sprinted back up the stairs to stand guard over the Empress along with Cullen and Iron Bull.

“Hey, I resent that remark!” Varric shouted back as he unslung Bianca, running down the stairs and starting to pick off the strange men in harlequin suits that had leapt out to fight alongside Florianne. “Hey, Hawke - mind your head!”

Dorian was busy striking down harlequins to try and give Meneris a clear line of attack on the Duchess. He managed to get three with a bolt of chain lightning then drew upon the life force of another couple.

Hawke wasn’t bothering with anything quite so fancy or requiring finesse; he was taking out the opposition forces with blasts of fire and force, to the detriment of the ballroom floor. The guests were fleeing, screaming in terror as they pushed out through the various doors to the palace gardens.

Meneris grinned as he cut a path to Florianne and danced once more with just blades instead of coy words and half-steps. “You’ve lost your touch Duchess, you were far more graceful on the dance floor.” he said before he round housed her into a nearby trellis.

Dorian managed to duck as one of the harlequins nearly managed to take his head off with a lucky swing. Bianca sang out, and the harlequin dropped as Dorian twisted round to gesture at two more who were trying to flank the Inquisitor; they staggered then dropped to the ground, clutching at their throats as the necromancer drained their life essence, channelling it back into a blast of ice that fanned out across the floor, keeping back another approaching group of clowns.

“Care to hurry it up, Meneris?” he called.

Hawke strode down the stairs, blasting at any harlequins foolish enough to get within range of his fireballs or lightning strikes. He hated to admit it, but he was actually beginning to enjoy the ball at long last.

“Working on it love!” Meneris called out as he managed to catch Florianne before she could hobble away. “Come now Duchess, I saved a spot on my dance card for you, don’t go now.” 

“Oh, about ti-” Dorian’s comment was lost as he gasped and then cried out, staggering forwards, a knife stuck between his shoulderblades.

“ _Venhedis!_ ” Anders swore as he leapt forward, taking the steps two at a time with one hand thrown out towards Dorian, already casting healing upon him even as the Altus dropped to one knee, scrabbling behind his back for the dagger as Hawke took out the harlequin that had stabbed the Altus.

“Dorian!” Meneris called out as he started to drag Florianne behind him.

“Hold still dammit.” Hawke called as he tried to get Dorian to be still.

“Get it out!” Dorian said from between gritted teeth, his fingers still trying to reach the blade. “Just- get it out!”

“Sounds familiar.” Hawke quipped as he pressed his hand on Dorian’s shoulder as he gently tugged the blade free. _“An--Lord Pavus, you’re needed!”_ he called out.

“No - _don’t_!” exclaimed Anders at the same time as Dorian cried out, almost a scream, as the blade was pulled from his back.

Hawke frowned as he was pushed out of the way by Anders so the mage could work on Dorian and stem the steady flow of blood that soaked his jacket.

Anders pressed a hand to Dorian’s back, just above the stab wound; Dorian gasped as suddenly the pain cut off. 

“ _Nerve block,_ ” Anders muttered as he worked. “ _Which I was going to apply_ before _the dagger was pulled out, to spare you more pain,_ ” he added, sparing Hawke a brief glance before turning back to the work of healing. He closed his eyes.

Dorian was on his knees, head lowered as he took deep breaths to steady himself. He had felt nauseous when he felt as well as heard the grind of the knife edge against bone, and for a few minutes he thought he might black out before Anders numbed the pain. He managed to lift his head as he felt the trickle of blood down his back slow and then stop.

“Whatever we’re paying you, it isn’t enough,” he said gratefully. Anders’ reply was a low chuckle. Finally he sat back and smiled at Dorian.

“ _I’m afraid your fine Inquisition jacket is ruined, cousin, but at least you’ll live_ ,” he said.

“Pfah, red was never my colour anyway - at least, not that obnoxious shade,” retorted Dorian as he got to his feet, stripping off the ruined jacket. He turned to Hawke. “‘Sounds familiar’, indeed!” He snorted, but a small smile played over his lips.

Hawke merely cocked an eyebrow before he turned at the sound of soldiers running down the steps. _”Careful cousin, your Trade has improved but not that much.”_

Anders rose and glanced around at the soldiers, taking a step back warily as they ran down towards them.

Meneris had a grip on the wayward Duchess and was about to hand her over when he felt her suddenly go limp. A small sharp blade protruded from her throat.

Anders exchanged a glance with Hawke. They both recognised that blade.

“Son of a whore.” Meneris grumbled as he let her body hit the ground. “I had planned to question her.”

“There’s still Briala and Gaspard to deal with,” Dorian reminded him.

“ _Meneris is more correct about a certain blond assassin than he realises,_ ” Anders murmured softly.

“ _Not now Pavus._ ” Hawke replied as he sheathed his weapon and got out of the way of the Imperial Guard. 

“Come, we need to check on Celene and deal with the rest of this foolishness before we call it a night.” Meneris said tiredly.

Dorian stepped in beside Meneris, glancing at him for a moment as though to reassure himself that Meneris was alright before staring up the stairs to where Celene stood staring imperiously down at them, her expression unreadable behind the gleaming metal of her mask. Anders and Hawke fell in behind them, following them back up the stairs.

“I should have stayed with my clan, or not agreed to get out of bed that day.” Meneris muttered to himself as they approached Celene.

“And then where would I be?” murmured Dorian. “LIkely stuck with someone _far_ less handsome running things, who might not even recognise _my_ many charms. There is no-one else quite like you, _amatus_ \- and even these uncultured clods can recognise that.”

“Sweet talker, I’ll keep you.” Meneris said softly. Dorian’s fingers lightly brushed those of the elf, then gently laced with them as Dorian took his hand.

“You say such beautiful things, _amatus_ ,” Dorian murmured. 

“My teeth are going to rot from that.” Hawke sniped as they made the top of the landing.

“ _I am so glad I don’t understand a word any of you are saying,_ ” remarked Anders innocently with a straight face.

Hawke rolled his eyes and kept quiet as Meneris and Celene entered the ballroom to reassure everyone things were fine and that Orlais was behind the Inquisition. Once they had paid the masses their due, the party slipped away to a balcony where Briala and Gaspard awaited. 

Anders turned to find Maevaris at his side, pressing a glass of wine into his hand.

“ _Darling, you’ve earned yourself even more fans amongst the cognoscenti by the dramatic way you positively_ threw _yourself down the stairs to your cousin’s side to heal him,_ ” she remarked before leaning in close. “There’s lyrium in the wine. Thought you’d appreciate a pick-me-up.”

“ _You are a star, my dear,_ ” Anders replied quietly. He sipped the wine, tasting the familiar bittersweet metallic taste of the lyrium even as he felt the quiet whisper of mana in his veins and his fatigue lifting.

Hawke felt his own power flare against the urge to fry Maevaris where she stood. He swore he could hear his teeth squeak from how tight he had his jaw clenched.

“Hawke, I really don’t want to have to test right now whether I could still throw a Silence without lyrium, but if you don’t pull it in right now then by Andraste I’m going to give it a damned good go,” Cullen murmured to the incensed Champion.

“Whatever do you mean Commander?” Hawke replied without unclenching his jaw somehow.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Hawke. You unleash anything here and now without the Inquisitor’s _express_ say-so, then I’ll bounce your arse so hard you’ll hit Kirkwall wondering what in the Void happened to you, I swear it. Push it, and I’ll make it a Smite, not a Silence - and I’ll throw in a Shatter first. Are we clear? You are _not_ going to further imperil or disrupt these negotiations!” Cullen’s voice didn’t rise above a calm whisper, but there was a world of painful promise in every syllable. Hawke was left in no doubt that the Commander would do exactly as he had said - and that Cullen was pretty much at the end of his tether.

“ _I’d believe him if I were you,_ ” Anders murmured, sounding almost frightened.

“Ser, yes templar ser.” Vic replied smooth as butter as he crossed his hands behind his back and stared ahead with a nonchalant look. 

Cullen leaned in close and breathed quietly in Hawke’s ear. “You and I are going to be having a little chat when we get back to the estate, Hawke; is that clear?” Cullen’s tone made it clear that “no” was not an option. From somewhere behind Hawke and to the left, he was vaguely aware of a small whimper coming from Anders; when Cullen had stepped away and Hawke glanced round, Anders was staring at the ground and Maevaris appeared to be holding him up whilst talking sternly in his ear.

“I suggest you leave off with the command tone Cullen, it’s affecting our Northern friend something awful.” Vic whispered back.

Cullen glanced back at Anders, who was carefully looking away from him. The Commander frowned. “I must have a chat with him later,” he mused quietly.

“Make sure you take Dorian to translate.” Vic replied with a glance to Cullen. “I’m not one of your charges Rutherford, do not speak to me as if I am. Is that clear to you?” Vic leaned back and smiled serenely at Meneris when he turned to see what was going on. 

“Pardon Inquisitor, had something in my throat after the fight.” Vic kept his hands firmly behind his back and a polite smile on his face that belied his fury.

“Then don’t behave like some pissed-off apprentice caught by the senior enchanter, Hawke,” Cullen murmured as he turned to glance at Anders with a small frown. He stepped away to help Maevaris with Anders.

“Is he alright? Maker, he’s going down - hang on-” There was a muffled thud behind Hawke and the tinkle of a glass shattering on the marble.

“Maker…move, let me cool him off.” Hawke shooed them off and laid a hand barely tinged in frost over Anders’ forehead. 

Anders’ eyes fluttered and he groaned faintly. 

“What happened?” asked Dorian as he dropped to his knees next to Hawke and Anders. His brow was furrowed in concern as he leaned over Anders. “ _Speak only Tevene,_ ” he said very softly as Anders’ eyes slowly drifted open. Anders blinked and stared up at him, then at Hawke. 

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he said quietly. “ _Did I faint?_ ”

“ _Yes Lord Pavus, perhaps all of this excitement caught up with you? I can take you back to our lodgings if you wish to rest. I’m sure the rest of our group can handle things from here._ ” Hawke said as he helped Antonius up.

“ _I think perhaps that would be a good idea,_ ” Anders nodded, his face pale as Hawke and Dorian helped him to his feet.

“Wait here,” said Dorian tersely as he slipped away to join Meneris for a moment. The Inquisitor inclined his head towards Dorian as the Tevinter Altus murmured a quick explanation in his ear, then nodded once. Dorian rejoined them swiftly.

“ _Antonius,_ ” said Maevaris quietly. “ _Send word of your decision to me please?_ ”

Anders nodded dazedly. “ _I need to think,_ ” he said softly. “ _And sleep. Maker, I need to sleep._ ”

Hawke pushed in between the female magister and his pale lover as he took Anders’ arm, Dorian supporting him on the other side as they gently steered him back inside and towards a stairway that led away from the loud hubbub of the ballroom.

Half an hour later, they were in a carriage on the way back to the estate the Inquisition had borrowed for the duration of the talks. Anders’ head rested upon Hawke’s shoulder as the carriage jolted and shook them.

“What happened?” asked Dorian quietly. “Simple exhaustion from healing me?”

Hawke shook his head. “There’s more to this than that,” he replied darkly. “I’ve seen him heal far worse wounds like that in the middle of a fight and then throw fireballs immediately afterwards. This took it out of him far more than it should. Cullen glowering didn’t help, mind you.”

“What has Cullen to do with it?” frowned Dorian. Hawke glanced down at Anders; the mage seemed out for the count, leaning against his shoulder. Gently, Hawke shifted until Anders lay upon the seat, his head resting in Hawke’s lap, The Champion slowly carded his hand through Anders’ jet-black hair and sighed.

“Cullen was a templar in Kinloch,” he began. “And Anders was one of the apprentices. He was brought in when he was twelve. As I understand it, Cullen was the templar who guarded him most of the time during his year in solitary.”

Dorian blinked. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say a year in solitary,” he said quietly.

“You did,” replied Hawke grimly.

“ _Fasta vass!_ ” exclaimed Dorian softly. “And I thought two months was bad.”

“What?” said Hawke, frowning.

“Never mind, it was nothing,” said Dorian hurriedly. “You said Cullen was his guard during that year?”

“Mostly,” nodded Hawke. “Anders doesn’t talk about that time much. But something like that... _breaks_ a man. I’ve often wondered if there were something....” He shook his head. “No. Anders and I have been around the Inquisition and Cullen long enough now that if there were anything, any lasting hold over Anders, I’d have seen it before.”

“But enough that Cullen glaring in his direction might be the last straw, you mean?” said Dorian quietly. Hawke grunted assent.

“There’s something more going on though,” Hawke said heavily. “He’s not been right for a while. Even before we went to Adamant, there was something not quite right. And after Adamant... well.”

“That was a serious head wound,” said Dorian quietly. “It is little short of a miracle that he survived.”

Hawke gently brushed inky strands of hair away from Anders’ sleeping face. “We nearly lost him,” he said quietly. “And I’m afraid I’m losing him again, in another way.”

“You think....”

“I’m afraid he’ll take up Magister Tilani’s offer. He’ll go with her to Qarinus, and I’ll have to break the news to Fenris.” He ran a hand slowly over his face and was unsurprised to find it wet.

“I had no idea she’d actually forammly asked him,” said Dorian quietly. “Anders wondered if she might, but...That’s what Mae meant by a decision?”

Hawke nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I am sorry,” said Dorian sincerely. “I had no idea. But... he didn’t say yes?”

“He didn’t say no, either,” said Hawke heavily. “He told her the same thing he told me; that he needs to think about it.” He looked away, unwilling to see the sympathy in Dorian’s eyes. “I know he’s going to go with her.”

“You can’t know that for certain,” argued Dorian. “What about Fenris?”

“Since when did you care about Fenris?” exclaimed Hawke, with a disbelieving laugh.

“Since he saved my damned fool neck,” replied Dorian. “That’s not what’s important here. Look, Hawke; Anders is, in my experience, an honourable man. I seriously don’t think he’s the type to disappear off to Qarinus without speaking to Fenris in person first.”

“Why not?” said Hawke.

“Well... how did _you_ find out Mae had asked him to go with her?” asked Dorian.

“He told me,” replied Hawke. Dorian stared at him expectantly, his eyebrows rising a little when Hawke didn’t seem to get it. The Tevinter Altus groaned.

“Seriously, Hawke, do I have to join the dots for you?” he protested. “Look, he told you of it before he’s even made his mind up.”

“So?” said Hawke a little belligerently. “Stop beating around the bush, Pavus. If you’ve a point to make, get to it.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “So, if he told _you_ before he’s actually made his mind up, then it stands to reason he’ll tell Fenris as well before he decides. At the very least, that means whatever Anders decides, he will be coming back to Skyhold in the short term.” _Even if that’s only to say goodbye,_ Dorian added mentally.

“As you say,” said Hawke, glancing out the window, one hand gently stroking Anders’ hair as the slender mage slept on.

Dorian sat back, his arms folded, his exasperation huffing out of him as he stared out of the other window.

They rode the rest of the way back to the estate in silence.

***

Anders woke late the next day; pretty much everyone in the Inquisitor’s party had slept in, it seemed, but even Hawke was up before the formerly-blond apostate. The space where he had slept next to Anders was empty and cold when Anders rolled over.

He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. His head was aching again already. He pressed his palm over the scar and channelled a little healing into it - just to take off the edge of the pain and dull it a little. It never entirely went away; mostly he could ignore it and push through it, but sometimes it spiked up insistently in a way he couldn’t ignore. The constant ache was wearying; it claimed his energy relentlessly. It got worse when he was tired, and every spell he unleashed that wasn’t healing magic caused a sharp, jagged pain through his head, like a dagger through his skull.

He knew he should do something about it, but he wasn’t sure what. He could no doubt heal up the scar, but touching any deeper damage was beyond him. It was one of the few things he couldn’t really do - poke around inside his own brain to heal damage. Anything he did there could affect his own levels of consciousness, which in turn would affect his ability to heal himself. It was the one weakness of being a healer; you couldn’t deal with your own head injuries beyond relatively trivial ones. And this one had healed on its own the slow, natural way, which was always harder to treat.

He rolled onto his side with a sigh. He would have to get Hal to look at it and see what the other healer could do for him.

He got up and looked around for clean clothes. He blinked; a set of clothes had already been laid out for him. A sleeveless white linen shirt and a duck-egg blue asymmetrical tunic in a similar style to Dorian’s had been laid out for him, together with slate blue-grey leather pants and a matching sleeve for his bare arm. He snorted; evidently Dorian had taken it upon himself to furnish Anders’ wardrobe with apparel appropriate for the travelling Altus. He shook his head with a smile as he made his way to the washbasin to clean up. Fenris would have flipped out over that.

He shaved, then pulled back his hair into a smooth ponytail before dressing. Some of the buckles on the tunic were a little fiddly, but after a little while he was able to get everything on. Out of habit, he applied kohl to his eyes with brisk practiced sweeps of the stick.

There was a knock at the door. “ _Enter!_ ” he called in Tevene.

“ _Ah, Antonius,_ ” said Leliana as she entered the room and glanced around. “ _You have a visitor._ ” She dropped back into Trade. “It is good that you are cautious enough to maintain our charade even here, but all the staff are our people.”

Anders glanced round. “ _Better to be safe than sorry,_ ” he replied.

“ _Good, good,_ ” the spymaster smiled. “ _Antonius, I believe she is expecting your answer. I think you should accept her offer - for the good of the Inquisition._ ”

He turned towards her, his eyes narrowing. “You know, I’m not even going to ask how you know about that,” he said, dropping back into Trade. “I still haven’t made my mind up yet, but what has the Inquisition got to do with this?”

“We could use a trusted agent in Tevinter,” answered Leliana. “Magister Tilani has offered her assistance to the Inquisition - she seeks to thwart the Venatori in Tevinter as much as we do. You could go as our ambassador to Tevinter. It would give you more of an official standing in Tevinter, and in turn we would have someone we know is trustworthy who can keep us informed of events in Tevinter. I would send four of my ravens with you.”

“Did Meneris put you up to this?” asked Anders, folding his arms.

“The Inquisitor does not know about this... yet,” replied Leliana. “But surely you can see the sense in it.”

“I don’t even know what my answer will be yet!” protested Anders. “And in any case, I want to return to Skyhold and talk to Fenris before I decide anything!”

“Of course you do,” replied Leliana, inclining her head slightly. “But do think it over. It would be... mutually advantageous.”

She turned to leave. “ _Best not to keep Magister Tilani waiting,_ ” she added. “ _She is waiting for you in the reception room. I will have coffee sent in for you both._ ”

Anders scowled at Leliana’s retreating back. He reached for his staff and headed down to the reception room.

His scowl lifted as Maevaris rose from her seat and turned towards him, holding her hands out towards him with a warm smile. “Antonius!” she greeted him; he closed the distance between them to take her hands and answer her smile with one of his own. She drew him in close, wrapping her arms around his waist as she tilted her head to kiss him. He returned the kiss warmly before pulling away slightly.

“Mae, we need to talk,” he said as he set his staff to one side than sat down on the settee, drawing her down with him.

“You’ve thought on my offer?” she asked.

“I...have, and... I’m still not sure,” he said slowly. “I need to go back to Skyhold and talk to Fenris. Well, both Hawke and Fenris together, though Hawke -”

“Already knows; yes, he and I spoke briefly last night and he told me you’d told him,” she answered for him. “It’s only natural you’d want to talk it over with them, and frankly I’d expected nothing less of you. Which is why I’m coming with you to Skyhold.”

“I’m - wait, _what_?” exclaimed Anders as one of the Inquisition guards entered with a coffee service and two cups.

“Lovely, just set it there - there’s a dear,” Maevaris told the guard with a smile as Anders gaped at her. “Do close your mouth darling, you’ll catch a fly,” she told Anders.

“You’re coming to Skyhold?” said Anders as she turned to pour for them both.

“Yes, Leliana and I had a chat, and _officially_ I am returning as a guest of the Inquisition to discuss an alliance with regards to ousting the Venatori and limiting their activities and support within Tevinter.” She stirred cream and sugar into her own cup as she spoke. “Unofficially, I wish to be on hand for your decision. If you choose not to come to Tevinter then I shall return alone, though the Inquisition will still have my aid - that will stand, regardless of your decision. If you decide to accept my offer, it will be far safer for us to travel together with my household retainers than for you to travel alone to Tevinter to join me. So, yes, I am coming with you to Skyhold.”

Anders stirred cream and sugar slowly into his own coffee then took a sip before trusting himself to speak. “Fenris is going to go ballistic,” he said quietly. “He’ll try to kill you.”

“Which is why I’m not going to stay in Skyhold itself,” she replied. “Leliana tells me there’s a small town called Haven that’s quite nearby - I understand it was destroyed during one of Corypheus’ attacks, but Leliana tells me most of it has been rebuilt; the farmlands around it supply most of the food for Skyhold, and the town itself is source of much of the trade to and from the fortress. There’s an inn there where I can stay and hold talks with the Inquisition representatives, and I’ll be safely out of Fenris’ way.”

“You’ve thought this all out between you two, haven’t you?” said Anders, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not sure Hawke will be too happy to have you along.”

“I’ll be travelling with my own retinue and carriage, dear,” Maevaris replied as she leaned forward and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear with a fond smile. “Hawke needn’t lay eyes upon me at all. It’s not as though we’d be sharing a tent all the way to Skyhold; for a start, that wouldn’t be at all appropriate for a widow such as myself.” She gave him a wink. Her hand was still in his hair; she stroked her fingers through it slowly.

“Don’t get too used to this,” Anders warned her. “The colour’s coming out the moment we get back to Skyhold. Zevran assures me the dye will wash out.”

“Pity; the dramatic look suits you,” she sighed. Anders laughed, and she leaned in to kiss him briefly.

His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned in to chase the kiss, following it with one of his own. Maevaris hastily rescued the coffee cups and set them aside then slid into his arms to return his kiss slowly and languidly, drawing him down upon the settee.

There was a polite cough from behind them; Anders sat up, startled, his face a little flushed as he turned around to see Josephine with a small smile on her face.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but Leliana would like to speak to Magister Tilani, and I believe Dorian is looking for you, Anders,” she said.

Anders stood up, straightening his tunic before turning to assist Maevaris to her feet.

“Hold that thought, darling,” she smiled as she leaned in to kiss him chastely upon the cheek before following Josephine from the room.

He touched his cheek where she’d kissed him and smiled, then he sighed. He reached for his staff and slung it on his back then went to find Dorian.

 

***

Hawke had gone to a separate room after he heard Maevaris and Anders speaking. His mind was running in circles over what to do about the situation as it was. He didn’t like Tilani, and his heart was breaking at the idea of losing Anders. 

Maevaris came striding out of the room in the company of Ambassador Josephine, not glancing round as she spoke quietly to the small Antivan woman. A few minutes later, Anders himself followed, walking slowly into the hall before coming to a halt, his eyes distant. He glanced around, then pressed one hand to his forehead, wincing briefly.

Hawke waited for a bit before he decided to seek out someone for company rather than moping around the villa. He had the misfortune to run right into Anders. The formerly-blond apostate was standing in the hall, head slightly bowed, one hand pressed to his scar, oblivious to his surroundings - including Hawke.

“Are you well Ant--, Anders?” Vic asked softly.

Anders’ head jerked up, his eyes glazed for a moment. “What?” He glanced around, his body stiff with tension until he recognised Hawke; he visibly relaxed. “Oh. Hawke. I’m... I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he said quietly, letting his hand drop. “Just a slight headache. Probably all the wine last night.” He smiled faintly.

Hmm, when… if you go back, Hal should look at your injury. Assuming he’s back to himself by then.” Vic said quietly as he glanced at the room he’d left. “Have you had dinner yet?” 

“A little early for dinner,” replied Anders. “I’ve had coffee....”

“Very well, I’ll be in there if you wish to talk or have more coffee.” Vic replied as he glanced towards the doors, unsure if he wanted to go out, or drag Anders into the room and beg him not to leave them.

Anders was staring at him in mild confusion. “Love, are you... are you trying to avoid me?” he said in a small voice.

“Not on purpose, but it’s hard right now. Come in so we can talk?” Hawke offered.

“Of course,” Anders said quietly, following Hawke into the reception room. He sank down onto the settee where a short while ago he had drank coffee with Maevaris, and he stared up at Hawke, feeling uncertain and unsettled. He could feel the tension in the air between them, the distance already growing, and it made him feel off-kilter.

“You could put a mabari puppy to shame with that look. Look this is hard for me, I know it’s hard for you too. But having her damn near sweep you off your feet in front of me is making it hard not to flash fry her on the spot.” Vic admitted.

Anders closed his eyes, a brief look of pain crossing his pale face before he opened them again to stare up at Hawke. “I’m coming back to Skyhold with you,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to both you and Fenris together before I can decide anything. I need to know if what we have together can be salvaged or... or if it would be better for me to go away.” He glanced away, his expression troubled. “I know you and Fenris were happy once, before I came along. I don’t know if my going away would allow you both to find happiness together again, or if we can make things work if I stay. But I can’t know that here and now.”

“Don’t make this out to be your fault. Fenris and I fucked things up. It will kill him, no matter your decision. Maybe not kill him but it will be bad. I’ve accepted that she’s caught your eye and I’m not enough, well I don’t know what I am to anyone anymore. I haven’t forgotten your remark about not fighting over you like a thing. So whatever decision you make, I’ll abide by it.” Vic said.

Anders sank his head into his hands with a groan. “It’s not that,” he said. “Mae, I mean. Well. Not yet. It could be, but... I don’t....” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not explaining this at all well, and my head is aching fit to bust, but....” He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath before he released it and opened his eyes again. “I just think maybe things would be simpler if I wasn’t around,” he said in a small voice. “Ever since Fenris slept with Belann, everything had been broken between all of us. It’s a constant fight and I’m... I’m tired, Vic. I don’t want to have to keep fighting any more. Mae has offered me somewhere to go whilst I get my head back together, and she’s made no secret she’s attracted to me - and, yes, I... I like her too. But nothing is going to happen until we all sit down and talk - you, me, Fenris. And Zevran.” He lifted his head and stared miserably at Hawke. “I’m not going to leave you unless I know for certain that it’s over, or that my staying will do more harm than good.”

“It’s not over for me, but I cannot speak for what Fenris will think once you broach this topic with him. Just be gentle with him Anders.” Vic said.

Anders dropped his head to his hand and nodded, then hiccupped. It wasn’t until Hawke turned and stared at the other mage, at the way his shoulders shook, that he realised Anders was crying silently.

“Maker save us.” Vic said before he slid in next to Anders and pulled him into his arms. “Come on now, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Anders managed to gasp. “Seems it’s my turn to mess things up.” He turned and buried his face against Hawke’s shirt; the Champion could feel Anders’ tears soaking through the fabric. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” the apostate sobbed. “It wasn’t meant to be like this. Any of it.”

“I know love, I know believe me.” Vic soothed as he rubbed circles along Anders back. “Let me give you a bit of healing, sure you were clutching your head earlier.” 

“It’s always aching,” sighed Anders after a moment; his breath kept hitching in his chest, like a slight hiccup. “Sometimes it’s worse than others. It’s always worst if I use magic, unless it’s healing magic.” He sat up slowly. “Or if I’m tired - but then I’m tired all the time, it seems.”

“Close your eyes, let me do something for you for a change.” Vic pressed his palm to Anders’ forehead and let soothing healing magic flow to his lover. “Tell me when it’s better.”

“Ohhh...” Anders breathed out in a low sigh. “Have you been practicing? That’s... Maker.” Hawke could feel the moment Anders relaxed, the apostate slumping against him as his eyes closed. Anders took a slow, deep breath, then let it out again steadily.

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there, love? Something didn’t heal right.” Anders’ voice was quiet. “I’ve suspected it for a while now.”

“Probably, we’re still shocked you’re alive to talk about it to be honest. Hopefully Hal has come out of his fugue and can look you over.” Vic wrapped his arms around Anders and rested against the other mage. “I’m sorry I don’t make you happy anymore.” he said quietly, almost too soft to be heard.

Anders’ breath caught in his throat, and he bit his lip hard. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please. It’s... it’s not you. It’s me, Fenris, this whole shitty situation. None of us want to be here. It’s a wonder any of us are still sane.” He curled around the other mage. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling fresh tears sting his eyes. “I still love you. I do. I’m, I’m just too weak, I can’t keep fighting Vic. I can’t keep doing this. Is love supposed to hurt this much? It never did with Karl. What’s wrong with me, that I can’t be enough for you both? What am I doing wrong?” He lifted his head to stare at Hawke, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Please tell me what I’m doing wrong, so I can put it right!” he begged.

“You’ve done nothing wrong Anders. It’s me and Fenris that are fucked up. I used him as a slave master cause I felt guilty for the power I was born to, remember? He’s broken too, and we take it out on you or expect you to fix it all because you’re our healer. We’ve been unkind and horrible. THere is nothing for you to fix, you hear me?” Vic told him.

“Then how do I make it right?” whispered Anders. “How do I stop this from happening over and over?”

“There’s nothing you can or should do love. Fenris has a lot to work out as do I. Maybe...fuck I can’t believe I’ll say it. Maybe we need a rest once we’re back in Skyhold. Being here is making things worse. I want to set her on fire you know.” Vic admitted.

Anders pulled away suddenly, shaking his head. “No... no, Vic, please. It’s... this isn’t her fault. Please. Vic, please promise me you won’t take this out on her. None of this is her fault.” He turned away, scrubbing at his face with his hand. “Maker, this is all such a horrible mess,” he choked.

“I’m not going to do anything to her. But she could have left you alone...I’ll drop it. I’m outclassed and couldn’t take her in a fight anyway. Just, Anders...don’t leave us, please? I’m begging you to stay. I’ll be better, I’ll be good for us again. Just don’t go please?” Vic begged as he finally broke down in tears.

Distressed, Anders turned back to him; as he saw the tears rolling down Hawke’s cheeks his eyes widened before he hugged Hawke. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry love,” he whimpered. “Please, don’t cry - Maker, I’m so sorry, so sorry!”

“No...I’m sorry. I broke things, I know I did. I terrified Fenris, I dragged you to Skyhold, we lost you at sea. I haven’t protected you like I promised. I fucked Dorian, this is my fault. I’m not a good man and I’ve hurt you all so much. Just...I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Hawke wiped at his face and laughed at himself. 

“Maker I’m so pathetic, just give me a few minutes to get my head right. I’m so fucking weak right now. Excuse me a moment.” Vic went to the basin and wiped at his face with a cool cloth and pressed it to his eyes until he felt the stinging stop. 

Anders had drawn his knees up to his chest as he fought to control his breathing. “You did _not_ call up the storm that wrecked the ship,” he managed to gasp out. “Maker, Invictus Hawke, you may be good at Force magic but you can’t control the weather!” He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a slightly hysterical sound. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he fought down the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, then let it go.

“You know me, I don’t take blame half way.” Vic tried to joke as he rejoined Anders and rested his head on his shoulder. 

Anders let his head drop until his forehead rested against his knees. “I can’t do this any more,” he said tiredly. “I love you, but I can’t live like this, Vic.”

“I see...then maybe you should just go with her and I’ll tell Fenris whatever you want to tell him.” Vic didn’t let go but his voice hitched just a bit. Anders shook his head.

“No,” he said sadly. “I need to tell him myself. I owe him that much.” He was silent for a moment. “Leliana wants me to go as the Inquisition’s official Ambassador to Tevinter,” he added quietly. “Even the Inquisition wants rid of me.”

“I don’t want you gone, I just begged you not to leave us. But you’re not happy Anders, you’ve said it enough. I’m sorry for everything. Write a letter or something.” Vic said tiredly as he tried to keep from falling apart and making Anders feel worse. Anders lifted his head.

“You mean... you... you don’t want me to come back to Skyhold?” asked Anders, bewildered.

“I want you to but I don’t know if I can take seeing what it will do to Fenris when you tell him you’re going with a Magister back to Tevinter. After what happened between us, he’ll be sure it’s his fault or worse. We had a long talk before leaving for Halamshiral, and I love him. I love you and if we’re to separate, I don’t want him to suffer any more than he has to. It’s going to be hard enough to deal with you going Anders. Just don’t break his fucking heart so bad it can’t be fixed.” Vic scrubbed at his face tiredly as he pondered all that had happened and how bad it would be if he just didn’t go back either.

Anders glanced away, staring into space, a little stunned. Hawke was telling him not to go back. He blinked rapidly, trying to fight down fresh tears. Not return to Skyhold? Not speak to Fenris at least one more time? And yet Hawke had known Fenris far longer than he had. He was telling Anders that he and Fenris had talked.

He got to his feet, stunned, not entirely thinking straight. Hawke didn’t want him to go back to Skyhold. His mind kept circling back round to that.

“Then...” he said softly, his voice little better than a whisper. “Perhaps... I shouldn’t go back?” His voice was hesitant.

“I was just trying to spare Fenris, do what you feel is best Anders. I shouldn’t speak for him, who knows maybe you not telling him to his face will be worse.” Vic said as he got up and went to the liquor cabinet for something strong. “I probably shouldn’t drink but fuck it.”

Anders was looking away out of the window as Hawke’s words sank in. He couldn’t think straight. Hawke’s final words were addressed to the bottle of Antivan brandy the former Champion had dragged out of a cabinet, but Anders was staring away as he heard them. He closed his eyes. Hawke was being driven to drink already, and it wasn’t even midday. 

He didn’t know what was best. Was Hawke telling him to stay there? To come with him back to Skyhold? He didn’t know.

“What would you do if you were me?” he said softly.

“I’d be terrified, confused to face Fenris but I’d still go to talk to him. I don’t know how you feel about Zevran besides friendship.” 

“He’s my friend,” said Anders distractedly as he stumbled over to the window. He braced his forearm against the glass as he stared out into the bright sunlit garden. “How _should_ I feel about him?”

“I don’t know I thought you were more than friends before Kirkwall, or all this.” Vic shrugged as he poured another drink and went to the chaise to stretch out. 

“More...than friends?” Anders suddenly giggled. He turned and stared at Hawke. “You thought... more than friends... you....!” He suddenly broke off into a giggle. As Hawke turned and stared at him, he giggled again; as Hawke’s frown deepened, Anders could only laugh harder until he had slid down against the window, his hands over his mouth as he giggled helplessly.

“Perhaps you need this drink more than I do.” Hawke said as he handed the other mage a glass with two fingers of brandy with a sad expression. 

Anders tossed back the brandy, still giggling; his giggles devolved into coughs, and then he curled up, pressing his forehead against his knees as he fought down sobs once more. He struggled to bring his ragged breathing back under control. “Just friends,” he managed, in a voice that was almost a sob. 

“I don’t understand but I won’t ask since you’re almost hysterical.” Vic said as he helped Anders up and to the other chaise. “Go to sleep Anders.” he said sadly before he poured himself more brandy.

Anders stretched out of the chaise longue, trying to stifle the sobs that kept trying to well up. After a long while, the hysteria finally left him. He stared up at the ceiling, exhausted. “What do I do?” he whispered. “Do I stay or do I go?”

Vic didn’t answer, nothing he said helped. Instead he drank slow and steady as Anders muttered to himself, and he fell deeper into despair over losing his lovers. Eventually, Anders’ muttering grew more slurred, more drowsy, and then fell silent as the mage dropped into a dreamless sleep, exhausted from his bout of hysteria and drained by pain.

The next morning the Inquisition party set off for the long journey back to Skyhold.

Anders did not return with them.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted as the opening chapter of "Seorsus: Tevinter"; after discussion, we decided that it would be better to merge it with the main "Seorsus" story. "Seorsus: Tevinter" has now been deleted.

Maevaris glanced through the open doorway at the blond apostate who sat hunched over in her drawing room, staring at his feet. When last she’d seen him, his hair had been raven-black; that wasn’t the reason for the magister’s frown as she turned back to Leliana however.

She folded her arms and tapped a finger against the coiled snake bangle about her upper arm.

“This isn’t what we’d agreed, Leliana,” she said.

The Inquisition’s spymaster sighed. “A great many things are not what we agreed,” she replied. “This is not how I had planned it at all, but I hadn’t anticipated Hawke....”

“- putting his great big Ferelden clodhopper feet right in it?” suggested Maevaris acerbically, arching one eyebrow. Leliana conceded the point with a shrug. “Honestly, Leliana, someone needs to gag that man. Every time he opens his mouth it’s only to do his damnedest to insert both feet. I can only assume he became Champion of Kirkwall through sheer dumb luck, because on the current evidence it most certainly was not by virtue of his wits.”

Leliana gestured to her to keep her voice down as she cast a glance at the blond apostate in the drawing room; Maevaris drew a slow breath for patience, but her next words were in a lower voice. “You have all the appropriate paperwork and seals authorising this, of course?”

Leliana handed her a small ring box and a document case. “The seal of authority of the Inquisition, travel documents, a signed and sealed copy of his full pardon for Kirkwall, and all the appropriate writs required for his new position as Ambassador to Tevinter,” replied Leliana. “The position is a salaried one drawing upon the Inquisition purse; we will also cover any and all expenses incurred during his stay in Tevinter.”

“That’s not necessary,” replied Maevaris absently as she took the document case and ring box, hefting the ring box in her hand thoughtfully.

“Nevertheless,” replied Leliana. “He may find it reassuring to know he has his own independant resources.” She gestured to the covered cage at her feet; a muffled quiet squawk sounded from within. “This was all arranged upon very short notice. I can spare only two ravens to go with him. I will endeavour to send more later. I will also have his books and other possessions sent on in due course.”

Maevaris nodded. “The Inquisition leaves today?”

“It does,” agreed Leliana. “I must go; the Inquisitor awaits me.”

“Leliana,” said Maevaris sharply in a tone of reproval. “You are not going to leave him here without so much as a word to his face? The poor man’s been cast off by his nearest and dearest and the Inquisition has handed him off with nary a word of farewell I’ve seen. The least you could do is say goodbye.”

Leliana sighed. “Maevaris -”

Maevaris tilted her head and stared her down; the spymaster sighed.

“Very well. You are right,” she conceded.

Maevaris turned away, observing Leliana and the man in the mirror that hung upon the wall opposite. As the red-headed woman entered the room, the blond man glanced around and straightened with what seemed a genuine enough smile. He took Leliana’s hands and they spoke for a moment as he rose to his feet. He nodded at something she said; she glanced up at him and asked something. He lifted a hand - _wait, a moment_ \- then reached into the front of his robes to pull out a couple of sealed letters which he handed to her. She took them and nodded. The man gently took one of her hands and bent over it to kiss the back lightly, then he turned and watched as she left the room. He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad; he turned away and retook his seat before Leliana had reached the door.

“All done then?” asked Maevaris as Leliana joined her in the hallway once more.

“It is done,” agreed the spymaster. “You will write?”

“And so will he,” agreed Maevaris. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Leliana nodded. “Then farewell, Magister Tilani.”

“Farewell, Spymaster leliana,” answered Maevaris. They exchanged polite nods; and then Leliana was gone, and Maevaris was alone again.

Well. Not entirely alone. She glanced at the mirror and saw that the man’s shoulders had slumped; as she watched, he curled in upon himself and then his shoulders began to shake silently.

Oh, now this would never do. She was not going to have him moping all the way to Qarinus; that would be no fun at all for either of them and certainly wouldn’t do him any good.

She had fewer staff here in this rented villa in Orlais than upon her estate back in Qarinus; she was perforce obliged to step into the kitchen to order coffee and pastries to be sent to the drawing room. By the time she had returned, the man had seemingly managed to pull himself together and was sitting where she had left him, staring out of the window.

“Well, now, we have the place to ourselves,” announced Maevaris as she strode into the room. The man visibly jumped as his head whipped round to stare at her a little wild-eyed before he visibly relaxed a little.

Anders’ eyes were still red-rimmed, though his face was dry as he turned to face the magister. He was glad he’d left off the kohl that morning; he doubt any would have remained by now in any case, but at least it wasn’t smeared all down his face. He felt wretched enough as it was; he didn’t need to look it as well.

It hadn’t felt entirely real up until the moment Leliana had walked away. Up to that point, he had almost succeeded in convincing himself it was all a deeply unpleasant dream; from the difficult and painful conversation with Hawke yesterday morning, to the uncomfortably stilted conversation over dinner with the rest of the Inquisition’s inner circle during which Leliana and Josephine had presented his remaining behind as the Inquisition’s Ambassador as a _fait accompli_ , the Inquisitor himself merely nodding approval. Anders found himself wondering once more just how long the three had planned it, or something like this.

To his surprise, Dorian had been against the idea, protesting quite vehemently; the real surprise was when Cullen sided with the Tevinter Altus. In the end, Meneris had slammed his hand down on the table, roared that the matter was done and the discussion was over. Josephine had proposed a toast to the new Ambassador, and Anders had proceeded to get very, very drunk.

He had a dull, vague recollection of Hawke’s eyes upon him, miserable, as Anders self-determinedly tried to drink himself into oblivion - and Maker, wasn’t this the most inconvenient time for all the drinking he’d been doing lately to pay off? He was sure it should have taken far less to get him drunk. If he’d been more capable of thinking straight he might have suspected Hawke of using a sobriety charm on him. Still, he had valiantly done his level best to get drunk and in that he’d succeeded, even if he didn’t actually pass out at the table. No-one could claim he hadn’t at least _tried_.

As it was, he woke up hungover and feeling thoroughly wretched the next morning. He had woken up in a cold bed, Hawke already gone. He had some incoherent recollection of the former Champion kissing him gently the previous night, his face wet with tears, and he realised that the other mage had not shared the bed with him. He had slept alone, and nothing had spelled out his rejection of Anders more strongly than that.

Dorian had arrived to find Anders a miserable mess, curled up in the middle of his bed and sobbing his heart out bitterly, barely able to breathe for the crushing pain in his chest as it finally sank in that it was over, that this was really happening; Hawke and the others were returning to Skyhold without him, and his life with Hawke was done. Even though the choice, technically, had been his, it had hurt to hear Hawke talk of separation in the assumption that it was happening - in terms of how he would break it to Fenris, how he would deal with Fenris’ grief - not whether this were a thing that were only a possibility and not necessarily a probability. It had been then that Anders had known he would not be returning to Skyhold. In Hawke’s mind, even if only subconsciously yet, the Champion had already decided things were over and all that was left to do was tell Fenris.

The Altus had been gentle with him, coaxing him to sit up, leading him into the bathroom. He had drawn a bath for Anders and washed his hair for him, sluicing away the black dye with buckets of warm, scented water before helping the slender apostate into the steaming bath. Dorian had stepped out of the room to fetch towels; when he returned, Anders had been crying again. Not the bitter sobbing of earlier, but a quieter, hopeless yet silent weeping, the tears rolling down his face as his shoulders shook. A weeping born of resignation and mourning.

Dorian had kindly affected not to notice the tears, washing Anders’ face gently before moving to wash his scarred back. Once, he would have flinched at the touch, but now he welcomed it. Mercifully, Dorian had held his tongue as he washed Anders, and even afterwards when he’d helped the blond apostate from the tub so Anders could dry himself. It wasn’t until Dorian had picked out suitable robes for Anders to travel in that the Altus finally spoke quietly.

“I didn’t want to see this happen,” he said softly. “I had hoped that the four of you might yet make this work together. I bitterly regret my own small part in what’s happened, and perhaps in time you may be able to forgive me for that.” As Anders sat wordlessly before the dressing table, Dorian took up a comb and began to gently work it through Anders’ hair, teasing out the knots and tangles.

“I may have cause to visit Tevinter myself; you can be sure I will drop by to visit you as often as I can. You will not be entirely without friends, and I do hope you will write often - to me, if no-one else,” he added. “I’ve grown quite fond of you in my own way and I shall miss you most dreadfully.” Dorian frowned over a small knot and teased it carefully apart with deft fingers. “If there any books you’d like from the library, let me know and I’ll -” He broke off when he felt Anders tremble; he glanced up, startled, his expression turning to one of dismay when he saw the tears rolling down Anders’ cheeks again. “Oh dear me,” he said. “Have I said something to upset you? Forgive me, dear fellow, that wasn’t my intention.”

“No,” Anders managed hoarsely. “I think you’re one of very few real friends I have in the world right now, Dorian, and I’m going to miss you too.”

“Oh, come now, you have other friends too,” said Dorian. “Varric, for a start. And Cullen’s more fond of you than he lets on; he was being quite vociferous against this whole ambassador idea last night if you recall. Quite surprised Meneris, I might add. Who, by the way, slept on the couch last night, I may tell you, and no doubt he’ll make me pay for that - likely by making me ride a horse instead of idling the weeks away back to Skyhold in a carriage and I shan’t be able to walk straight for a week after we get back; I love him dearly but he _does_ hold a grudge and can be so frightfully petty sometimes.”

Dorian had rambled on for a while; Anders had let it wash over him.

Anders couldn’t bear to watch the Inquisition set off without him. It was easier to be the one to depart first. Dorian had come out into the courtyard to see him off, as had Cullen. The Commander looked awkward as he stood there, rubbing the back of his neck. As Anders emerged from the villa, Cullen glanced at Dorian then turned to the blond apostate.

“Ah, er, Anders,” he began, then sighed. “Maker, this... I’m not happy about this, Anders. I know Leliana said this was your own choice, but....” He stepped forward and stared at Anders. “Is it? Truly? Because if you’re only doing this on Meneris’ orders, then damn it I’ll-”

Anders shook his head. “It’s my decision,” he said quietly. “But thank you, Cullen. We may not be friends, but -”

“Anders.” The Commanders frowned, but it wasn’t a forbidding expression, more a thoughtful one. “Please consider me a friend. If there is anything you ever need, or that I can do for you, please let me know. And do write. I, ah, I can’t always guarantee to write a lengthy reply, but... it doesn’t have to be just dry reports, alright?”

“Alright,” Anders replied.

They shook hands, and then Anders held his hand out to Dorian. The Altus took it, clasping Anders’ hand in both of his.

“Thank you,” Anders said quietly.

“Think nothing of it,” replied Dorian with a sincere smile. “Now run along with you and give Mae my love. Tell her if she makes you cry I shall be cross.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” said Anders. “If I make _her_ cry?” Dorian laughed.

Anders glanced around; Leliana was waiting in the carriage already. No-one else was waiting to say goodbye. Not that Anders had necessarily expected it - after all, the whole point of slipping away first was to avoid a long protracted farewell. But that the only people who cared to see him off were Dorian and Cullen hurt more than he cared to admit. That after all this, Hawke was not there to say goodbye... that hurt most of all.

He nodded to them both, then turned to climb into the carriage.

“Blondie! Hey, Blondie! Wait up!”

Anders glanced back as Varric ran after him, waving one hand frantically at him. The dwarf was panting as he came to a halt in front of the blond apostate; he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Maker, I’m getting too old for this shit,” he panted. He straightened. “Blondie, I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye - and to give you this.” He held out a small package to the mage. Anders took it, turning it over in his hands.

“What is it?” he asked, curious.

“Just a small gift,” replied Varric. “Something that might come in useful at some point.”

“You didn’t have to get me a going-away present, Varric,” Anders smiled sadly.

“Think of it as more in the line of life insurance, Blondie,” replied Varric with a shrug. “Take care of yourself. I’m going to miss you.”

“You too, Varric,” said Anders, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“Now, don’t you start crying, Blondie, or you’ll have us both in tears,” warned the dwarf. “See you around, Anders.”

Anders nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He turned and climbed into the carriage next to Leliana.

He didn’t look back as the carriage pulled away. He kept his eyes down, not lifting them until the estate was far behind them.

If he had, he may have seen the figure who stood beside the gate, watching with tear-filled eyes until the carriage was long out of sight.

***

Anders hadn’t meant to cry when Leliana left. He hadn’t thought he’d had any more tears left in him by that point. He was glad that he was alone when they started to roll down his cheeks, hot and wet. They passed, leaving him feeling tired and wrung-out and empty inside. Maevaris’ voice in the too-silent room had made him jump, but her smile when he glanced round was warm and friendly.

“Your things have been taken up to your room. There’s a pair of ravens in a cage that Leliana assures me you will know how to take care of?” Maevaris’ expression plainly said _please tell me you do actually know because maker help them if they’re left up to me_ ; Anders merely nodded. The spymaster had handed him instructions on how to care for the ravens that morning as they travelled in the carriage. She had told him a great many things that were also written in those notes, guessing too well that Anders would be in no state of mind to take anything in.

“Leliana also left these for you,” Maevaris went on briskly; Anders accepted the ring box and document scroll with a faint frown. As the magister sat down upon the couch opposite, Anders opened the ring box and took out a signet ring made of heavy gold. It bore a modified version of the Inquisition’s seeker’s-eye sigil, similar to the Inquisitor’s personal seal though set within a shield shape. Anders turned it over in his hands, then slipped it onto the little finger of his right hand. It fit perfectly, and Anders wondered again just how long Leliana and Josephine had planned this.

“Anders,” said Maevaris in the tone of someone who had been patiently saying something for some time. He glanced up.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was....”

“Lost in thought,” she smiled gently. “I gather this is all rather hard on you. Did something happen? Yesterday morning you were going to return to Skyhold to talk to Fenris and Hawke. Now Leliana shows up with you without warning, when you should be on the road already and I in the middle of packing to accompany you back there. Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Anders?”

He’d thought he’d had no more tears left. He was mistaken.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qarinus, broken hearts and terrible dreams

Anders and Maevaris had departed for Qarinus two days after the Inquisition left Halamshiral.

Maevaris had assured Anders that her retinue was quite small, but when they set off they had a troop of fifteen guards as escort in addition to Maevaris’ carriage, two maids, the cook and the ostler - the maids travelled in the wagon with the luggage and the cook, whilst the ostler travelled with the guards on horseback. Maevaris’ carriage was pulled by a team of four black horses, and two coachmen rode atop the carriage, switching off between them periodically.

It seemed quite a large number of staff, until he considered the vast retinue that had accompanied the Inquisitor and the inner circle to Halamshiral. That led to thoughts of Hawke however. He spent the days riding in the carriage in a dark, sombre mood, hunched in upon himself as he stared dully out of the carriage window. He slept a lot, waking whenever they stopped somewhere for a rest break or when they reached an inn. There were expanses of the road without inns, when perforce they had to camp. Maevaris had a large pavilion similar to the one the Inquisitor had used during the journey to the Western Approach and Adamant; the interior was divided by screens into two separate bedrooms for Anders and Maevaris, the central section used as a dining area where Anders and Maevaris would dine together.

Anders was grateful for his own space at night; he wasn’t entirely ready to share a bed with anyone just yet, and Maevaris thoughtfully let him be. It seemed she was content to wait whilst he worked through things in his own head. He was often the first to retire to sleep in the evenings, still plagued by the incessant headache that seemed to be ever present.

They followed the Imperial Highway north, taking ship across the Waking Sea to Nevarra. They took fresh horses at Cumberland and pressed on at a faster pace, passing the border into Tevinter after two weeks of travel. They had a further fortnight ahead of them before they would reach Qarinus.

Maevaris left him alone for the most part, but on the third day into the Silent Plains they had barely been travelling for an hour after breaking camp when she abruptly leaned forward and struck him upon the knee with her fan.

He had been reclining on the seat opposite her, staring dully back the way they had come out the window, lost in his own gloomy thoughts and distracted by the ever-present headache that seemed to plague him constantly these days. As her fan struck his knee sharply, he recoiled, pulling his leg away as he sat up and stared at her, startled.

“What was that for?” he exclaimed, rubbing his knee.

“You’ve been brooding long enough; I am _not_ going to ride in silence the whole way to Qarinus,” she replied tartly.

“I was _not_ brooding!” he retorted hotly. She arched an eyebrow at him knowingly and he relented a little. “Well... maybe I was,” he admitted. “But what of it? Mae, I’ve just walked away from two people I’ve loved for years. It... it hurts, knowing that part of my life - the one constant thing I’ve had - is over. And I never truly had a chance to say goodbye to either Hawke or Fenris. I just realised that the Inquisition must be reaching Skyhold about now, and Fenris will be reading my letter, and I... I’m afraid of what he will think of me. What a terrible coward I am, that I couldn’t return to Skyhold to face him.” He stared at her miserably, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m very poor company right now.”

“You are starting a new life, Anders. Letting go of the old one is hard, I know. But you are about to start living as yourself, in a land where you can live freely, never having to look over your shoulder for those wretched templars, where you can use the gifts you were born to and be appreciated for it,” she replied.

“Yes, instead of looking out for templars I just have to watch out for magisters who fancy a Spirit Healer slave,” replied Anders acerbically. “You forget, I’ve been in Tevinter before. I spent the whole time with a slave collar, and believe me - I’ve seen the worst of Tevinter. Unlike most southern mages, I’m under no illusions that Tevinter is the marvellous, wonderful haven for mages that it’s painted as. Even if Fenris hadn’t already shown me that, just by talking about his life as Danarius’ slave, then those weeks spent collared certainly did.”

“Ah, but you are returning as Anders, the destroyer of the Kirkwall Chantry and the Inquisition’s Ambassador,” replied Maevaris. “Hardly the same as most of the poor wretches who show up in Tevinter with false illusions.”

“I take no pleasure in what I did in Kirkwall,” snapped Anders, crossing his arms. “What I did was murder. It’s nothing to revel in or glorify.”

“Of course not, darling,” Maevaris said, unperturbed by his tone of voice. “But people _will_ glorify it, just to try and get into your good graces and curry favour. And like it or not, people _will_ respect that kind of power. And as you say, you’re a Spirit Healer. Even in Tevinter, such people are rare. You may not be an Altus, but your reputation and position will give you a status and influence almost equal to mine.”

Anders stared at her, his expression still bleak, then he closed his eyes with a faint groan. “Forgive me. I’m being incredibly ungrateful.”

“Apologies not needed,” said Maevaris more gently. “Though I can’t believe we’re barely two weeks out of Halamshiral and already having our first argument.” She smirked a little. “I’ve had barely any conversation out of you and now here we are arguing. Though at least you’re talking. This is more conversation than I’ve had out of you since the morning you arrived on my doorstep.”

“Maker, I’m sorry. I’m really not myself,” he said quietly.

“The headaches again?” she asked gently; he nodded, rubbing his temples with a wince.

“That’s no excuse for snapping at you though,” he said, his mouth pulling down into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

A thoughtful look crossed Maevaris’ face, and she turned to rummage through a small wicker case by her side. She produced a small square bottle with a dark red liquid; pulling out a little silver cup, she carefully decanted a little of the liquid into it then held it out to Anders. “Here, try this,” she suggested gently.

“What is it?” he asked as he took the small silver cup and cautiously sniffed the contents.

“It’s a little something that Thorold used to take for migraines,” answered Maevaris with a shrug. “It can’t hurt to try it?”

He stared at the dark liquid for a moment, then shrugged and knocked it back. “It’s not a migraine as such -” he began, then he blinked. He suddenly felt incredibly drowsy, though the pain in his head had thankfully lessened dramatically. He stared at Maevaris, faintly alarmed. “Mae...” He was distantly aware the cup had dropped from his hand.

“It’s alright, darling,” she said softly as she slipped over to sit beside him. She gently nudged him until he obediently lay down with his head in her lap; she gently stroked a hand through his hair. “Just rest and sleep it off,” she suggested softly.

He didn’t want to sleep; he fought it, but Maevaris’ hand in his hair was soothing and gentle. He closed his eyes.

***

Four and a half weeks since the Inquisition had left Skyhold for Halamshiral and Fenris was nearly climbing the walls out of boredom, loneliness and frustration. He was pacing around in his room when he heard the bells tolling to alert the Keep to a returning party.

Hal was dozing on Anders’ bed when Fenris stopped by the apostate’s room. The young mage was only barely recovered from his fever; the elf decided to let him sleep a while longer. The elf continued on down the hall, pausing to glance out a window. The courtyard was filled with carriages, horses and baggage wains, soldiers and servants milling around. 

Fenris hurried out, full of something besides boredom and dread as he went out to see the carriages cross the drawbridge, his gaze on each on so he could spot his lovers.

To his surprise, it looked like Dorian was one of the riders on horseback rather than riding in a carriage; the Altus wasn’t fond of long rides, and Fenris wondered at what could cause the Tevinter mage to take horse when he might have ridden in comfort.

Vic was in a carriage alone, terrified of breaking the news to Fenris and picking up the pieces after. The screaming match he’d had with Meneris was spectacular to hear anyone tell it. He glanced out the window and saw the elf watching for them. Once the carriage stilled, he stepped out and waved to his lover, heart hammering in his chest at the way Fenris lit up as he almost knocked people down to get to him.

He’d not seen Zevran since the disastrous meal where he’d had to watch Anders do his best to drink himself to death the evening before he left for Maevaris’ Orlesian estate. The elf had sat stiff-backed, his eyes on his plate, ignoring everyone there after Leliana and Josephine had made the announcement of Anders’ new appointment. He wasn’t even sure if the Crow Master had even accompanied them back. Some of the guards had mentioned seeing a horse like Zevran’s, passing them by in the fields to one side of their long convoy of wagons and carriages; he’d wondered more than once if perhaps Zevran had raced on ahead of them. But as he saw the relieved look on Fenris’ face, he realised that the elf hadn’t yet heard the news. That task was left to him, then.

Dorian was swinging himself stiffly down out of the saddle with a grimace. The Altus shot the Inquisitor a sour look as Meneris climbed down from his carriage, then loudly announced to anyone who was listening that he was off to wash the Orlesian dust off and try to regain some feeling in his arse, “and if anyone disturbs me before noon tomorrow I shall set their hair on fire!” He was decidedly limping as he strode towards the mage’s tower, radiating ire and disgust.

Fenris didn’t care about dignity or even the appearance of being stoic as he raced down to Vic and jumped in his arms. “You’re back, I’m so happy to see you love,” he said before he kissed his mage until he needed air. He pulled back and glanced around. 

“Where are Zevran and Anders? Why are you alone?” Fenris whispered in his ear when he felt Vic’s arms tighten around him.

“Champion, I shall leave these on your desk,” remarked Leliana, holding up a couple of letters. Her gaze as she glanced to Fenris then back to him was sympathetic.

Hal stood at the top of the steps, away from the worst of the scrum, his hands folded within his sleeves. He seemed serene as always, but as Hawke looked up from his arms full of elf, the red-headed mage gave him a warm smile.

“You’re not answering, Hawke; where are they? Why isn’t he here?” Fenris asked as he got down and looked up at Hawke for some kind of answer. “Did ...he’s not... dead... is he?” he asked quietly.

The Commander swung down out of his horse and turned towards Hawke then halted as he spotted Fenris. “Hawke, I... I see you’re busy. Ah, I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He glanced at Fenris, his expression sad. “Either of you.” He gave them a slight bow then headed away for his office at a fast trot.

The Iron Bull patted Hawke on the shoulder as he went past, heading towards the tavern to check in with his Chargers.

They way they were treating Hawke made Fenris stare up at him in fear. “Tell me he’s not dead, please Hawke. Please tell me you didn’t come back just to tell me that. No, _please_ ,” Fenris whispered as he clutched at his lover. He knew he was on the verge of making a scene, but if Anders was gone, a bit of frantic begging would be the least of what they saw.

Varric paused nearby and glanced at Fenris then up at Hawke, then sighed and shook his head as he headed off towards the tavern.

Hal’s face had lost its smile; he was staring down at Hawke and Fenris now with a worried look.

“Hawke, what happened? Where is he?!” Fenris shouted as he started to tremble. Hawke’s expression made him slide to the ground, hand on his chest as he started to hyperventilate.  
“I didn’t...get to say goodbye,” he gasped as he slumped on his knees while everyone milled around or avoided looking at them.

As Fenris dropped, Hal’s eyes widened in alarm and he began to try to push past the crowd of people trying to head into the keep, frantically trying to reach the elf and the silent Champion.

Josephine looked up from her scribe’s board at Fenris’ cry, then began to make her way towards them. “Ah, Champion, you have told him then?” she called.

“No, Ambassador.” Hawke said tersely as he picked Fenris up and headed into the Keep. He carried his lover into Skyhold and to his room so Fenris could get the news and read Anders’ letter. He set the elf down on the bed, then poured them both a drink as he tried to gather his words.

Leliana had left two letters on the desk; both in Anders’ graceful script, one addressed to Fenris and the other to Zevran. As Hawke tried to pull himself together, there was a hesitant knock on the door and then Hal peered around the door at them both.

“I’m sorry, I... is Fenris alright? Has something happened?” he asked timidly. “Has something happened to Anders?”

Hawke stared at him and gave the young mage a slight shake of the head: _not now_. Hal darted another glance at Fenris, then ducked away, closing the door silently behind him.

Fenris sat huddled on the bed, his hands tugging distractedly at his hair. “He’s dead. He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why you can’t tell me what’s happened?” the elf said hoarsely. 

Hawke didn’t trust his voice not to crack. He pushed a glass of brandy at Fenris, then held out his letter from Anders.

“What... what is this?” Fenris asked quietly. Hawke gestured at the elf wordlessly then turned away.

Fenris set the glass aside then slowly opened the letter. It took a moment before his eyes would focus on the words. The ink was blurred in several places with tear stains; several times the writer had scratched out words hastily as they’d rethought a word or phrase. 

_My dearest Fenris,_

_I hope and pray that Invictus has told you himself what has happened. I can only hope my poor words can somehow explain the why. I should have been there to explain and discuss this with you in person; I can only hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive my cowardice in sending this letter in my stead._

_By the time you receive this letter, know that I shall be far from you on my way to Qarinus. Invictus will reassure you that I am here of my own volition; I have not been kidnapped by blood mages, nor was I given no choice in this appointment. I could have said no; I do not think the Inquisition could have forced me to take up this position had it not already been made quite clear to me that there is no place for me in Skyhold._ (There was a heavily-crossed out part following that sentence; try how he might, Fenris couldn’t make out what Anders had initially written then had second thoughts over. He thought he could just about make out the name “Hawke” but nothing else.)

_I do not know when, if ever, I shall return to Skyhold. The Inquisitor has not yet stated how long my appointment as ambassador will be for. I do know that I need time to think, and to heal, and I hope that without my presence both you and Invictus may also be able to heal and love each other anew once more._

_Know that I do not do this lightly, ~~love~~ ~~amatus~~ ~~carissimi~~ my love. I shall always love you, and you cannot know how much it hurts that I cannot say these words to you in person. I can only hope that one day you will forgive me, though I do not expect you to._

_I remain,_

_Eternally, your Anders._

_p.s. Please tell Invictus that I think I understand why he did not say goodbye. Tell him it hurt very much, but it was only what I deserved, and I forgive him. I miss you. Maker, I miss you._

As Fenris stared at the letter, the words blurred through a sheen of tears.

Hawke had let his own tears fall as he watched Fenris read the letter, and he braced for whatever was to come from it. He didn’t move as the letter fell from the elf’s fingers and he stared ahead blinking as he cried.

***

Cullen was bent over his desk, frowning as he tried to concentrate on the latest report from Scout Harding. He started as a hoarse, ragged scream suddenly echoed across the courtyard; he was on his feet reaching for the door and out on the battlements before his mind had fully registered that the voice was that of Fenris. As he stared down at the courtyard, he could see heads poking out of windows, others in the courtyard staring in the direction of the sound. 

He could see Leliana on the balcony of her office, staring down. As he glanced up at her, she inclined her head then turned back inside. 

Cullen breathed a heavy sigh. He turned towards his office then paused. Something made him glance up towards Leliana’s balcony again; for a moment, he had thought he saw movement just above the balcony. His eyes swept the skyline of the tower; seeing nothing out of place, he shook his head and returned to the warmth of his office. Skyhold was bitterly cold after the comparative warmth of Orlais.

***

Hawke watched helplessly as Fenris curled in on himself and screamed out his hurt. He’d tried to comfort the warrior but had been rebuked for the effort. “Fenris?” he asked but got only another heart wrenching scream as his answer. “Zev, where are you?” he asked hopelessly as he sat with his lover and their pain.

There was a pounding on the door, and then Hal burst in, Krem on his heels.

“ _Fasta vass_ \- what’s happened?” exclaimed Krem.

“I gave him the news about Anders leaving for Qarinus and he read the letter,” Hawke said dully as he wiped at his face tiredly. “I wouldn’t touch him; still glad I have all my limbs.”

“Qarinus?” said Krem, uncomprehending. “But... why?”

Hal had sagged against the door frame with an expression of relief upon his face. “I feared - when I saw the serious looks on everyone’s faces... Anders isn’t dead then?”

“No, not dead, but...I don’t know if Fenris will care right now. I’m a bit wrung out, Krem; can we talk about it once we get him to a point where he’s not screaming?” Vic asked as he rubbed at his forehead.

“Fenris...please, love, look at me, talk to me,” Hawke asked quietly

Hal slipped into the room to kneel on the floor near Fenris’ feet; he laid a gentle hand upon the elf’s knee.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked softly. “Fenris?”

“He...left m...me. I told you so, Hal!” Fenris sobbed brokenly as he collapsed on the bed. 

“He told you so? What does he mean?” Vic asked. Hal looked stricken; he glanced up at the Champion.

“He was afraid that after what he’d done, Anders would not want to return to be with him any more. He thought that with being away for so long, Anders would think better as to his desire to stay with him, that he’d want to leave him. He was afraid that he’d destroyed things between them,” Hal said worriedly.

“It wasn’t his fault...once I can talk to him without us both breaking down, I’ll come talk to you. Can I bother you to have something sent up? I’m hungry and he should eat,” Vic said as he slowly approached Fenris and sat next to him. “May I hold you?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Krem. He darted a worried look at Fenris before leaving.

Hal sat on the floor, hating how helpless he felt. There was nothing he could do; the only person who could perhaps have eased Fenris’ tears was several hundred miles away.

“Don’t leave me too Vic, please. I’m sorry, I’ll be good and not treat you wrong. Just don’t leave me too,” Fenris said as he crawled into Invictus’ embrace and broke down again.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here long as you’ll have me, my heart. I’m sorry, I couldn’t do more to at least make him come back and face you. Forgive me that, someday,” Vic said as he rocked slowly to calm Fenris as the elf grieved.

“I... I should go,” said Hal quietly as he got to his feet and slowly backed away.

“Stay...please. I want to hear how things were while we were gone. I think...he’s cried himself out a bit,” Hawke replied.

Fenris’ eyes had closed as his sobbing stopped. He appeared to be asleep, and was on his way there as exhaustion hit him.

Hal stared at Fenris then slowly nodded. He moved over to the table and sat in one of the chairs. “He missed you. Both of you,” he said quietly. “We stayed in Anders’ rooms to maintain the illusion that a sick man was bedbound there.” He pulled a slight face. “That became more true than we’d intended; I... had a fever for a while. He looked after me; I was... rather ill. Whenever he wasn’t looking after me, he sparred with Krem or spent time with the Chargers.”

“How bad was it, and how come you’re not standing about like a Tranquil anymore? I’m glad of it but what finally brought you out of it?” Vic asked as he carded his fingers through Fenris’ hair as he sat.

“Fenris, as it happens. With a little help from Krem,” Hal added. “They decided to spar, to see if watching would bring me out. Fenris was distracted and got hurt, and it seemed to snap me out of it. And then I got sick and was rambling in a fever for about three days, and fairly weak for about a week afterwards. I’ve only really been up and about on my feet the past couple of days.”

“A,h I see...glad he’s better, sorry it took that to make you come around. I think it might be good for you to be around him for a while. I’m afraid of what will happen when he wakes up and remembers this happened,” Vic said.

“Not asleep,” Fenris said as he sat up and rubbed at his face. “Where’s the drink you offered earlier?”

Hal rose to his feet and fetched Fenris a glass of wine, bringing it over and crouching down by the bed to offer it. “Is there... anything I can do?” he asked gently. “Anything at all?”

“No.” Fenris said tersely before he knocked back half the glass. He knew his anger was building and he didn’t want to take it out on them. “Where’s Zevran, then? Coward couldn’t face me with this either?” he asked angrily.

“No-one has seen Zevran,” answered Hawke, his expression dark. “Not since the night before Anders left with Tilani. His horse was gone from the stables and some of the troops think they saw him in the distance riding ahead of us, but no-one has seen him for certain. We don’t know where he is. I don’t think he’s a coward, Fenris; I think maybe either there’s something happened in Halamshiral we don’t know about, or maybe he’s taking Anders’ leaving to heart for reasons of his own. He had to take out three Crows during the ball. There’s... a letter for him too, from Anders. Over there on the table.”

“He’s probably left me too, then,” Fenris snarled before he finished the glass and headed straight for the bottle. “Get out, I want to be alone.”

Hawke got to his feet. “Fenris... I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said quietly.

Hal remained where he was, half-kneeling beside the bed. “Please... let me stay,” he said softly.

“Figures, everyone else gets to decide what's best for me. Anders leaves with that fucking magister. You won’t let me get drunk in peace and Hal looks like a damned mabari puppy,” Fenris said angrily before he collapsed in a chair and curled up and away from them. “I don’t care… do what you want then. I just want to drink and cry alone.”

“And you think I haven’t?” said Hawke, a flash of pain crossing his face. “How do you think I felt when Josephine just casually told us all he was going to Tevinter? When I had to sit there and watch him doing his damnedest to drink himself into oblivion right next to me? When I had to kiss him goodnight and know - know I would never -” His voice broke in anguish and he turned away. “Damn it, Fenris, I’ve lost him too,” he said softly. “You’re not the only one hurting. Every mile we were travelling to Skyhold, I wanted to be riding hell for leather in the other direction to bring him back.”

“I know Vic, I’m sorry. I’m being petty and selfish. Probably part of my charm that helped push him away. We need to leave, even if I have to whore myself out to survive I cannot remain here, not knowing they took him from us,” Fenris said as he glanced at one of the bottles before he looked to Vic. 

“Let’s go get him. I’ll kill this magister he’s working for. Claim she was secretly Venatori to justify it.” Fenris sounded off kilter but he didn’t care.

From somewhere nearby, almost overhead, there came the sound of glass smashing against a wall and a hoarse yell of frustration. Hal glanced up and looked puzzled. “That sounded like it came from Dorian’s room?” he said slowly.

“What if it did? He’s probably glad to see Anders gone,” Fenris snapped.

“Actually, he and Cullen were the ones arguing loudest against Anders going,” replied Hawke slowly. “He and the Inquisitor have been arguing heatedly about it every time they get near each other. Dorian ended up riding on horseback all the way back from Halamshiral instead of taking a carriage with Meneris.”

“Right...the two least likely people to want him to stay.” Fenris rested his head in his hands and sighed. “I apologize in advance for what’s going to happen, as I work through this.” 

“I know you’re angry, love,” said Hawke gently. “I am too. I....” He turned away and dropped heavily into a seat at the table, dropping his head into his hands. “I keep asking myself if I said something wrong. Could I have talked him out of this? Was it something I said? We talked... the morning before the announcement, after Tilani came to talk to him. Did I miss something? He was... almost hysterical.” He thought back to how Anders had crumpled against the window, the way he’d giggled, but it sounded almost like sobbing. “No. He _was_ hysterical. Maker. Was this my doing? Did I drive him away?” He shook his head. “I’ve been asking myself that over and over.”

“What’s done is done, Vic. No point in worrying over it. I’m...broken and I ...I don’t know which way is up right now,” Fenris said just as Krem entered with a tray for them. 

The Tevinter mercenary glanced round at them all, then put the tray on the table. “ _Fasta vass_ , the atmosphere in this room... between you three in here, Cullen storming around like thunder and Dorian carrying on in his room....” He shook his head slowly. “You’d think the Venatori had kidnapped Anders.” He frowned.

“Who says they didn’t? After what we went through in Tevinter, I can’t see him willingly going,” Fenris said tiredly. “Maybe this Tilani is one of their agents, who knows.” 

“But she’s Varric’s cousin,” said Hawke. “And Dorian knows her as well. If she’s Venatori, then she’s hidden it from both of them incredibly well - and surely Leliana would have uncovered her if she were on the other side?” 

“She’s Varric’s cousin?” echoed Hal, looking puzzled.

“Well, she married his cousin, or something like that,” replied Hawke. “Except Varric’s cousin died, so she’s a widow. She and Varric were acting like old, really good friends though.”

“Doesn’t matter...he’s gone from us,” Fenris said as he took the bottle, went to bed and curled up with his back to them.

“What I don’t understand,” said Krem slowly, “He’s the ambassador to Tevinter now, right?” He looked to Hawke, who nodded slowly. “So... where’s his staff? Josephine has twenty people working for her - scribes, agents, her own lesser advisers. Where are his staff? I mean, an ambassador has to have an embassy, right? He can’t do it on his own, can he? And they’d have to be Inquisition people, surely - he can’t be going to recruit Tevene staff?”

“No one bothered to share the logistics with us Krem. I don’t know… but you’ve got a point. Maybe when my head isn’t splitting I’ll talk to Dorian about it. Maker knows I want to punch the Inquisitor’s face in right now.” Vic picked at his food listlessly before he shoved the plate away. “I need to change, and Maker, do I need a bath.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of this,” said Hal quietly. He glanced up at Hawke. “I think I may have to ask you to put me to sleep. Maybe I can find Anders through the Fade - at least to reassure us he’s alright.”

“Can you do that?” Fenris asked as he rolled over to stare at Hal with hope. “Ask...him why?”

Hal nodded. “I think so. I’ve been talking a lot with Solas when you’ve been sparring with Krem or off with the Chargers,” he answered. “If he’s asleep, I can walk into his dream and talk. If he’s awake, I can at least check he’s physically OK and sort of tap into some of his thoughts. It’s... not precise, but at least it’s something.” He shrugged. “I can’t fall asleep at will the way Solas can though, which is why I need to either drink a potion and drug myself to sleep - or get Hawke to put me under, which will be easier for you to bring me out of afterwards.”

“Lie down then, I’ll put you under when you’re ready,” Hawke said, more than a little eager to find out what was going on with Anders.

Hal got to his feet, brushing off his robes before laying himself down on the bed next to Fenris. He folded his hands upon his breast and stared at the ceiling. “I’m ready,” he said, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

“Is this likely to be dangerous?” frowned Krem. 

“I don’t think so,” said Hal, a little uncertainly. “I’ve never really done this deliberately before, but... I know how it’s supposed to work in theory.” He glanced to Fenris. “I’m willing to try, though,” he added.

“Thank you, Hal,” Fenris said with a far too eager look on his face.

Vic barely kept his sigh in. He didn’t want to give Fenris false hope even as he wanted to know what Anders was up to. He pressed two fingers to the other mage’s forehead and sent him on his way.

Hal’s breath caught in his throat and he stiffened at Hawke’s touch, his eyes staring at the ceiling blankly before they slowly rolled back, his eyelids fluttering shut and his body going limp with a soft sigh, his head rolling to one side, deep asleep.

“That... looked really creepy,” admitted Krem.

Fenris had crossed his legs and reached for Hawke’s hand with a pleading look. “Love?”

Hawke moved around the bed to Fenris’ side and sat down next to the elf, taking his hand. Their fingers laced together as they stared at the sleeping mage.

***

Hal moved through the Fade, searching for the blond apostate. 

Navigating this strange, unearthly realm was slowly becoming more natural to Hal as the union between his spirit and that of Endrin became more complete. Solas had been of invaluable help as well; the strange, bald elf had been utterly fascinated by the prospect of a living person and the spirit of a deceased man from another reality commingling into one - as much as he’d been fascinated by the possibilities hinted at by Endrin’s presence in the Fade. 

Solas had pressed Hal heavily for every detail he could remember of their journeys between the different realities through the Fade. He had spoken of something Dorian and he had discussed, about manipulating and stepping through the Fade, manipulating it - something about sympathetic vibrations between two energy sources through the Fade interacting with the very fabric of the Veil itself to step between places and, in theory, time itself. From the way Solas had phrased it, Hal wasn’t entirely sure the elf wasn’t suggesting that the idea was far more than theoretical, though Solas had suggested Hal discuss it with DOrian on the Altus’ return from Halamshiral.

But Solas had been very helpful regarding navigating the Fade itself, and Hal had become far more proficient at travelling and finding the minds of sleepers. He had touched upon Anders’ waking thoughts only once before, but he was confident that he would be able to find the apostate, whether he slept or not.

He pressed deeper and deeper into the Fade, searching for that golden aura he remembered from touching Anders’ thoughts; he focused on it, and soon he could feel it through the eternal veridian twilight of the spirit realm.

Anders was dreaming. As Hal drew closer, he found the apostate was drifting within a dream - and it seemed his sleeping presence had attracted both curious spirits and more than a few demons; in addition to the usual healing spirits that were drawn to Anders all the time, Hal could see fear and despair demons clustered around the borders of the blond apostate’s dream, feeding from the emotions bleeding through the Veil from his dreaming mind. Uneasy, the _somniari_ drew closer.

As Hal pushed into the dream cautiously, his unease only grew. Inside the dream was an inky blackness that felt thick and cloying, like dark treacle; and in the centre drifted Anders. The apostate hung there in the darkness, his eyes half-closed as his hair fanned out, floating in a hazy swirl about his head as though the mage were drowning in dark water.

Hal studied the mage from a distance, cloaking himself in the darkness. As he watched, Anders jerked suddenly, throwing his head back sharply as he opened his eyes wide; he stared around himself, wild-eyed, as though he had only just woken and realised what was going on.

Dreaming within a dream? Hal frowned, and drifted closer.

“No...no, no!” Anders was whimpering as he stared around himself at the blackness. “No, not this, please, not this! Let me wake up - oh, Maker, let me wake up!”

Hal uncloaked himself and pushed himself forward; as Anders’ arms flailed wildly at the darkness, he reached out to touch his hand. At the contact, Anders calmed slightly as he turned to stare at the red-haired mage.

“Hal. Why am I dreaming of you?” the blond apostate asked.

“I came to find you,” answered the young mage. “You knew you were dreaming?”

“Why did you - oh. Oh no,” said Anders quietly. “Fenris. They’ve returned to Skyhold, haven’t they? He knows.” He turned away from Hal with a low moan.

“Anders... we don’t understand. Why didn’t you come back?” asked Hal gently as Anders curled in upon himself with a sob.

“They don’t want me. Don’t need me,” Anders whispered. “It’s... over between Hawke and I. I knew... when he and I talked, and then... the last night... when he kissed me, he was saying goodbye. When I woke alone, I knew... he’d told me, and I just wasn’t listening.”

“Over? What do you mean?” asked Hal gently. Anders suddenly clutched his head and cried out.

“Maker, even here it hurts!” he groaned. “I can’t get away from it. It follows me even in sleep.”

“What does? What’s following you, Anders?” asked Hal as he floated around Anders to face him.

“My head,” moaned Anders. “Something didn’t heal right, and I can’t think straight any more for the pain. It exhausts me,” he added with a sigh. 

Hal frowned as he stared at Anders, then gently reached out to cradle Anders’ face in his hands. 

As the blond hair swirled around his hands and obscured Anders’ face, Hal tutted in annoyance. He lifted one hand to brush it away from Anders’ face, then flinched. He had to fight hard not to pull away completely; there was a huge crack through Anders’ face, right where the scar was from the head wound - except here in the Fade, the crack seeped pale blue light even as blood ran down over Anders’ face.

Hal frowned. Things in the Fade were not necessarily true reflections of what was going on. The appearance of the wound likely had far more to do with Anders’ own perception of the wound, filtered through his subconscious. Hal wasn’t certain what effect trying to heal Anders in his dream would actually do. Tentatively, he reached out to lightly press the palm of his hand against the crack and concentrated.

It felt strange, unnatural and alien; he wasn’t sure what he was _supposed_ to be feeling however. He could sense a feeling of drowsiness and dizziness, and picked up an impression of a silver cup tumbling through the darkness, dark red liquid in a bottle. Hal opened his eyes to find Anders staring at him.

“She gave me something,” said Anders quietly. “A potion to quiet the pain in my head, but it sent me to sleep and I can’t wake up.”

“Who?” asked Hal quietly.

“Maevaris,” answered Anders. 

“Anders, where are you?” Hal asked.

“I’m not sure. We passed the Nevarran border into Tevinter three days ago,” the blond apostate answered. His voice sounded a little slurred, his eyes looking glazed.

“Anders, stay with me,” said Hal urgently.

“Why?” Anders asked drowsily. “It’s not as though you’re real. You’re just another dream. Like him.” He glanced at a figure drifting towards them; as the figure got closer, it suddenly blazed with white light. Hal recognised it as a dream version of Fenris - but this Fenris was all angular hatred and spite.

“Abomination! Would-be magister! You couldn’t _wait_ to abandon us and run away to Tevinter!” snarled the dream-Fenris.

“No! No love, please - I, I didn’t want to but Hawke -”

“- Talked to him?” interrupted a voice; as Hal turned, a dream version of Hawke was striding through the inky blackness to stand next to Fenris. “Of course I did. We don’t need you any more, Anders. We have each other. There’s no room for you in Skyhold. No-one wants you there. They couldn’t _wait_ to get rid of you.”

“You couldn’t get enough of that damned Altus, could you?” spat dream-Fenris. “Prancing around in magister’s clothes, _looking_ like a magister; couldn’t _wait_ to run off and be one of them! How are you enjoying being a slave master, mage?”

“I’m not! I - I wouldn’t, I _won’t!_ ” Anders protested.

“Packed you off good and proper, didn’t they? No-one cares what happens to you in Tevinter. Maybe some powerful magister will put a golden collar around that pretty neck of yours; that’s all you deserve!” said the dream-Hawke scornfully.

Hal glanced back at Anders and was alarmed to see a golden collar had appeared around his throat, buckled tight against his skin. Anders was clutching at it.

“I - I can’t breathe!” he choked.

“It’s all you deserve, isn’t it?” Hawke growled again as he leaned closer to the panicking mage, and suddenly Anders stopped struggling.

“Yes... yes, I deserve it,” he agreed miserably.

Hal stared back at the glowing elf and the vindictive Champion, and suddenly he spotted it. The eyes too bright, the smiles just a little too wide. It was a pair of despair demons that had managed to find an entrance into Anders’ dream. As he watched, Anders went limp in the inky darkness, his eyes drifting half-closed once more as the dream-Hawke curled about him in a parody of a lover’s embrace, murmuring into Anders’ ear how unwanted, unloved, undeserving he was as Anders could only whisper a soft, weak, “Yes...yes...yes....” over and over. Dream-Hawke began to mouth at Anders, along the line of his jaw then lower. Anders let his head drop back and the demon in Hawke’s form fastened its lips to the blond apostate’s throat, worrying at his flesh as it sucked greedily. Dark fluid like blood welled up around its lips as it eagerly feasted on Anders’ despair. The blond mage’s eyes were closed as he surrendered to it.

Hal’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t simply blast the demons away; it would hurt Anders and no telling what harm seeing his loved ones destroyed would do. But there was another option. He carefully reached out to sense Anders through Endrin’s eyes, to look within - much as he would with his healing powers, only this time seeking for something within Anders’ dreams.

He turned and concentrated, manipulating the Fade within the dream. He began to strip away the darkness, slowly draining it away and letting the space fill with bright light that outshone the lyrium light of the dream-Fenris. 

Anders turned towards the light, a puzzled look upon his face as a woman’s voice called a name as though from somewhere far away. “Mother?” he said quietly, his face looking younger.

The woman called again.

“You need us!” hissed the Hawke-shaped demon. But Anders was staring towards the light; the golden collar had disappeared, and Anders seemed much younger as he slipped out of the demon’s embrace. The scent of meadow flowers drifted to them, and a smile broke out across Anders’ face. “Mother! I’m coming Mother!”

A young Anders, perhaps ten or twelve years old, ran towards the light and the waving meadow grasses, towards the little thatched wooden cottage and the woman in a woollen homespun dress who waved and called to him from the door.

As Anders retreated into a happier dream, Hal turned back to stare at the two despair demons. They had shed their dream forms and now surged towards him, wrathful.

“You stole him from us!” hissed one.

“But perhaps we will feed upon you instead!” hissed the other. “You cannot hope to defeat us - you are too pitiful, too weak....”

Hal’s eyes widened. He tried to draw upon his magic, but the spirit bolt fizzled and died, the magic draining away before the spell was fully formed.

“No!” he cried in despair.

The demons smiled as they advanced upon him.


	49. Chapter 49

Fenris started when Hal thrashed in his sleep suddenly, worried for what that meant for Anders and their conversation. He moved out of the way when Vic crawled over and tried to bring the young mage out of it. Hal made a half-articulated, terrified sound as he struggled, deep in the throes of some nightmare.

“Wake up Hal, come on back to us.” Vic lifted his spell on the other mage gently so he wouldn’t be yanked awake.

“What’s wrong with him?” Fenris asked quietly.

“Nightmare, or demons trying to get him. Give me a moment love, need to concentrate,” Vic replied.

Hal’s eyes flew open as he drew in breath with a sharp gasp. He stared around wildly. “No, I can’t - they’re too strong, I can’t -”

“Who’s too strong?” Vic asked as he eased Hal fully awake. 

“Demons,” gasped Hal. He closed his eyes a moment, swallowing hard, then opened them again. “Despair demons. I was caught, they were too strong. My magic just seemed to drain away into nothing.” His breath came in heaving pants as he fought to calm himself. “They were all around Anders. Feeding on the emotions bleeding from his dreams. Two were in his dream, feeding.... feeding on _him_.” He shuddered.

“Is ...did they get to you? To him? Without his spirit he’s susceptible to them,” Fenris said.

“I don’t think so,” said Hal, shaking his head a little. “I think they were simply taking advantage of his dream. I managed to push him into a happier dream, and they turned on me instead.” He glanced at Hawke, remembering how the dream-Hawke had struck right to the heart of Anders’ fears, until the blond apostate surrendered to his own depression and despair.

“What did you say to Anders?” he asked quietly. “He said he knew it was over when you spoke to him.” He was aware of Fenris’ eyes opening wider but kept his eyes on Hawke.

“I...he made it clear that he wanted to go to her and felt we didn’t need or want him. Probably because I was too cowardly to say goodbye when he left. I don’t know,” Hawke said as he wiped tears away.

“He said he knew, when he woke alone,” said Hal quietly. “He thinks no-one in Skyhold wants or needs him.” He glanced at Fenris, then at Hawke. “He... dreamed of both of you. Fenris was furious, hurling accusations at him that all he wanted to be was a magister. Calling him ‘abomination’, saying he couldn’t wait to run away to Tevinter. And Hawke....” He stared at the Champion. “He told Anders that he and Fenris had talked, that they didn’t need him any more, that there’s no room for him in Skyhold. He told Anders that they’d packed him off to Tevinter to be rid of him, that he deserved to be collared by a magister.” Hal dropped his gaze. “Anders... seemed to give up. To agree. A collar appeared, bound tight around his throat, and then Hawke was... _feeding_ upon him.”

Fenris closed his eyes and turned from them. “He’s wrong...he’s so wrong. He didn’t even come talk to me! How he could think that?” 

“I think what I was seeing was a mix of what Anders knows and what he’s afraid of,” replied Hal. He glanced at Fenris. “After all, you _had_ accused him of being no better than a magister once, hadn’t you? I think perhaps he fears that that would be your reaction on reading his letter, and the nightmare just fed upon that.” He turned to Hawke again. “Something you said to him... he seemed to feel it was something you said that made him finally think that there was nothing to come back for. Hawke, _think_. What could it have been? He gave no sign of any of this when you all left!”

“I don’t fucking remember!” Hawke said as he tried to remember what he had said to Anders that could have … “Wait...I might have, no I didn’t.” Vic struggled with trying to remember what exactly had been said.

“He asked me what to do, and I said he needed to come and face Fenris. I can’t remember... I spent that morning he left in tears and drunk,” Vic conceded.

“Hawke... had he said he was actually going to leave at that point?” asked Krem. “Or did you just assume that because he was talking about it, that things were over?”

“He sounded like he’d made up his mind Krem. Nothing I said mattered to him by then,” Vic said brokenly.

Fenris got up and left for Cullen’s office without a word to them. If Invictus had pushed Anders to go, he was going to be too angry to talk with him for a long time.

As he headed past the door to Solas’ rooms, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the library overhead, and then a large heavy book came hurtling down to narrowly miss him, flung over the railing from the mezzanine above, followed by Tevene curses and then a muffled sob.

“ _Venhedis!_ ” Fenris shouted when the book landed by him. “You nearly brained me, Pavus!” 

“What?” Dorian appeared, leaning over the rail. His hair was in disarray, the Altus’ clothing rumpled. He ran his hand through his hair. “ _Fasta vass._ I had no idea. I didn’t think anyone - I’m sorry.” He slumped against the rail.

“Maybe it should have hit me, would have hurt less,” Fenris said before he picked up the book and flung it back up to Dorian. “Watch where you hurl things, Pavus.”

Dorian made a grab for the book and nearly dropped it again before he managed to drag it over the rail; he dropped it upon the floor at his feet. “Maybe I should drop it on my own head; maybe it would knock more sense into me,” he replied dourly.

“Not possible. Have you seen the Commander?” Fenris asked sullenly.

“I have not,” replied Dorian. “I’ve been trying to drink myself insensible and failing at that as much as I seem to be failing at everything else these days.” He frowned. “I take it that was - No.” He glanced away. “Forget it, forget everything; certainly forget anything that comes out of my damned fool mouth because evidently it’s not worth listening to anyway.”

Fenris stared up at Dorian for a long time before he went up the stairs to face the Altus. “Why did he leave me?” he asked simply with a shred of hope that Dorian would have an answer.

“Because Hawke made it clear it was over, and Meneris gave him a convenient way to run away,” replied Dorian. He swayed slightly as he stared at Fenris, and the elf realised that the Altus had been more successful in his drinking than he’d thought. “Anders was lost. It was easier for him to go where he was pushed, than to follow where he wasn’t wanted - or thought he wasn’t.” He frowned then prodded Fenris in the chest slightly. “Do you know, I found him the following morning curled up in bed and crying his eyes out? I’m not sure I can forgive Meneris that. Or Hawke.” He blinked, owlishly.

“I’m going to murder Vic, after I rescue Anders.” Fenris said before he stared at Dorian, unsure why the other man was so upset by his lover’s departure. “Why are you drunk and angry over him going?”

“Because Meneris used him,” said Dorian. “He just wants a handy spy in Tevinter, and Anders was convenient. He was ill, and weak, and Meneris could _see_ he wasn’t himself. And instead of looking after him and bringing him back where people cared for him, he let Leliana and Josephine use him as another pawn to place where they felt best. In Tevinter, of all places! He’s the _last_ person the Inquisition should have placed in that position, and Meneris just doesn’t give a damn. So Meneris and I argued and he can damned well sleep on his own until he comes to his senses and sends for Anders to bring him home again.” The drunk Altus was angry, but there was something else in his eyes; as Fenris stared at him, he realised the expression in the Tevinter mage’s storm-grey eyes was that of hurt. A very old pain, he realised.

“Help me bring him back, please.” Fenris said softly.

“Of course,” said Dorian immediately, without thinking. Almost as though he had been expecting the question and already knew the answer. As Fenris frowned slightly, Dorian shrugged and gave an almost wistful smile. “It would be the death of him to leave him in Tevinter.”

“Come with me to see Cullen, I have an idea,” Fenris said gratefully. He hurried to Cullen's office and knocked quickly with the hope he would be in.

There was a soft groan from within, and then Cullen’s voice sounding slightly muffled. “Can it wait?”

"Are you ill Cullen?" Fenris asked. There was the sound of a heavy chair being dragged backwards, then heavy slow footsteps before the door opened. Cullen scowled down at the elf, then at the drunk Altus.

“What?” The Commander’s frown deepened as he rubbed the back of his neck slowly. “Why would you... I mean, no. I’m fine. It’s late, Fenris, what do you want? I have a stack of reports nearly up to my head to deal with.” He glanced at Dorian again, squinting his eyes against the torchlight from the hall. “Do I want to know why Pavus is drunk already?”

“You know perfectly well why _Pavus_ is drink,” Dorian replied, stressing the name. “Drunk. I mean drunk.”

"Anders is gone, he's in danger and we're going to get him back. You're sending your new Ambassador some Inquisition-approved staff, including me," Fenris stated as he dragged Dorian in, shut the door and sat him down. 

“Well, that too,” agreed Dorian.

Cullen watched as Fenris pushed the Tevinter mage down into a chair, then shook his head with a faint wince. He made his way slowly back around the desk and lowered himself into his chair then rubbed his temples slowly. He swallowed, then glanced up at Fenris. “And this couldn’t wait until morning?” he asked querulously. His face in the candlelight looked pale and clammy.

"No." Fenris said flatly. "But you do look about ready to fall down."

“It’s just a headache,” said Cullen waving one hand. “This idea of yours... what do you expect me to do about it? Josephine is the one organising his staff. I can make suggestions as to guard detail, but that’s about it.” He reached for the bottle of wine on his desk and moved it away from Dorian; the Altus pouted.

"It's a security issue for the Inquisition so put your foot down." Fenris insisted before he noticed Cullen’ pallor and the way the Commander’s hand trembled as he set the bottle down with almost exaggerated care.

“Cullen, how sick are you? I know the signs of someone too damned ill to really be upright. I can get Hal or is it something he can’t treat?” Fenris asked.

For a moment, Cullen looked as though he was going to argue, but abruptly the fight seemed to go out of him as his shoulders slumped and he dropped his head into his hands. “It’s the lyrium,” he admitted.

“Withdrawal is terrible, how are you managing?” Fenris asked as he stepped away, suddenly quite aware of how close he was to a man trying to wean himself off the metal embedded in his skin. Cullen’s hand drifted up absently as though to pull him back, until Cullen recoiled suddenly with a sharp gasp. He pushed himself to his feet and away from the desk, staggering to the door that led out onto the battlements. He threw it open then stood there, his back to the two men as he gasped in air.

“I’m, I will be fine,” he managed hoarsely. “It’s... it’s not as bad as it was when....”

Fenris frowned then looked to Dorian. "Perhaps I should leave and you two talk?"

Dorian stared at him then back at Cullen. “What?” he exclaimed. “I....” He got to his feet and took a step towards the Commander then stared back at Fenris, looking uncertain.

"He's suffering from lyrium withdrawals and I'm a walking temptation. You're clever Pavus, you talked Vic into your bed I'm sure you can come up with something." Fenris said as he stared at Cullen with wistful sadness in his eyes.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , yes thank you so very much for throwing that back at me here and now of all times, Fenris,” Dorian winced, sobering up rapidly. “I suppose I should be glad you’re not throwing me around the room, giving me a concussion then, given what happened last time? Oh, except neither Hawke nor Anders are here so I suppose I’m safe? Hmm?” He broke off and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m sorry. That was unworthy of me.” He drew a slow breath. “Fenris, I’m not a healer. I can’t fix this.”

“I’m still here you know,” said Cullen from the doorway, his voice low and terse. “And I’m not some... some _thing_ you can fix.”

Fenris’ expression had fallen at Dorian’s words and his head hung as he listened to both of them. “I’m sorry... I’m just… I’m desperate. Sorry to have bothered you both with my foolish idea.” He turned to go, eager to find a place to hole up in and grieve.

Dorian pressed a palm against his forehead and groaned. “Well, I’m certainly a good deal more sober now than I was ten minutes ago,” he remarked. “I’d taken a great deal of effort to get that drunk as well; a pity.” He glanced up at Fenris. “The idea is not without merit, but perhaps it would be better to re-examine it in the light of day when you are not half out of your head with grief and I with wine, hmm? And perhaps we should leave the Commander to try and sleep off things as best he can.” He turned back towards Cullen. 

“Is there actually anything we can do for you, Cullen?” he asked more gently. “How serious is it? Should we send for a healer?”

“No,” replied the Commanders quietly as he turned back towards them. “A healer could do nothing in any case. I will endure it as I always do. But I would appreciate it if you would leave word for Cassandra that I should be left alone for the next day or two.”

Dorian nodded. “You should get some rest, Commander.”

Cullen laughed mirthlessly. “As should you, Dorian,” he replied. He turned away from the door, letting it swing closed behind him as he made for the ladder and began to slowly climb up towards his bedchamber. 

Dorian moved over towards the bottom of the ladder to keep one eye on him and see that the other man actually made it, though he doubted he could have caught Cullen if the Commander had started to fall. Maybe he would cushion his fall, he pondered; the thought brought a wry, careless smile to his lips which he turned away and hid with a soft cough.

He waited until he heard the creaking of Cullen’s bed, then turned towards the door and gestured to Fenris to precede him. He closed the office door behind them then paused, frowning. He gestured with one hand and Fenris felt a whispering tug of magic, then Dorian waved him on. “Couldn’t leave those candles burning unattended,” he muttered.

Fenris hurried on ahead of Dorian, unsure if he wanted to go to his room or find somewhere to hide from them. He thought of Zevran, and wondered where the other elf had gone, if he too had abandoned him. He didn’t know what to do.

“I don’t know if I should go and attempt to drown myself in wine once more or give it up and just go to bed,” sighed Dorian. “Maybe I’ll go to the tavern and see if I can drink myself senseless there and play that jolly game called ‘where will I wake up in the morning?’; that’s usually good for at least one hangover’s worth of amusement.”

“Go to bed, go to your lover since you still have him. Just leave me be so I can mourn my losses. I’ll pass on Cullen’s message before I go...somewhere.” Fenris said quietly. He was on a fine edge and no matter how desperate he was, he didn’t want the Altus to see him shatter.

“My lover? I’m not sure I do,” replied Dorian quietly, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. He turned and glanced at Fenris, looking curiously young and vulnerable for a moment before he turned away. “Never mind about me. I’ll fall on my feet eventually; I always have.” He stared at his feet for a moment. “The tavern, I think.” He glanced back at the elf again. “Goodnight, Fenris. I hope you find peace soon.” He turned and walked slowly away.

Fenris hurried to his room so he could write a note for Cassandra then find a bottle of whiskey. “Too bad Zevran’s not here, I could just take some of his poison and be free of this heartache.” he said to himself. “Hawke pushed Anders to go, Zevran is...gone and I’m alone just as I always expected.” he poured himself a drink but hysterical giggles took over before he could even take a sip.

“Fenris?” said a quiet voice from the doorway. Krem was leaning in, looking worried. 

“What do you want Krem? Can’t a man break down in peace?” the elf said before another round of laughter that slipped into tears took him.

“Not when he’s talking to himself about taking poison. _Especially_ when that man isn’t given customarily to talking to himself,” replied the Charger.

“No one gives a damn about me Krem, just let me alone. I just want to ...I just want this pain in my heart and mind to stop.” Fenris replied as he shoved the drink away and put his head down. 

“I put Hal to bed in Anders’ room,” said the Charger as he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Just in case you were wondering where he were. He seems to give a damn about you, for what it’s worth.”

“Krem, the man who said he loves me wrote me a fucking letter to say goodbye. Zevran is nowhere to be found and the one plan I had to get Anders back is stupid. Hawke pushed him away and I’m falling apart. Why….why should I go on?” Fenris sobbed.

“Because there’s one man in this place who has the power to let you speak to Anders yourself, and I’ve just told you where to go find him,” Krem replied.

“Anders thinks I wanted him gone Krem. I’m not a fucking mage, I can’t walk dreams like Hal does.” Fenris snapped as he raised his head and glared at Krem. “Don’t dangle hope in front of me.”

“No, you just teleport all over the damn place like he does in dreams, only for real,” replied Krem. He lifted one eyebrow. “Or was that some other elf who teleported behind me from the battlements the other day and handed my ass to me for the hell of it when I didn’t remember we were due a sparring session?”

Fenris blinked and thought about what Krem had said. “Can I go that far though?” he wondered before he took half his drink and pressed the glass into the other man’s hands. “You’re a genius.” he said as he he glanced out to see Dorian had just left his rooms. He grinned and teleported right behind the Altus. “Dorian.”

Dorian spun round on his heel with an alarmed shriek; he staggered back a few paces, his face suddenly ashen from the shock. He pressed his hand over his chest, eyes wild with alarm. “ _Ven- ven - venhedis!_ ”

“No, my name is Fenris, come on I need your help before you get shit-faced.” Fenris said as he tugged at Dorian so they could walk into the Keep instead of him teleporting them both inside.

“Fenris, please, I... I really need this,” protested Dorian as he glanced back longingly towards the tavern. He sighed, allowing the elf to pull him along. “This isn’t going to involve large amounts of very strong drink is it?” he asked hopefully.

“For me now, possibly for you once we talk with Hal. Krem reminded me of the teleportation thing, and Hal can tell us where Anders is.” Fenris was almost dragging the other man behind him as they went.

“Teleportation...thing? Fenris!” Dorian protested as he nearly lost his footing. “What are you talking about??”

“How do you think I wound up right behind you just now or when you were fighting those templars a few weeks ago?” Fenris asked as he stopped so Dorian could catch his breath. “I find out where Anders is, I teleport to him.”

“I was rather too preoccupied to think, both times,” admitted Dorian. “Fighting for your life tends to do that to you. Just... just wait a minute.” He closed his eyes, frowning, resting his hands on his hips. “No good, need a clear head,” he muttered. He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead; there was a brief glow of green, and then he straightened, his eyes clear. “Now. Show me.”

“Show you? I just did. We have to get to Hal so he can tell us where Anders is in Qarinus.” Fenris gave him puppy eyes to make Dorian get a move on.

“No, _show_ me. You appeared behind me both times. Can you take anyone else along or only yourself? How does it work? Do you know?” demanded Dorian.

“I...don’t know if I can take anyone else without ...help of a mage.” Fenris said before he stepped back, lit his brands and disappeared from Dorian’s sight to reappear further down the hallway. He came back in a moment to reappear before the Altus. “Satisfied?”

“Help of a mage? How so?” asked Dorian, his eyes lighting up in delight. “This is fascinating! Could you take me? What do you need me to do?”

Fenris glanced down as he thought back to the last time he did that. “Anders provided the power. My...sibling guided me as we escaped Seheron.”

Dorian held out his hand, opening up his own connection to the fade and letting power trickle into his palm, formless, as he gave Fenris an encouraging smile. “Show me,” he replied.

Fenris stared at Dorian’s hand for a moment then took it. He concentrated on Anders’ room as his brands blazed. When he opened his eyes, Hal was staring at both of them in shock.

Dorian staggered slightly, then gave himself a shake as he turned to stare at Fenris. “Fascinating!” he whispered. “I see - so you draw upon the mage’s own magic to open a temporary sympathetic vibration that briefly renders the Veil permeable in that location, allowing you to draw others with you into the Fade - and then you actually _fold_ the Fade between that point and one at the point where you wish to exit before you _push_ \- wait, wait, I have to write this down!” he interrupted himself as he turned towards Anders’ desk, lighting the candles with an absent wave of his hand as he slipped into Anders’ chair and drew paper, quill and ink to himself and began scrawling notes and calculations hastily, muttering to himself in Tevene.

“Dorian...you’re not exhausted or anything? The few times I did that, Anders would be out for hours.” Fenris asked.

“Hmm?” The Altus glanced up. “No, I feel fine,” he shrugged, then turned back to his writing, drawing another sheet of paper to himself as he began sketching out arcane diagrams, jotting down calculations in the margin. “That was only a short hop, yes?”

“Yes… remember why we’re here?” Fenris said

“Tch, tch, wait, this is important!” said Dorian distractedly, flapping one hand at him. “By rights the distance should make no difference. You’re travelling between two points, but it’s not _travelling_ so much as bringing the point right next to you then stepping through.”

“Hal, please help me find Anders? Please!” Fenris said as he turned to the other man in the room finally.

The young red-haired mage was blinking disoriented at them both, rubbing one eye sleepily. “But... I just....” He took in the the look on Fenris’ face. “Of course,” he said. “We might need Hawke though.”

"For what? He's part of the reason Anders felt like he had to go." Fenris snarled.

Hal lay back against the pillows. “Because I’ll fall asleep again easily enough, but I can’t guarantee I’ll wake up that quickly afterwards - and although I can put you out, I can’t wake you up if I’m asleep myself,” he replied.

“That’s not a problem,” said Dorian distractedly. “I’ll be awake for a while longer on this anyway; I can watch you both whilst I’m at it. This is far better than drinking myself insensible in the tavern, I must say. Just the distraction I needed.”

"Glad I could provide." Fenris said distractedly before he turned to Hal. "Why must I sleep?" he asked.

“So you can speak to Anders yourself and understand why he went,” replied Hal. “That’s what you really need, isn’t it? To talk to him yourself and show him that you still love him.”

"I'd rather bring him back here. Talking to him will do for now." Fenris said as he stretched out next to Hal.

Hal frowned. “You want him to come back voluntarily though... you weren’t going to just... somehow _go_ there and then bring him back against his will?”

"I don't know. I'm really desperate Hal." Fenris replied.

“He’s probably still sleeping,” said Hal thoughtfully. “He said someone had given him a potion. So he’s likely still there asleep.”

"Put me out, please." Fenris said as he closed his eyes and waited.

Hal gently touched two fingers to Fenris’ forehead and nudged the elf into dreams before settling back against the pillows with a quiet yawn. He rolled onto his side and nuzzled up against the sleeping elf, slowly sinking back into dreams.

The only sound in the room was the scratching of Dorian’s quill.

***

Fenris was sitting in a courtyard in Minrathous. A woman whose face he couldn’t quite see was sitting beneath a tree, humming to herself as she peeled fruit in a bowl. 

Varania was playing with a crude wooden doll, her hair impossibly red in the brilliant sunshine. She looked up at the blond boy and wrinkled her nose at him.

The blond boy was tugging at his homespun tunic and frowning. “It’s too hot,” he said.

"Anders?" Fenris said as he approached them. He glanced at Varania then back to the blond boy.

The young boy looked up at him; in his youthful features, Fenris could see hints of the man he would one day become. His eyes were still the same hue of dark honey, the hair the same shade of gold; his features were soft with the roundness of youth however, and his face was open and unlined with pain or years.

“Hello,” said Anders. 

“Leto, he’s a smelly shemlen!” protested Varania. “And he won’t play properly! He doesn’t know _how_.”

"I'll teach him how...sister. He's just a little boy." Fenris said.

Anders was staring up at him a little hopefully. “Have you come to take me home?” he asked. “I think I’m lost.”

"Yes, we miss you so much." Fenris offered his hand to the child version of the man he knew. "I'll take you home."

The blond boy got to his feet and took Fenris’ hand trustingly. “I... do I know you?” he asked, as Fenris led him a little way away from the courtyard. He frowned a little, and then as the courtyard faded to be replaced by a library, recognition dawned in his eyes. 

“Fen... Fenris?” The young apprentice - now, perhaps sometime in his mid-teens, the blond hair longer and pulled back into a ponytail - pulled away, trying to free his hand from the sure grip of the elf. “No... this isn’t right, you were never here....”

"We're in your dreams. It's alright Anders, I'm here because you know this place." Fenris tugged the young man to him. "You still want to go home right? Please I miss you and I need you to come back."

Anders stared at him, still struggling to pull his hand free. “How do I know this is real? No. No, this is... Maker, I’m still dreaming!” He pulled away, and suddenly they were standing on a high cliff on the Storm Coast, the mage now in the familiar tatty old feathered coat. “Why do I keep dreaming of you?”

"Hal brought me. I need you to know I love you, I need you. I need to know why you didn't come back to tell me. I love you so much Anders." Fenris practically begged.

“It’s true,” said Hal, stepping out around a boulder a little further down the path. “He needs to hear it from your lips himself, Anders.”

Anders turned and stared at Hal, then turned back to Fenris; the hem of his Altus’ robes swirled about his ankles in the dust as the blond apostate took a step towards the elf. “This... this is real? This isn’t just a dream? You’re really here... not a demon.”

"No...please Anders. My heart shattered to read that letter. I need you I need to know why." Fenris said.

The Sword Coast faded, to be replaced by the shifting sands of the Silent Plains. They stood beside a carriage, four jet black horses standing still in their traces. The sky overhead was the twilight green of the Fade. Anders lowered himself to sit upon the footplate of the carriage, the door swinging silently next to him.

“Hawke said you talked. In Skyhold. He said he only needed to know what to tell you, he...” Anders dropped his head to one hand. “It’s over. He made that clear. That there’s nothing for me here. Where else was I supposed to go?”

"Back to me! Do you know what it did to me Anders? Come back, I am begging you." Fenris dropped to his knees before the blond Mage and clutched at him.

“But... I don’t understand,” said Anders tiredly. “He... he said... but _why_? They, they, none of them want me - they just want rid of me, I’m just a burden to you all. Leliana, the Inquisitor - they don’t want me, they couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I’m just useful as a distraction, that’s all.” He dropped his head into his hands. 

"Don't you hear me? I fucking need you Anders. Look at me, please. I'm begging you to come back." Fenris was crying as he knelt before the mage.

Anders stared down at Fenris. “But why?” he whispered. “I hurt you again. I’m a coward. How could you love a coward? Even Hawke didn’t want me. He left me. He left me, Fenris.” Anders’ eyes glimmered suddenly wet, and then he turned his face away. “Hal, end this dream, I can’t... I can’t, not this, I thought the other nightmare was bad enough but this is so much worse.”

"No, I love you so much. I thought you left me because I betrayed you. We need you Anders please. I'll come to Qarinus, be your bodyguard, anything. Please!" Fenris was crying as he begged. 

“I left because I thought... you didn’t love me any more,” whispered Anders. “I don’t want to go to Qarinus. I just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

"But you do! Come back to us, we'll go to Nevarra like we planned please my heart, please don't leave us. Hawke can tell you he's sorry that he made you think it was over, Amatus please!" Fenris begged.

Anders threaded his fingers into his hair, a stunned expression on his face. “Maker. What have I done?” he whispered. “Too late. Too far. What have I done? Forgive me.” He closed his eyes. “Forgive me.”

"Yes, just...let me wake up and come to you. I'll bring you back to us." Fenris said in relief.

“I... I don’t understand, we must be hundreds of miles away,” said Anders. “I can’t think straight, this is all... it’s too much. Even here my head is splitting, I can’t concentrate.”

"Hal, can you heal him?" Fenris asked.

“Not here - I need to be physically present to heal him,” replied the red-haired mage. “Perhaps, if I were a true _somniari_ \- but I’m not.”

"Wake us up, I'm going to get him." Fenris said.

“That’s... not quite so easy,” replied Hal. “I can’t wake myself up at will. Not yet, anyway.”

“Maevaris gave me something to help my head; it sent me to sleep,” said Anders. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take before it wears off.”

“I can push you out however,” said Hal. He turned and stared at Fenris, and then abruptly shoved the elf hard. Fenris was suddenly falling.

**  
Fenris tumbled off the bed with a shout. " _Venhedis_ , we need to get me to the Silent Plains!"

Dorian started, jerking awake from where he’d dozed off, sprawled across Anders’ desk atop a pile of notes; at Fenris’ shout he was half out of his seat with lightning dancing across his fingers before he realised where he was. He dropped back into the seat with a low groan, shaking the electricity off his fingers. “I do hope you know _where_ in the Silent Plains,” he remarked, then gave a piteous whimper. “Not more sand....”

"Wake up Hal, I've got to find a map." Fenris said as he rummaged through the desk. Dorian hastily rescued his notes then backed away from the desk as Fenris hunted through the drawers, swearing under his breath as he found only spare quills, small bottles of ink, several vials of lyrium and a couple of bottles of unlabelled dark amber liquid.

“Why would Anders have a map? And in his desk of all places?” asked Dorian, bewildered, as he made his way over to the bed where the young mage still slept,

Fenris snarled as he failed to find what he looked for. "Why doesn't he have a map?"

“Because he’s a _mage_ not the Commander, and maps are bloody expensive?” exclaimed Dorian. “Fenris, Meneris is the _bloody Inquisitor_ and even _he_ doesn’t keep a map in his desk drawer!”

"The war table has a map." Fenris exclaimed as he glanced at Hal and Dorian. "Wake him up!"

Hal was stirring, disoriented; he stared around, puzzled. 

Dorian was feeling faintly frazzled; Fenris’ frantic attitude was not the most restful thing to wake to in a hurry after having fallen asleep over copious notes of arcane calculations, half of which touched on things he’d only ever vaguely theorised about in the past. He was feeling punch-drunk from not enough sleep over the past week and he’d dropped almost immediately into a distressing dream in which Felix was trying desperately hard to tell him something. 

He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or resentful that he’d been jerked so suddenly from that particular dream; upon arriving in his room that afternoon he had received a note informing him that Felix was dead. He’d done his hardest to drink himself into a stupor, and then the rest of the events of the evening became rather indistinct and surreal up to the point Fenris had nearly frightened several years of life out of him in the courtyard.

“Hal...are you alright?” Fenris asked as he finally halted his frantic rummaging for things in the room and turned to the young man.

The young mage nodded as he sat up and rubbed his face slowly then yawned. “It’s tiring walking the Fade like that,” he said quietly as he sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not restful like normal sleep - at least, not for me.”

“Are we going to fetch Anders now?” asked Dorian, frowning slightly.

“Soon as we can get to a map and we figure out who I’m taking with me. Probably you Pavus since you dropping in to visit your friend wouldn’t arouse suspicions.” Fenris said as he started to get his armor on.

“I think dropping in on a caravan in the middle of the Silent Plains in the middle of the night is probably going to cause suspicion no matter who you take,” Hal remarked placidly as he got up to splash cold water on his face.

“Don’t care, don’t bother me with small details right now Hal.” Fenris said before he tugged on his cuirass with a huff. “He did something to me, to block the lyrium poisoning, I wonder if that connected us somehow.” the elven warrior looked to Dorian then back to Hal. “Are you sober enough to do this?’

“Of course I am,” Dorian dismissed the question with a wave. “I’m fine. Unless I miss my mark, you intend merely to hop in, grab Anders and hop out again, yes?”

“Yes, go get some decent clothes on while I make sure I’m armed. Hal, make excuses for us if Hawke comes by,” Fenris said as he buckled his scabbard on before he moved on to his vambraces.

Dorian glanced down at his clothes; he was wearing the same outfit he’d been wearing when he’d arrived in his room that afternoon. Between the letter, drinking, and then the distraction of figuring out what he’d learned of Fenris’ abilities, he hadn’t bothered changing. “No point; this will do. Hardly as though we’re going to drop in on the Archon himself for a nightcap, after all.” He set his pile of notes on the edge of the table.

“War room then, for the map?” he asked when Fenris turned, sword in hand; the elf nodded. 

“Anders will be asleep when you arrive,” said Hal. “He may well not waken easily. Can you bring him directly back here?”

“Of course he can; if my theory is correct, Fenris should be able to bring him pretty much anywhere he desires and the energy required will be the same,” shrugged Dorian.

“Yes, since we know Cullen is actually asleep I doubt anyone else would be in this time of night. Let us go.” Fenris gave Dorian a real smile for a change before he set off.

The Tevinter mage kept pace with the elf easily as they strode through the dark halls towards the war room. The few guards they encountered gave them startled looks before hastily saluting; neither man broke their stride, carrying on until they were inside the war room and Fenris was leaning over the large map. Dorian lit the lamps with a gesture then stood ready, holding power casually until the elf required it.

“Alright, it looks like if we aim for here, we should be close to their camp as possible without the chance for waking everyone and startling half the camp awake before we can go.” He looked up to Dorian before he held his hand out. “Ready?”

Dorian reached out his free hand to the elf and then the breath caught in his throat as he felt a yank on his power. He concentrated as they seemed to shifts sideways, feeling out around them as he sensed the Fade all around them. Then they were stumbling in sand under a moonlit sky, next to a large pavilion.

“Exhilarating,” murmured Dorian as they kept close to the canvas wall of the tent. 

“Quiet...he’s in this tent, let’s get him and go home.” Fenris hissed.

They slipped quietly into the tent, Fenris moving unerringly towards the partitioned-off room where he could hear Anders’ faint snoring. The sound of someone moving around the other partitioned-off room had them both freezing for a moment before they cautiously slipped through the curtain.

Anders lay upon a large camp bed, curled loosely upon his side. A globe of magelight hung above his head, gently illuminating the chamber with a soft, warm glow. Fenris wasted no time in attempting to awaken the blond apostate; instead, he swept Anders up into his arms. He turned to Dorian, who was pooling magic in his hands once more.

The curtain was suddenly tugged aside as Maevaris ducked around it. “Anders, are you -”

She broke off and stared at Fenris, her eyes widening. As the elf lit up his brands once more in a blaze of light, she leaped forward. “No!” she cried, even as Dorian hastily laid a hand upon Fenris’ arm.

“Mae, I’m sorry, I can’t explain!” Dorian called out hastily as he felt Fenris pull upon his magic; and then he felt the familiar tug once more - at the exact moment Maevaris’ hand closed about his wrist.

Dorian could feel the difference immediately. Whereas before he had felt no strain powering just himself and Fenris, this time they were carrying Anders back with them - and Maevaris as well. 

Dorian thought fast. They couldn’t bring the magister with them. He needed to send her back.

He reached out and caught the opening of the portal Fenris had opened; instead of letting it snap closed behind them as they folded the very fabric of the Fade itself, Dorian swiftly threw out an anchoring charm, weaving magic swiftly to hold the portal open even as the corresponding exit portal formed. The sudden drain upon his magic in both directions was immense; the Fade was trying to unfold itself, snap back into shape, straining against his control. 

Dorian hurled Maevaris back through the Veil; as she tore through it back into the physical reality of the tent in the Silent Plains, he let go of the portal at that end. The resulting backlash hurled them all back into the war room and Dorian felt himself flying back through the air until his back hit a stone wall hard. His head cracked against stone and his vision whited out as he slid to the floor, suddenly weakened and drained beyond anything he ever remembered feeling before.

His last thought was to wonder why there were so many people in the war room, and then he blacked out.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No good deed goes unpunished.

Meneris had lost track of how long he had been waiting in Dorian’s room. He’d rehearsed over and over what he was going to say to Dorian; he’d been still furious with the Tevinter Altus when Leliana had come to him earlier and wordlessly handed him a report that shouldn’t have crossed his desk until the following day. He would have thrown it right back across his desk if he hadn’t seen Felix’s name upon the top sheet. The moment he read of the death of Dorian’s oldest friend, he felt his anger drain away, leaving him to feel tired and guilty.

Dorian had been gone from his room when Meneris arrived, though there was plenty of evidence that Dorian had already received the news. Several wine bottles littered the room; two were empty, several others had varying amounts of wine still left in them.

Meneris was beginning to wonder if he should go look for Dorian elsewhere when he heard the sound of footsteps outside and then the door to Solas’ room was flung open below.

“Vivienne?” called Solas, his voice alarmed and worried; just outside the door of Dorian’s room, Vivienne called back.

“Yes, I felt it too! Dorian, did you -” Vivienne halted as Meneris stepped out of the Altus’ room. “Inquisitor!”

“What? What’s happened?” Meneris asked. 

“Incredibly powerful magic, Inquisitor,” replied Solas as he sprang up the last few steps. “I dare say everyone with the slightest gift of magic within Skyhold will have felt it.”

“And every Templar too, no doubt,” added Vivienne archly.

“It came from the war room,” said Solas. “Come.” The elf turned and sprinted back down the stairs, the Inquisitor and the Enchanter close upon his heels.

Hawke and Hal were running towards the war room, just behind Cassandra. 

“What in the Void was that?” Hawke asked as he barreled into the door to find Fenris had Dorian laid out and Anders in a heap under the massive war table.

“Hal...help him!” Fenris called, uncaring of the stares they all got.

“Maker,” exclaimed Hal. “It was him! Dorian!”

“If he dies, you won’t see the sun rise Fenris.” Meneris snarled.

The elven warrior would have gotten up but he had the Altus’ head in his lap. “I know...believe me I know Inquisitor.” 

“How about you stop talking about death and killing anyone Inquisitor Lavellan? Let’s let Hal work while I get Anders up so he can help out.” Hawke said as he rushed over to the other mage. “Love, you with me?”

“Anders has been drugged. Some sort of potion,” said Hal tersely as he dropped down next to the unconscious Altus. He reached out his hands to start healing Dorian.

“But what is Anders even doing here?” exclaimed Cassandra. “He is supposed to be in Qarinus!”

“You can blame Dorian for that, I think,” replied Solas as he knelt down next to the unconscious blond apostate. “Though how, I do not know. But the scent of the Fade is all through this room.”

“This would be a great time for Zevran to pop out of the fucking shadows!” Vic said in frustration as he tried to use Rejuvenate on his lover.

“Let me try,” said Solas. He touched two fingers to Anders’ forehead, and murmured something. “Now, try again.”

This time Anders’ eyes flickered open as Hawke cast Rejuvenate again; he stared around himself in dazed confusion.

“Hi love, welcome back.” Hawke gave him a big smile as he cradled Anders to him. “So happy to see you.”

“Where am I?” said Anders, bewildered. “What’s going on? Am I still dreaming?”

Vivienne was handing a vial of lyrium to Hal who downed it swiftly, not pausing as he poured healing magic into Dorian. She gently stroked a stray strand of hair away from Dorian’s face then exclaimed in shock. 

“His skin feels like ice!”

“Tired,” said a quiet voice near Meneris. “It was open both ways at once; caught in the middle and it wanted to snap free.”

Fenris lit his brands and offered his free hand to the red headed mage. “Here, in case you need more.”

“Not dreaming, back in Skyhold. Looks like Fenris pulled off some boneheaded stunt and dragged you back. Can you help Dorian, he was hurt.” Vic said gently.

“Help me up,” said Anders, wincing at the brilliant light of Fenris’ brands. “Maker, this is... ugh.” He rubbed his forehead as he struggled to sit up.

“Anders?” Fenris said hopefully as he watched Hawke help him to his feet. Anders stumbled a little, then managed to pull himself upright. 

“What’s the diagnosis?” the blond apostate asked as he crossed over to Hal's side, studying Dorian's face as he knelt down to carefully thumb open one eyelid and frown.

“Fractured skull, severe concussion, bleeding on the brain, compression,” Hal said distractedly. “A hand would be good. I’m not used to dealing with damage this severe - never normally saw injuries like this much in the Gallows.”

Anders pushed back the sleeves of his silk robe and took up position opposite Hal. He reached out a hand to lay it gently over Dorian’s forehead as he carefully slipped his other hand to cradle the back of the unconscious man’s head as he closed his eyes, sinking his senses into the injured man’s body. After a moment he nodded. “Good,” he said quietly. “You’ve eased the pressure. Shunt the blood away. Yes, that’s it.”

There was silence broken only by the older healer quietly directing the younger as they worked. “Easy - let me deal with this... always tricky with mages. You have to be so careful, it’s too easy to - ah, there we go.” Dorian’s breathing quietened out, and then the Altus groaned.

Anders opened his eyes and stared up at Cassandra. “Seeker, I can see five Templars trying to edge their way around you. When next I open my eyes, I want there to be none. Do I make myself clear?” He closed his eyes again. 

Hawke looked over at her and then to Meneris. “Don’t look at me, he’s the one healing Dorian.”

Fenris watched as the templars moved out of the room then concentrated on supplying power to both mages.

Dorian’s eyes had drifted half open and he stirred restlessly. “Where am I?” he slurred. “Meneris?”

“You’re not dead… thank the Creators. What did you two do? How did you get Anders back here?” Meneris asked.

“Folded the Fade,” Dorian breathed. “Hadn’t accounted for how much more power I’d need with two extra, and then I had to send Mae back.”

“You did _what?_ ” exclaimed Solas. 

“Please don’t shout,” said Dorian with a pained expression.

“Glad you made it, and that you could help us.” Fenris said.

“The second he can be moved you’re going in a cell Fenris.” Meneris snarled as he took one of Dorian’s hands in his as he watched the slow, steady rise of the mage’s chest.

Anders’ head jerked up and his eyes flew open. “No!” he exclaimed, before he could catch himself.

“It’s alright Anders, you’re back that’s what matters.” Fenris said as he gave Dorian a smile. “I was wrong about you Pavus, you’re not a bad man.” 

“You’re not locking him up Inquisitor.” Vic said.

“Meneris, it’s not his fault,” said Dorian weakly. “I should have realised. I had no business attempting anything like that in the state I was in. He trusted me to know my limits and I was an idiot. And I was too fired up on adrenaline and excitement. My theory was sound - for the most part; I just hadn’t accounted for where the energy would snap back to.”

“Dorian, I think you and I need to have a long talk about this theory of yours,” said Solas, frowning.

“We all do,” said Vivienne. “Folding the Fade? Such a thing is impossible!”

“No it’s not,” said Dorian, a note of acid creeping into his voice. “I know because I _did_ it. And did it on the fly, what’s more. Had to tether the portal at one end so I could send Maevaris back through safely. And I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t sent Anders off like that!” he added, frowning at Meneris. He glared at the elven Inquisitor for a moment longer then let his head drop back into Anders’ hands with a groan as he closed his eyes. 

“Don’t die on me...Anders is he going to make it?” Meneris asked.

“He’s going to be fine - he needs rest however,” said Anders quietly. “There’s no more I can do, the rest is down to his body and time. He’ll be ok though.” 

Hal glanced up. “You aren’t though,” he said quietly. “ _You_ need rest as well.”

“Fenris why don’t you get Anders back to his room, I’ll help Dorian and then in the morning we all talk. No one is going to a cell right now.” Hawke said.

Anders merely stared at Meneris. He knew that if the Inquisitor chose to throw Fenris in a cell then there was nothing he could do about it; if he was prepared to ride roughshod over his own lover’s wishes then certainly he wasn’t going to listen to anyone else. 

“Fine, but you will face the judgement of the Inquisition soon Fenris. You are confined to your rooms for now. Get out of here.” Meneris said as he watched Hawke lift Dorian and wait for him to lead them out.

“Yes Inquisitor Lavellan.” Fenris replied quietly as he helped Anders up and let the taller man lean on him. Hal stepped in to give Anders support on the other side; Anders let them guide him back towards his rooms, his hand tightening slightly around Fenris.

Cassandra chased off those few idle onlookers who still lingered in the hall as Solas and Vivienne followed behind the Inquisitor.

“An empty room, too quiet, too full of memories but too much pride to ask if you’ll stay,” murmured Cole as he ghosted along beside Meneris. 

“Stop that Cole, find somewhere else to be, now.” Meneris snapped.

Fenris was silent until they got to Anders’ room and then he curled up against his lover and sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, love,” said Anders quietly. Hal gently stepped away as Anders stood still, hugging Fenris and resting his head upon the elf’s shoulder.

Hal moved around the room silently, straightening up Dorian’s papers then the down comforter on the bed before lighting a few candles, then he retreated to the door. “I’ll leave you in peace,” he said softly.

Fenris didn’t respond, he just clung to Anders. “you’re back, thank you.” he whispered.

Anders smiled softly. “I don’t think I had a lot of choice,” he teased gently. “So... do you think I could actually get some sleep and hope for a pleasant dream?”

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Fenris said as he looked down briefly. “you’re really here?” he asked again as he realized he hadn’t let Anders go.

“You tell me, love; I’m the one who isn’t entirely sure I’m not still dreaming,” said Anders. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sure I’ve spent hours asleep, and yet I’m exhausted,” he murmured.

“Sleep, I can’t right now. Just...sleep and I’ll guard you.” Fenris said as he reluctantly let the other man go. He pulled off his armor, swapping to sleep pants in case he did nod off.

Anders dropped into the bed with a low groan. “After two weeks of that camp bed, this is heavenly,” he smiled as he stretched out. He rolled onto his side and held a hand out towards Fenris. “I’ve missed you,” he said plaintively.

The elven warrior curled against the blond mage and let his tears fall. “I’m sorry if you thought I didn’t want you. That’s the furthest thing from the truth. I...I thought you were going to leave me because I strayed. I’m so sorry, I’ll be good and not ...and not go to another. Please don’t leave me again.” Fenris begged.

“If ever I do, please come bring me right back again, because it’ll be a sure sign I’m not in my right mind,” yawned Anders. “Maker, I have been so unutterably miserable this past month. I never thought I had so many tears in me.” He snuggled up to the elven warrior, his eyes drifting closed.

“I wouldn’t have let you leave.” Fenris said as he wrapped Anders arms round himself and let his own eyes drift closed. “Think m’tired after all. Spent so much power...to...get…” his words tapered off into a soft snore before he got that last thought out.

 

***

As Meneris paused at the bottom of the stairs leading up towards the library and Dorian’s room, the Tevinter mage glanced back over his shoulder at the elven Inquisitor. He raised an eyebrow, then pulled Hawke to a halt before the former Champion could take another step.

“Are you coming?” asked Dorian quietly.

“Yes, I was waiting in your room for you before everything went to the Void. If you’d be so kind as to finish getting him to his room I’ll take over his care Hawke.” Meneris said as he gave Dorian a tentative smile. He didn’t miss the look of relief in Dorian’s eyes as the mage turned away. 

Solas and Vivienne paused to talk quietly by Solas’ door as Meneris followed up the stairs; the elven warrior caught Dorian’s name and “simply impossible” from behind as he followed Dorian and Hawke into the Altus’ room.

Dorian dropped into the chair before the dressing table and nodded to Hawke. “My thanks,” he said quietly. 

“No problem, thanks for helping get him back. I’ll talk to you when you’ve had some rest. I have some apologies to make.” Hawke gave them both a bow before he slid the door closed and headed to Anders’ room.

Meneris locked the door and poured them both a half glass of wine, which he watered just a bit for Dorian. “So...what did you both do and why?”

“We went to fetch Anders,” said Dorian quietly. His earlier ire had drained away; as he took the glass, his gaze fell on the crumpled note upon the dresser, and he felt a pang of grief which he hastily masked by downing the watered wine swiftly with a grimace. “Fenris’ markings allow him to step through the Fade; he can use them to teleport distances. Quite remarkable distances, given an adequate power source. We went to the Silent Plains, and brought Anders back. Except I made some miscalculations.”

“I’m glad you are still with us. I was here because of...the news you got and that I realized I was being a selfish prick. I’d hoped we could talk, not what happened tonight.” Meneris said before he took a long pull on the bottle. “I’m going to have to punish him, he endangered us you know. As well as our relationship with the non-Venatori in Tevinter.” 

“Then you’ll have to punish me too, Meneris,” said Dorian quietly. “Because he couldn’t have done it without my help. If you put him in a cell tomorrow, you had best put me right in the one next to his, because otherwise you’ll be accused of favouritism. And I’ll be viewed with yet more suspicion and hate. You cannot be anything other than utterly impartial in this matter.”

“Venhedis!” Meneris uttered. “Fine...but he has to pay. You helped your...friend. He’s been a danger to us since he arrived. But enough of this, I came to say sorry not fight with you amatus.” Meneris reached his hands out for Dorian’s hopeful they could reconcile.

“I don’t exactly relish the thought of being punished myself, Meneris,” said Dorian quietly as he took Meneris’ hands. “But you must see how it would look otherwise.”

"Right now I don't care. I've seen you seriously injured far too often lately. Can we just sleep and talk once we're awake? I've missed you next to me Dorian." Meneris was unsure if he was wanted.

“Forgive me, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian quietly. He lifted Meneris’ hands to his lips and chastely kissed them. “I have missed you as well. And believe me, I have not enjoyed being injured one little bit myself. I don’t care to be on the receiving end so much as all that, believe me. Pain is _not_ one of my most favourite vices.” His moustache tickled Meneris’ hand as the Altus smirked slightly.

"That's news to me." Meneris smirked. "Come, I need sleep."

Dorian nodded. “As do I.” He began to slowly strip off his clothes where he sat, letting each garment drop to the floor beside his chair.

"You must be exhausted, you're not folding everything just so." Meneris remarked as he stripped off and joined his lover. "Is this ok?”

“I was riding in those clothes all day, Meneris. Yes, I am exhausted - too exhausted to care whether a dirty tunic is neatly folded or even particularly what happens to it once I am no longer wearing it,” Dorian shrugged as he got to his feet and stripped off the last few garments; as he straightened, he nearly overbalanced and had to grab for Meneris’ shoulder to steady himself. “It’s fine. Let’s just lie down and worry about tomorrow later, hmm?”

"I wanted to be sure, since we hadn't...been together in a while. I was worried you were done with me. It would have been what I deserved for ignoring your words love." Meneris crawled under the covers and rested against his Altus. "I'm sorry for your loss of Felix, amatus."

Dorian was silent, and then Meneris felt him begin to shake silently. Slowly, Dorian turned and curled up against the elf, shaking with voiceless sobs as tears came, hot and wet. 

"I've got you, let it out." Meneris held Dorian though the tears, quiet out of respect for his lover's grief.

Gradually Dorian’s tears eased, until finally the Tevinter Altus slipped into exhausted sleep.

Meneris tugged the covers over them and followed his Altus into slumber well into the next day.

**

Life at Skyhold slowly settled back into normality. After careful thought, Meneris ordered both Fenris and Dorian confined to quarters for a month. It was long enough to be considered a real punishment, and even Dorian was regretting his altruism by the end of the first week though he gamely complied without verbal complaint, though he visibly chafed at being denied access to the library just beyond his bedroom door.

Anders and Hal had dropped by the first couple of days to confirm Dorian was healed up fine and to return Dorian’s notes; beyond that, Meneris had sternly insisted that “confined to quarters” did not mean “host parties for any and all who might drop by to visit Dorian whilst he wasn’t allowed out”.

By the second week, Fenris was ready to climb out the nearest window to freedom. Being confined was bringing back bad memories for him, and he was only halfway into his punishment. He kept having nightmares of his captivity under Danarius to the point where he couldn’t sleep for a spell or potion.

Anders dropped by every evening with Fenris’ meal and then returned later to send the elf to sleep. He returned to his own rooms looking haggard and drawn afterwards; he found it very hard to see Fenris going through this captivity, and soon he took to downing a sleeping draught himself upon returning.

Hawke spent much of his time brooding in his room or seeking out Anders, guilt over having inadvertently been the catalyst for Anders’ departure for Tevinter eating at him, particularly as he watched the effect of Fenris’ captivity on the blond apostate. Anders became even more quiet and withdrawn than he’d been before, and he seemed always to be plagued by a headache that wouldn’t lift no matter how much elfroot and willowbark tea he drank. Increasingly the apostate suffered fits of dizziness that had begun to alarm Hawke and Hal.

The red-haired mage had been assigned his own room finally in the mage’s tower, on the floor above the library just below Leliana’s rookery. The rooms there had only recently been renovated and smelled of fresh plaster and paint; Hal spent more time in the infirmary or Anders’ room than he did there however. Anders assisted in the infirmary as well, until the day he had a dizzy spell as he was working on a batch of healing potions. That was when Mother Giselle, of all people, stepped in and gently but firmly insisted that he take a complete rest from his infirmary duties.

Meneris had spent the past couple of weeks in rounds of discussions with Josephine and Leliana over the disaster that was their attempt to establish an embassy in Tevinter. Anders’ return had been followed by a very terse message from Maevaris, sent via one of the two ravens Leliana had entrusted to Anders, establishing that the blond apostate was safe back in Skyhold; the second raven arrived back a few days later with a message stating that Maevaris was on her way to Skyhold for talks. Josephine and Leliana had been hard at work trying to minimise the political fallout from the Inquisition’s ambassador abandoning his post before even reaching Qarinus; Meneris wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the magister when she finally arrived. It would take nearly a month for her to get to Haven.

Fenris was currently pacing like a caged mabari in his rooms as he tried not to start screaming just so someone would come see him. Hawke was busy, and the fight they’d had over him making Anders think that he wasn’t wanted had been loud enough to get half the guards on their floor running to the door.

He glanced up every time he heard someone walk by then went back to his pacing. He finally sat down to write but found no focus. He’d read every book in his room, few that there were. Finally he wrote a note to Meneris, begging to have company or something other than his confinement. Fenris counted the hours until dinner as if seeing Anders was the only thing he had to look forward to.

When the light tap came upon his door a little earlier than usual, Fenris was taken aback to find Hal standing there with the tray rather than Anders.

“Hello, Fenris,” the young mage said shyly. “Uh... may I come in?”

“Of course, happy to have someone to talk to.” Fenris said as he fought the urge to throw himself into Hals’ arms and beg to be let out. He’d done that a few days prior to Anders, and it had upset both of them. Instead he sat and waited to find out what he wanted. “Is anything wrong? Is Anders... alright? Not that I’m not happy to see you, Hal,” the elf added hastily as the red-headed mage entered and set the dinner tray down upon the table before turning to Fenris.

“Anders is... resting,” said Hal. “He overdid it a little in the infirmary and Mother Giselle insisted he go rest. I volunteered to bring your dinner - it’s on my way to my room after all, and I thought you could use the company.” He shrugged diffidently. “I know Anders doesn’t normally sit with you whilst you eat but... well, no-one said you _couldn’t_ have company over dinner, and I haven’t eaten yet so I brought enough for two and....” He tailed off, uncertain how to interpret the look on Fenris’ face. “I... I can go, if you’d rather...?”

“Don’t leave me Hal. I’m not...I’ve started talking to myself just to hear something. Please don’t go.” Fenris said as he reached out to grab the other man’s hand. 

Startled, Hal allowed himself to be drawn closer, until Fenris had flung an arm around him and pressed his face against the shoulder of Hal’s robes. They smelled of herbs and fresh soap and Hal himself; it was a comforting, clean scent. Hesitantly, Hal lifted his free hand to hug Fenris carefully back.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he said quietly. “Do you know, Dorian’s started talking to himself as well? I think my room is directly over his. I mean, he mutters to himself when he’s working on something, but he’s actually having... conversations with himself. Out loud.”

“I wrote the Inquisitor a note, can you please give it to him? If I don’t get let out soon I don’t know what I’ll do. Zevran hasn’t even snuck in to see me. I’m losing it Hal.” Fenris kept Hal in his arms, grateful for the contact.

“Fenris, no-one’s seen Zevran since you all set off for Halamshiral,” said Hal. “And no-one who went to Halamshiral has seen him since the night before Anders left for Tevinter. His horse isn’t in the stable; the horse master says it was there the morning before the Inquisitor’s party arrived but was gone two days later, though no-one saw it taken from the stables and the guards on the gate were adamant that they saw no-one leave. We don’t know where he is or what’s happened to him. The letter Anders wrote to him is still on Hawke’s desk, untouched.”

“He’s gone...too? Why did he go Hal?” Fenris asked as he reluctantly let go of the other man and sat down for his meal. “What if he’s dead, what ....why hasn’t he come back yet?” Fenris asked as he tried to keep from panicking. 

Hal sat down and took the covers off the dishes on the tray. “Fenris, Zevran is the Master of the Crows. A man doesn’t rise to that position by being careless. We have to trust to his own ability to keep himself alive.” He poured them both a glass of wine each. “As to why he went... Anders and Hawke both tell me there were three Crows at the ball and Zevran killed them all. They also think his was the knife that slew the Duchess, though we haven’t told Meneris that yet. Zevran apparently had reasons of his own for going to Halamshiral. Maybe it’s Crow business?” Hal looked at Fenris. “In the Thedas I come from, Zevran isn’t involved with us. I have no idea if this would be in character for him or not. And Belann is so busy with Solona that I can’t ask him if he knows.”

“I’m sorry...I’m not doing well being locked up and it’s given me too much time to think and come up with bad scenarios as to why he’s not back. I used to get locked up when I was bad, when I was still a slave. Left alone for days with barely food, water and a bucket. I guess I should be happy I have a bed and hot meals right?” Fenris’ voice was off and he seemed ...twitchy for lack of a better way to describe the way he couldn’t sit still or how he kept reaching for Hal, almost as if to be sure the mage was really there. 

“That sounds like solitary in the Gallows,” said Hal with a shudder. “I got put down there a couple of times; it was horrible. Only for a couple of days the first time, and a week the second time. It was so awful, I made sure there was never a third time. I don’t know how Anders faced a whole year of that.”

“I don’t know if I can survive another week and a half in here. I need some kind of contact Hal.” Fenris said before he went back to his meal, though he glanced at the other man often to confirm he wasn’t just hallucinating him.

“Fenris... it’s _supposed_ to be punishment,” said Hal gently. “It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t have some effect on you... and I don’t think Meneris can afford to release either you or Dorian early without it affecting his standing. If he lets you go early, then he _has_ to release Dorian as well - and people would claim he’d done it just to let his boyfriend off easy, not that he was doing it to be generous to you.” his expression was sympathetic as he watched Fenris’ face fall.

“Maybe the Inquisitor will agree to let you have visitors more often though,” the young mage suggested. “After all, Belann’s practically camped out in Solona’s cell right now. If the Commander and the Inquisitor allow that, surely they’ll allow you more visitors?”

“I don’t care about _her_!” Fenris snapped as he pushed away from the table. He curled up on the bed, faced away from Hal.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t give a damn about her, Fenris - I’m just trying to point out that if Meneris can allow that for one prisoner, why not another?” He sighed and poked at his own meal, his appetite rapidly diminishing. “Particularly as he’s punishing Anders by extension right now.”

Fenris remained silent so he wouldn’t out his anger on Hal. He closed his eyes and tried to remain calm but any mention of that woman set him off.

Hal stared at his plate then pushed it away, downing his wine. “I think maybe I’m just making things worse,” he said quietly. He set his empty glass down then pushed his chair back and rose.

Fenris didn’t move until he heard the door open, he sat up and looked to Hal. “Never mind about my letter, I’ll ...deal with this.”

Hal paused, then nodded. “Do you still want me to stay, or should I come back in a while?” he asked quietly.

“Whatever you wish Hal, I don’t know if I will be good company or not. Just... don’t mention her to me, I can’t, I don’t want to hear about her. I don’t care.” Fenris said finally.

Hal let the door fall closed then turned and rested his back against its wooden surface. “I think perhaps I was the one not being very good company,” he said, his eyes on the floor for a moment before he looked up at Fenris. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned her. Look - instead of writing to Meneris, why not write to Anders? Or Hawke? Or Dorian perhaps? Meneris said you and he are confined to your rooms but he never said anything about writing letters.” He suddenly grinned, mischievously, and Fenris caught a glimpse of what Hal must have been like as an apprentice in the tower. He had the feeling he wasn’t much different to how Anders must have been before too many punishments and spells in solitary had driven most of the cheekiness away and replaced it with determination and a darker streak.

“I...don’t know if I feel like writing right now. Just sit with me please?” Fenris asked.

“Of course,” said Hal. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, near the elf. He let one hand rest upon the coverlet near Fenris. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in here,” he said. “But I’m not sorry you brought Anders back. I dread to think what would have happened to him in Tevinter in this state. My Fenris told me enough horror stories of that place to dissuade me of any ideas of it being some kind of mage utopia.” 

Fenris rolled over and took Hal’s hand in his. “I thought Dorian would die and I was going to be executed.” he admitted. Hal glanced down at him, his eyes widening. 

“No - no, that wouldn’t have happened,” he said firmly. “Anders is an incredibly experienced healer. And I’m pretty good - after Anders, I’m probably the best the Inquisition’s got, and I’m not just boasting. You’ve _seen_ how good I am. A head injury like that - maybe I don’t have the experience that Anders does, but I wouldn’t have let Dorian die.”

“You can’t always save a person Hal.” Fenris said as he curled up with the other man. “I want to leave the Inquisition but I know Anders is more or less safe here.” 

“I’ve not lost one yet,” said Hal with youthful cockiness.

“Don’t be arrogant.” Fenris said before he rolled to his back to stare at the ceiling. Hal frowned slightly.

“It’s not arrogance,” he said quietly. “It’s the truth. We’ve not lost a single patient in the infirmary since I arrived.”

Fenris shrugged and closed his eyes, as he was just glad not to be alone for a while. 

Hal sat quietly, absently rubbing his thumb alongside but not quite along one of the lines of lyrium that ran along the back of the elf’s hand. It was something he’d done so often with his own Fenris that he found himself doing it without thought as he glanced over towards the windows. The elven warrior’s hand was warm and comforting.

“They’re talking about establishing a school for mages here,” he said quietly after a moment. “There are so many apprentices here from disbanded or annulled Circles - some of them only little kids. There’s a family from Dairsmuid - did you know the Dairsmuid Circle allowed mages and their families to live together in the tower? The Seekers tried to massacre them all, but a few got out. This family have a little girl - she’s only five, but she’s got real talent as a healer. But she’s terrified of the templars and Cassandra. We need a new system. Something different. A way the children can be trained without fear.” He was rambling a little, but the silence was intimidating.

“You’re asking the wrong man Hal. I know magic has its uses but remember where I came from.” Fenris said quietly.

“I know - but there has to be some other way,” said Hal. “A way that isn’t the draconian system of Circles but not the mage-led excess of the Empire either. A middle path, where magic truly serves man - but not enslaved, imprisoned, shut away and made to feel guilty for even existing.”

Fenris glanced at Hal, then back to the ceiling. Everything he could think of was unkind and undeserved at what the young mage wanted. 

Hal watched the colours of sunset fading from the sky, the dusk drawing in as torches appeared on the battlements. Lights were glowing from the windows of the shacks over in the mages’ encampment distantly visible from Fenris’ room. “I should go soon,” Hal said quietly.

“A few minutes longer, please?” Fenris asked as he curled up against Hal. The red-haired mage glanced down at Fenris, his fingers tightening reassuringly on Fenris’ hand.

“Of course,” he said with a soft smile.

“Thank you, sorry if I was not appreciative of the time you spent with me.” Fenris replied. Hal turned towards him, drawing his legs up beneath himself as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out with his other hand so that Fenris’ hand was cradled between both of his own.

“It’s going to be OK, Fenris,” he said quietly. “I know this is all frustrating for you - but it’ll be over in another two weeks. You’re halfway there already. And Dorian is fine, Anders is back with us, and I’m sure Meneris will get over his anger eventually. It’s going to be OK.”

“It doesn’t seem like it, not when I’m begging you to stay like a child.” Fenris said quietly. He pressed a kiss to Hal’s head and sighed. “Go on before you get into trouble for staying with me.” 

“I’ll come back later,” Hal promised him as he rose from the bed to leave. “I know Anders comes to put you to sleep in the evening. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Alright.” Fenris said as he watched Hal leave then made himself go to the table and try to put his thoughts to paper. As the night drew in, the only sound in the room was the scratching of his quill.

It was a lonely sound.


	51. Chapter 51

The remaining two weeks finally passed, and Fenris stayed out of his room as much as he could stand the cooling weather around Skyhold. He spent time he wasn’t enjoying his freedom again with Anders, along with Invictus once they settled thing between them.

Meneris had cooled off about things as well, and was concerned for the blond healer among them. Anders felt faint more often than not and seemed to be unwell no matter what they did for him. He insisted he was fine and it was nothing; he chafed at being effectively banished from the infirmary and instead threw himself into researching a possible permanent fix for Fenris’ lyrium brands. 

It all came to a head one winter’s day as a blizzard raged outside. Anders had chosen to spend the day in the library; the ever-present headache was particularly troublesome, and he’d elected to distract himself from the pain by following up on something he’d read in one of the books Dorian had lent him from his own private collection which had struck a thought. He’d read something about this in Polivari’s _The Compleat Apothecary_ , and he was certain he’d seen a copy of it in the Skyhold library. He browsed the shelves, and was gratified to spot the old, worn copy on a high shelf near the mezzanine railing. 

It was too high even for his long arms, so he fetched the ladder. His head swam for a moment as he leaned the ladder against the shelves and he stood still, waiting for it to pass, before he began to climb. 

It was as he reached for the large volume that his vision suddenly whited out, and he felt himself falling.

Dorian wandered out of his room at that moment; as he glanced up and saw Anders sway then start to fall, tumbling out over the mezzanine rail; he dropped the book in his hands with a loud cry of alarm as he leaped forward, catching a handful of the blond apostate’s robe as his hip struck the rail. Anders would have plunged over the railing down to the floor of the rotunda some twelve feet below if Dorian were not clutching fast to the fabric of his robes with a strength born of desperation.

“A little help here would be appreciated!” shouted Dorian loudly as he clung on to Anders; the apostate was taller than the Altus, and though Anders was slender, the unconscious man was a dead weight and it was all Dorian could do just to check his headlong plunge down to what could have been the man’s death and would almost certainly have been serious injury.

“Maker!” exclaimed Cullen as he hurried to Dorian’s side. He’d been on his way up to speak to Leliana; the last thing he expected was to hear Dorian’s shout as he headed up the stairs, and then came upon the sight of Dorian trying to drag the unconscious Anders back over the railing.

Between the two of them, they managed to lift Anders back to safety and lay him out upon the floor. They spent an anxious couple of minutes watching him before he stirred, opening his eyes to stare up at them in bewildered confusion.

“What... what happened?” he asked. “I was reaching for a book....”

“You fell from the ladder and did your damnedest to give me a heart attack,” replied Dorian tersely as the adrenaline of the past few minutes caught up to him. Cullen laid a hand on the Altus’ shoulder silently and Dorian leaned into it, grateful for the Commander’s grounding presence.

“Anders, this is enough,” said Cullen. “Even you must see that there’s something seriously wrong. You’re a very sick man, and something has to be done. You’ve not been right since Adamant.” He stared down at the blond mage, concern clearly visible in his warm brown eyes.

Anders stared up at him, then nodded in resignation. “You’re right,” he said almost tonelessly. “There’s something very wrong.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dorian. “You’re a healer - a damned good one. You healed _my_ head injury - why can’t you fix yours?”

“It’s... complicated,” said Anders. “Healers... we can heal most things in ourselves, but head injuries... it’s rather different. Damage like that... it affects the consciousness, the concentration, and the act of healing - it does likewise. So whilst a healer can manage their own superficial head injuries, something like that... I can’t fix it myself. Particularly as with a mage, you have to be very careful not to cut off their connection to the Fade. It takes a skilled, experienced healer to treat life-threatening head injuries in a mage and not render them Tranquil.”

“Which is why you kept insisting you were fine?” said Dorian. “Because... you couldn’t heal it yourself?”

Anders sighed and nodded. “It’s more complicated as well by the fact I had to heal naturally the slow way,” he went on. “There’s scar tissue there. I can sense the old damage and how it’s scarred, but if I try to do anything - well, I could easily trigger another fainting fit in the middle of it and lose consciousness.”

Cullen frowned. “You can do it that easily? You mean, you can put yourself to sleep?”

“Now there would be a handy trick for an insomniac to learn,” remarked Dorian. “Is that how Solas is able to put himself to sleep so easily?”

“I wouldn’t know; I haven’t discussed it with him,” replied Anders. “But yes - I could put myself out deliberately if I chose. But it would be all too easy to do it accidentally whilst trying to heal myself because of where the scarring actually is. And I can’t heal myself whilst unconscious.”

“Could Hal do it? Heal you, I mean?” asked Cullen. “He helped you with Dorian, didn’t he?”

“More the other way round; I helped him,” replied Anders. “Could you help me sit up? I’d rather not discuss this whilst lying flat on my back in the middle of the library.”

Cullen slipped an arm beneath Anders and gently helped him up.

“Why don’t we move to my room? It’s closest, and we can talk there in privacy,” suggested Dorian.

“Excellent idea, said Cullen. He made to lift Anders, but the blond apostate checked him with a hand against Cullen’s steel breastplate.

“Please, I’d really rather walk,” he said. “Let me preserve at least a _little_ dignity.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, and carefully helped Anders up onto his feet.

With the Commander’s support, Anders was able to walk the short distance to Dorian’s room. He refused the offer of Dorian’s bed but agreed to be settled in a chair. Cullen took the other chair whilst Dorian sat upon the edge of his bed, one foot tucked up beneath him.

“You realise I’m going to have to inform the Inquisitor of this?” said Cullen.

“Meneris has been very worried about you,” Dorian remarked. Anders pulled a face and ran a hand through his hair.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that,” he said. He glanced at Cullen. “Do what you must,” he said.

“Anders, you should have spoken up about this sooner,” said Cullen, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees.

“What, like you did about how sick lyrium withdrawal was making you?” Anders shot back. “How’s the headache, Commander?”

“Point taken,” conceded Cullen with a wry grin. “And it’s not too bad today, thankfully. How’s yours?”

“My head is splitting,” Anders admitted with a sigh. “Which is nothing out of the ordinary for me these days.”

“You must be practically living on elfroot and willowbark tea,” said Dorian sympathetically. Anders barked a humourless laugh.

“That’s about the shape of it, yes,” he agreed. “And believe me, my stomach knows all about it.” Cullen frowned in incomprehension. “Willowbark if taken over an extended period of time tends to irritate the stomach lining,” Anders explained. “Can lead to bleeding and general unpleasantness. Not actually _serious_ , but it’s just one more bit of uncomfortableness. I can tolerate it though.”

“So what can we _do_?” asked Cullen. “I can’t believe we can’t do _anything_.”

Anders sighed. “I think we’re going to have to let Hal have a poke around in my head and see if he can do anything to at least mitigate the worst of the symptoms,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure it’s just the head injury?” said Cullen. “Are you certain nothing... came _back_ with you from the Fade at Adamant?”

“Now there’s a disturbing thought,” remarked Dorian. From the expression on Anders’ face he appeared to think so too. The Altus’ next remarks were cut off by a knock at the door. 

Cullen got up to answer it, being the closest. He took a step back. “Ah - Inquisitor,” he said, slightly surprised.

“Cullen, feeling better today?” Meneris said as he came in, saw Anders and turned to his lover. “What happened?”

“Anders did his best to give me grey hairs is what happened,” remarked Dorian acerbically. “Took a tumble off a ladder and did his best to take a swandive over the railing.”

“Entirely unintentionally, I can assure you,” sighed Anders.

“I take it you still haven’t let anyone try to heal you? You’ve been miserable since Adamant, which I should have realized.” Meneris admitted.

“Apparently that’s... a little more complicated than we thought,” said Dorian. “At least in the case of mages.”

“It seems that it takes an extremely talented and experienced healer to deal with an injury like Anders’,” said Cullen. “And unfortunately the most experienced and talented healer we have....”

“Is me,” Anders finished.

“Well damn, that’s put you in a bind. What about Hal? I’m guessing Hawke isn’t well versed in healing?” Meneris asked.

“If Hawke had been capable of healing Anders, he’d have done it at Adamant when Anders’ injury occurred,” Cullen pointed out. “Maker knows he tried, but Hawke’s not a healer. He’s a Force mage - great in a fight, not so hot on the patching up afterwards. That was always Anders’ role back in Kirkwall.” Anders nodded agreement.

“Hal is young and inexperienced,” said Anders. “He’s only nineteen, remember - and I don’t think Endrin was a healer. Hal didn’t get to deal with injuries like this in the Circle, and though he’s had a lot more experience with serious injuries since joining the Inquisition, I dealt with any head wounds and guided him on the worst of the others. He was attentive and skilled when he assisted me with Dorian though.” He sighed. “I’m going to have to hope he was attentive enough, because we don’t have anyone else. I’m not sure why, but Creative magic seems to be the one school that almost all mages experience difficulty with. The few that it comes naturally to are rare, unfortunately - and Spirit Healers like Hal and myself even rarer still. It’s almost unheard of to have two in one place. We’ll just have to hope that being a Spirit Healer will help where his experience is lacking.”

Dorian glanced up at Meneris. “Apparently healing head injuries in a mage are a risky proposition,” he explained. “There’s a risk of accidentally severing their connection to the Fade. A rather sobering thought.”

“You mean you could have been made Tranquil? I’m...Creators, we’re lucky you got him back here then,” Meneris said as he reached for Dorian’s hand. “ _Amatus, sorry I was such a…_ ” the elven fighter’s eyes closed as he tried to calm himself. He knew little of the Tranquil, but he knew his lover wouldn’t want to live that way. Dorian squeezed Meneris’ hand lightly.

“He could have, yes,” Anders nodded, his expression grave. “And if Hal makes a mistake whilst healing me, then _I_ could end up Tranquil.” He glanced to Cullen. “If that happens... I want to make it clear now: I do not want to live Tranquil.”

Cullen stared at him. “You’re asking me to kill you if this goes wrong,” he said quietly.

“Think of it as like another form of Harrowing,” said Anders softly. “Cullen, neither Hawke nor Fenris would have the strength to end my life. They love me too much. But I know you can. And I’d trust you to make it quick and clean.”

Cullen dropped his gaze to the floor. “This is... this isn’t an easy thing you’re asking of me,” he said quietly.

“I know,” said Anders, his expression softening. “But I don’t trust anyone else to ask them.” He lowered his voice to not much more than a whisper. “Please, Cullen. As a friend.”

Cullen was still for a long time, then slowly nodded. He lifted his head and returned Anders’ gaze. “Very well,” he said quietly. “As the Maker is my witness, I swear that if you become Tranquil, I will end your life.”

“Thank you,” said Anders very quietly.

“Well... we should probably go visit Hal and get this done? I’ll get Fenris and Hawke, if you ...wish?” Meneris asked.

“We’re going to do it in here?” said Dorian, a little startled. “Now?”

“I’d... rather do it in my room,” said Anders. “With Hawke and Fenris there.”

They all rose and exited Dorian’s room, heading back downstairs to Anders’ rooms; Cullen sent a runner to fetch Hal and find Fenris and Hawke. When they arrived in the blond apostate’s rooms, Anders quietly removed his robe, folding it neatly as he set it aside. When he sat down on the bed in just his pants and linen shirt, the ginger tabby jumped up onto his lap and he stroked it silently, head bowed. Meneris, Dorian and Cullen stood around in an awkward silence, unsure of what to say - or even if there was anything to be said.

That was how Hawke and Fenris found them a short while later.

“What’s going on and why do you all look like we’re at a funeral?” Fenris asked. 

Hawke glanced at them then to Anders. “It’s about your injury isn’t it?” 

Anders lifted his head and nodded. “I can’t carry on trying to pretend nothing’s wrong,” he said quietly. “It’s getting worse. So we’re going to have Hal try to heal me. But... it’s not without... risks.”

“Tranquility?” Hawke said as he went to Anders and sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “You...but if that happens, you said you don’t want to ever live that way, love.” 

“Is this the only way?” Fenris asked as he took up the other side of Anders and curled against him.

“I’m afraid so,” said Anders. “And yes, I said that, Hawke. And it still stands. If I end up Tranquil - yes, there’s a very real danger of that - then I want my life to end. That’s... that’s why Cullen is here.” He dropped his gaze to the cat still purring on his lap as he stroked it.

“I...see,” Fenris replied before he curled closer to Anders. “I cannot do that, so ...I will not kill him.” 

“I might, but I’m sure he can take me in a fight.” Hawke said tiredly. 

“I pray it won’t be necessary,” said Cullen. “Believe me, Hawke, I would not take any pleasure in ending Anders’ life. But I will do it if - if that is how it must be. I’ve promised Anders.”

Hal entered the room and looked around. “A runner said Anders needed me, I....” He glanced around at the group and swallowed hard. “What’s going on?”

“Hal, it’s... time,” said Anders quietly. “You remember what we spoke about?”

Hal crossed the room and took the hand Anders held out to him. “I do. You’re... you’re sure about this?”

“There’s no other way,” said Anders softly. Hal nodded.

Anders turned to Hawke. “This... might be farewell, love,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I wish things had gone differently. We always knew I’d die before you but... at least if I die today, you’ll be by my side.”

Hawke hugged him fiercely, the cat leaping from Anders’ lap in alarm. “You’re not going to die,” he said, blinking back tears. “You hear me? You’re going to be OK - Hal will fix you, and everything will be fine, you hear?”

Anders smiled sadly. “I love you, Vic,” he said quietly.

Hawke pulled Anders to him and kissed him - fiercely, lovingly, desperately, until they were forced to part for air; and then reluctantly he released him.

Anders turned to Fenris, who laid a finger upon his lips. “Do not speak,” said the elf quietly. “Do not say goodbye; my heart will not permit it, _mi amatus_. I must believe you will live and return to us.” He lowered his hand and then Anders fell into his arms, choking back a sob. 

“I love you so much,” the blond apostate whispered. “I don’t want to die, Fenris. I have too much to live for.”

“Then hold to that and return to us,” Fenris whispered back before they kissed, long and lovingly until Anders drew away. He hiccupped and wiped his eyes clumsily with the back of his hand, then glanced at Hal.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Fenris and Hawke rose to stand either side of the bed as Anders stretched himself out upon it, lying on his back staring at the ceiling. Hal knelt upon the bed beside Anders, as Cullen moved around to kneel on the bed on the other side. The former templar drew his dagger from its sheath and laid it across his knees, with a glance at Hawke standing beside him before returning his gaze to Anders.

“I trust you,” the blond apostate. “Remember your promise.”

“I will,” Cullen nodded.

The ginger tabby leapt up onto the bed with a small chirp of annoyance; padding across to Anders, it sniffed his face curiously before headbutting his chin. Anders smiled and lifted a hand to stroke the cat; with a little nudging, he was able to persuade it to lie beside him, stretched out purring against his ribs as he rested his hand upon it. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled before he nodded to Hal.

“I’m ready,” he said quietly. “Try to keep me talking as much as possible; it’ll be easier to gauge my levels of consciousness as you work.”

The young mage nodded, then called blue healing energy into his hands; it pooled, quiescent in his palms like cool blue smoke, and Fenris felt an answering tug upon his brands. Cullen shifted slightly, restraining the urge to flinch away from magic being wielded so close beside him.

Hal leaned forward and cupped his hands around Anders’ face, directing the magic inside. Anders drew in a sharp breath, stiffening slightly before relaxing. 

“Are you alright?” said Hal.

“Yes, I... I wasn’t expecting....” began Anders, then frowned. “I can smell... oranges,” he said in a puzzled tone of voice, then he took a deep breath. “Yes, oranges - it’s very strong, it - oh, it’s gone.”

Hal shifted his hand slightly, and Anders suddenly laughed. “I’m sorry, that - that tickles,” he chuckled. “Oh - oh, Maker, that really tickles!” His feet twitched as the blond apostate tried to curl them up and away as if to try to get away from an imaginary feather. 

Hal moved his left hand slightly, curving it round behind Anders’ ear, and the blond apostate shuddered. “Oh, that’s... I don’t like that, no!” he whimpered. “No, no, stop, no!” His eyes were wide as they stared at the ceiling, terrified. “No, don’t, _please!_ ” The last word was almost a scream as Anders’ back arched off the bed.

“What are you doing to him?” exclaimed Fenris, unable to contain himself as Anders whimpered and then screamed again.

“I think I’m touching the part of his brain that processes fear,” said Hal tersely. “Please don’t distract me.” He moved his right hand up, pressing his thumb against the scar over Anders’ eye. He concentrated, and there was a pulse of blue healing energy.

Anders abruptly convulsed, his eyes rolling back as his body jerked and shuddered beneath Hal.

“Maker, what’s happening? What are you doing to him?” said Hawke desperately, moving forward as though to wrench Hal away from the fitting blond apostate. Cullen threw out his arm to block him.

“Stand down, Hawke!” he ordered. “Let Hal work. Maker only knows what would happen to Anders if you interfere!”

“Anders!” Hawke moaned, his hands clenching uselessly at his side; his eyes met those of Fenris who looked equally frustrated and helpless.

Anders’ body suddenly went limp, and there was silence in the room as Hal bowed his head, the glow from his hands becoming brighter.

And then Anders stopped breathing.

***

He felt pain as his body spasmed and convulsed; lightning dancing upon nerves suddenly galvanised without direction or thought, beyond control. Then suddenly... nothing. Nothing at all; not even the sensation of the bed beneath his back or Hal’s hands cradling his head. Merely... nothing.

He opened his eyes and saw a misty green sky overhead, alien stars twinkling faintly in the distance. Turning his head, he realised he was floating a few inches above a smooth stone surface. He lowered one hand and hesitantly touched the stone, expecting it to be cold - and was surprised to find it pleasantly warm.

He sat up, and cautiously lowered one foot until it touched the stone, and then with that for leverage he was able to push himself upright to stand, barefoot, on the strange smooth surface. He looked around himself.

Something flittered past him, the movement only briefly seen out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, but there was nothing there. Then another flicker on his other side - then another, and another, until he was spinning and turning this way and that, trying to catch sight of whatever it was. He heard a faint titter.

“Stop!” he exclaimed as he came to a halt. “What are you? Show yourself!”

There was another flicker of movement, and then something appeared, hanging in the air before him; at first it was only a glowing orb of light, but slowly it resolved into a vaguely humanoid form that glowed gold. It was hard to make out the precise outline through the brilliant golden light, but there were vague curves that suggested a possibly-feminine form and something waving that might possibly have been hair. Of a face, he could discern nothing at all.

More flickers in the corners of his eyes, and then more figures like the first appeared, surrounding him.

He knew what they were, of course. Healing spirits; he was aware of them distantly every time he used his healing magic. They clustered around him when he worked, often helping from the Fade, giving him strength when he weakened or drew on his own life energy to heal.

The first spirit, the one standing in front of him - he’d often thought of the spirit as a ‘she’. He knew her. She had first come to him when he was twelve and helped guide his first faltering efforts at healing. All the healing spirits looked alike but somehow he knew this one beyond all the others. As he stared at her, her form became more distinct. As she lifted an arm towards him, he could see her hand, her fingers, beckoning to him.

“ _Healer. Anders._ ” Her voice was a whisper of silver, delicate and ethereal. He took a step towards her, and then halted as suddenly his vision grew hazy and he felt a sickening dizziness.

“What’s happening?” he exclaimed in alarm.

“ _Your connection to the Fade. You are being taken from us, Anders!_ ” The spirit’s voice sounded alarmed too.

“Help me!” he cried, as he felt himself falling.

“ _Take my hand! Let me help you! Open up to me!_ ” 

“Yes!” he cried as threw out a hand desperately. 

Slender golden fingers wrapped around his and then held him tight, and suddenly he knew he was safe. 

***

“What’s happening? Maker, _what’s happened to him?_ ” screamed Hawke as he threw himself forward, checked only by Cullen’s arm as the former templar held him back. On the other side of the bed, both Meneris and Dorian were struggling to restrain Fenris as he roared in fury and grief.

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Hal. “I won’t lose him - I swear - Anders, come back! You’ve got to come back!” He pressed his hands to Anders’ chest and sent a strong wave of healing energy through the motionless mage who stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

“ _Anders!_ ” screamed Fenris as he ripped free from the hands holding him back, sending Dorian staggering backwards as he leapt forwards to throw himself down next to Anders. As Hal continued to throw everything he had into bringing Anders back, Fenris cradled Anders’ pale face gently then lit his brands.

There was no response for a moment - and then Anders took a deep breath as his eyes widened, shining bright gold with some inner light before they closed. 

He took another breath; and then another. Then another.

“He... he lives!” whispered Fenris. “Anders. Anders, wake up! Open your eyes!”

Hal cautiously sent his healer’s senses down into Anders’ unconscious body. “The - the damage, it’s... it’s gone,” he said in a hushed voice. “I... I don’t understand; I hadn’t finished -”

“You and he are both spirit healers,” said Cullen. “Could your spirits and his perhaps have... co-operated? His own body’s healing taking over?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Hal. “I... this is beyond me. I don’t know.”

“Is... is he Tranquil?” said Hawke hoarsely, barely able to get the words out as he stared desperately at Anders’ calm, composed face. Hal lifted a hand to forestall Hawke as he closed his eyes and reached out again. After long, anxiety-inducing minutes, he looked up with a relieved smile.

“His connection to the Fade is still there,” he said. “It’s as strong as ever - Maker, maybe even stronger. He’s not Tranquil.”

“Oh, Maker be blessed,” sighed Cullen as he relaxed, slumping over slightly before he sheathed his dagger and then pushed back off the bed to stand. Hawke hastily took his place beside Anders, reaching out for Anders.

“Love, wake up. It’s us. It’s OK, please come back to us!” he begged as he clutched Anders’ hand.

Anders’ eyes slowly flickered open, and then he looked around himself, dazed. “Where am I?” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

“You are in your room, _mi amatus_ ,” said Fenris, his voice husky with relief. “How do you feel? Any pain? Headache?”

“No,” said Anders slowly. “No, I’m fine. Perfectly OK,” he said.”Love, what’s going on? Why is -” He suddenly pushed himself up on one elbow as he stared at Hawke. “Vic, love, what’s wrong? You’re crying! Has something happened?”

Hawke threw himself at Anders, knocking the startled mage flat as he was engulfed in a massive hug by the sobbing former Champion. Fenris caught hold of Anders’ hand as it flailed wildly and pressed it to his lips, his own tears of thankfulness rolling down his cheeks.

Hal backed away and stood up, swaying a little; Cullen shifted hastily to support him with an arm about the shoulders. “I’m alright,” said Hal quietly. “Just a little tired.”

“Let’s sit you down,” said Cullen, leading him over to the table and pulling out a chair for the slender young man; Hal dropped down into it gratefully, then nodded thanks when Cullen grabbed a bottle of wine, pouring a glass hastily and thrusting it into Hal’s hands.

“I think we could all do with a drink,” remarked Dorian. “That was rather nerve-racking.”

“He doesn’t seem to remember any of what’s happened - is that normal?” asked Meneris.

“Pretty much,” said Hal with a shrug. Colour was slowly returning to his face as he sipped the wine. “When you do anything to the brain, it can often have the effect of wiping the most immediate, recent memories. He may or may not regain them, but it’s nothing to really worry about. Physically he’s fine, and the damage is gone - his link to the Fade intact.” He sighed heavily. “Maker, I hope I never have to do that again. That was the most terrifying healing I’ve ever faced.”

Anders was sitting up now; he, Hawke and Fenris had their arms around each other, their foreheads pressed together.

“We nearly lost him, didn’t we?” said Cullen softly as he poured wine for the others and then for himself.

“Yes,” said Hal sombrely. “I felt him go, and then it was as if something... caught him. I think if he had been anyone other than a spirit healer, he would have died.”

“Something?” said Cullen sharply, suddenly focusing on Hal intently.

“Healing spirits, perhaps,” shrugged Hal. “Whatever it was, it... pushed him back, which is when his own body’s healing seemed to just - kick in, healing everything up.”

Cullen regarded him thoughtfully, then glanced back at the trio on the bed, his eyes drawn to the blond apostate who still seemed somewhat bemused and bewildered as to what was going on and why so many people were in his room at once.

It took a little while before Fenris and Invictus had both satisfied themselves that yes, Anders was indeed fine, whole, healthy and unharmed, no longer plagued by the headache that had been constantly present since Adamant. Even the scar upon his forehead had faded to a silvery starburst over his right eye. Furthermore, he had no memory of what had happened beyond the point where he’d spotted the book he’d been searching for, and only a hazy memory of being in the library at that. It was as though he’d closed his eyes in the library and then woken again in his room, the intervening period utterly forgotten.

They had to explain to him about Hal healing him; when Hal nervously explained what he had felt at the point Anders had stopped breathing, Anders had looked blank. He had no idea what had happened.

“Well, you’re obviously not Tranquil,” said Cullen. “And you still have access to your magic?”

Anders lifted a hand and opened out his fingers stiffly, and the air was suddenly full of small, twinkling lights.

“You pinched that trick from me!” exclaimed Dorian in mock indignation, and Anders laughed, the others joining in.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” smiled Cullen. He poured more wine for Anders, Hawke and Fenris, then raised his own glass. “Well, here’s to a successfully-healed Anders and the restoration of the official Inquisition healer - and Maker save us from ever having to go through that again!”

They all joined in the toast, echoing his prayer fervently apart from Meneris who murmured a prayer of his own to the Creators.

Dorian sent out for more wine, at some point Varric showed up, and then Josephine dropped by, looking for Meneris, and was delighted to learn of Anders’ healing. She was persuaded to take a glass of wine, and the gathering gradually devolved into something of a party. Iron Bull and Krem appeared at some point, and a couple of hours later Anders’ rooms were rather crowded and full of good-naturedly tipsy people.

There had been too little to celebrate of late; any small victory - even that of one man’s healing - was a much needed excuse for cheer. 

For once, everyone was happy.


	52. Chapter 52

Anders threw himself fully back into work in his role as the Inquisition’s healer, taking control of the infirmary once more. When he wasn’t in the infirmary he could often be found in the library working on research or discussing points of magical theory with Dorian and Solas. He also embarked on setting up a system of formal teaching for the young refugee mages that were still arriving daily at Skyhold, drawing up a curriculum with Vivienne and, to a lesser extent, Dorian, then overseeing the establishment of a college. Josephine made arrangements to restore and reconstruct one of the other ruined towers for use as the new mages’ tower; as each floor became ready for occupation, dormitories and classrooms were established, including training rooms. The work was slower than any of them would have liked as winter set in in earnest.

Cullen arranged for additional training areas outside for the more mature students and their instructors to work on combat magic; Dorian took a keen interest in working on a suitable training and instruction program with both Anders and Hawke and both the former Champion and the Tevinter Altus took an active role in teaching those sessions; Hawke was finally finding he had more of a role in the Inquisition than he’d expected.

In addition to providing the training facilities, Cullen also worked with Hawke and Anders to set up special training sessions with the more accomplished and experienced mages to work with carefully-selected templars so both could get used to facing off against each other and grasp the range of their capabilities; the templars needed to understand what they would face, fighting the Venatori, and the mages needed to be able to deal with the threat of the red templars. Dorian and Krem took a hand in training the mages to use their staves as weapons, both being accomplished in Tevene staff fighting techniques. Anders would join those classes as often as his other duties permitted, as did Hal.

Training went on in all weather save blizzards; as Cullen said, “Corypheus won’t wait for the rain to stop; why should we?”

The red-haired healer was seen more and more around the new mages’ college, assisting with the small class of mages who had shown an aptitude for healing, though often he was seen in Solas’ company, discussing arcane matters of the Fade. He also worked with Dorian on formulating a more cohesive theory on how Fenris’ Fade-stepping and teleportation abilities worked. Fenris found their work interesting; he found it hard to follow the more obscure points of theory, but together with the two mages he was able to further refine his abilities, learning to power his teleportation more fully through the Fade. In time he was able to take up to two other people with him before needing to draw on the additional powers of a mage. Dorian was working further on researching a way to open two portals through the Fade and lock them in place, but with only limited success.

Fenris had taken up more time with the Chargers. He’d realized a part of why he was so unhappy was because he had no purpose with the Inquisition. Anders and Hawke could help with the new college, and the few times he’d worked with the soldiers hadn’t been enough to really occupy his time. 

He approached Krem about it one day, if he could join as long as they all remained at Skyhold. He didn’t want to roam with them necessarily but he wanted to help as best he could. 

Krem had just finished a heavy sparring session with the Iron Bull; he leaned against the fence as he tugged open his jacket. “I think you already know my position on it, Fenris,” he remarked. “But it’s not my call. Boss?”

The Qunari paused in the act of oiling the blade of his massive axe and regarded Fenris thoughtfully. “You think you’ve got what it takes to be a Charger, Fenris?”

“I ...think so? I was a merc before but nothing like what you all have here.” Fenris frowned for a moment, unsure of himself. “Krem, can I be blunt with you?”

“Sure,” shrugged Krem. “We’ve always been honest with one another.”

“I feel useless here, and ...part of it I think is not having a schedule, things to do, I have no role here Krem. There’s more but I don’t want to talk of it in the open. I just...I don’t, I like having time to myself but not like this. Vic and Anders have plenty do, they serve a purpose. Me? I’m just here and in the way at times.” Fenris looked away, sure he would not want to see the look on the other man’s face.

The Iron Bull frowned; he and Krem exchanged a look. “Fenris, the Chargers are not somewhere you run to because you have no purpose elsewhere. We can give you that purpose, it is true - but the Chargers are a group you come to because you feel you have something to give,” said the Bull slowly. “It is true you are skilled with your weapon of choice, and I have seen your adaptability to using other weapons; and your brands give you more abilities that make you a formidable opponent indeed. But if you are turning to the Chargers because you don’t know where else to turn....” The massive Qunari sighed. “You must have more reason than this.”

Fenris nodded and turned to go. He didn’t have a good enough reason for himself or them. “I’ll see what I have and if I can find a reason, I’ll come back to you. Excuse me.” 

As he walked slowly away from the training rings, he pondered what use he could be. He was so absorbed in thought that he nearly ran into Leliana.

“Ah, Fenris. You are exactly the person I was searching for,” she said quietly. “Might I have a moment of your time when you are free? There is... a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

He looked her over skeptically but nodded his agreement. “Very well, Leliana.”

She inclined her head, indicating he should follow; she led him to a small door set in the wall of the library tower. Inside he found a tall, narrow spiral staircase he hadn’t known about; she led him almost to the very top. Stepping out, he found himself in Leliana’s office. There was a sleepy croak from a raven perched on the back of Leliana’s chair as he glanced around.

Leliana gestured for him to take a seat as she shooed the raven back to its perch with the others and sat down.

“Fenris, I will be direct. You have an ability that could serve the Inquisition immeasurably,” she said, leaning forward as she steepled her fingers and stared at him.

“Considering how you strong-armed Anders into being an unwilling Ambassador for the Inquisition, I don’t think I like where this could be headed.” he said.

“We did not _force_ Anders to go,” said Leliana diffidently. “We simply took advantage of the opportunity offered us. He wished to go, we found a way he could still be of assistance to the Inquisition. I will not deny that his subsequent return here was... unexpected and has raised a number of diplomatic issues that have been... problematic; however I also cannot overlook the fact that he has quite possibly been of far more use to us here since his fortuitous recovery from his head injury. However, it is the manner in which he returned which I would like to discuss.”

“Go on, but realize I am not liking this at all.” Fenris said tersely.

“You have a unique ability, Fenris. You can travel anywhere, almost instantaneously and it is completely undetectable. Even the fastest of my ravens cannot return from Tevinter in less than three days, but in one heartbeat you could be in the heart of Minrathous.” Leliana regarded him thoughtfully. “And I understand you can take up to two people with you - also completely undetectable. I’m sure you can see how incredibly useful this would be in the gathering of intelligence and reports for the Inquisition.” She smiled slightly. “And in doing so, you would be helping to ensure Anders’ safety,” she added.

Fenris stared back at her, his eyes narrowing. “Is this how you persuaded Anders?” he said softly. “You took advantage of his lack of any place to go? Unlike Anders, I am not sick or wounded. I am capable of thinking for myself.”

“And so was he,” Leliana replied evenly. “And I say to you the same thing I said to him: think about it.”

“Very well,” said Fenris heavily as he rose from the chair. But that is the only promise I will make - that I will consider it.”

Leliana inclined her head in acknowledgement before turning her attention to one of the reports on her desk, effectively dismissing him. Fenris frowned, but turned and left by the main door to her office. He headed down to the library in the half-hope of perhaps finding Anders there, but it was empty. The blond healer was likely down in the infirmary or the attached apothecary then, or else perhaps teaching over in the new mage’s tower.

Fenris usually avoided the college; the pull of so much magic upon his brands was unnerving at best and actively painful at worst. He decided to try the infirmary first. He knew Hawke was busy working with a group of advanced students out in the training rings, teaching them how to fine-tune the use of Force magic, and he’d already seen Hal crossing the courtyard earlier to the college. The elven warrior was feeling an inexplicable loneliness; after so many years alone on the run from Danarius he’d gotten used to the company of Hawke, Anders or both, and with no duties of his own he felt at a loose end with nothing to occupy himself.

Thankfully Anders was in the infirmary; Fenris was glad he wouldn’t have to traipse all over Skyhold looking for him. The elven fighter found a spot out of the way and watched his lover work.

Anders was sitting on the edge of a cot, carefully removing the dressings from an Inquisition guard. The woman was trying hard not to flinch; even from Fenris’ position he could smell burnt flesh as Anders gently unwound the bandages from her arm and shoulder. He felt the tug and draw of magic on his brands as Anders’ hands glowed a soft blue; the elf could tell from the way the woman relaxed that Anders must have applied a light nerve block so as to minimise her pain. 

The blond healer was quietly talking to the woman, his tone gentle yet professional. As she answered, Anders nodded then turned and called for a runner; the young lad listened attentively as Anders asked him to let the Commander know that he wanted a quiet word at his leisure, then ran off as Anders returned to treating the woman’s burns.

The healer carefully passed his hands over the woman’s arm, concentrating as he focused on the healing. As he watched, Fenris reflected that despite the no doubt thousands of times now that he had watched Anders in the act of healing, it never ceased to be fascinating as raw, burned flesh rebuilt itself before his eyes, smooth shiny new skin spreading over then thickening then smoothing out until barely a mark could be seen on the virgin skin. Anders was one of the few healers he’d ever known who rarely left a scar; he was diligent and conscientious in his work, even though the act often exhausted him.

To his surprise however, Anders’ energy seemed undiminished as he sat up straight and gave the woman a grin as she sat up and stared down at her healed arm in amazement, flexing it and staring at the smooth skin in wonderment. Anders gestured for her to stay there a moment as he got up to fetch her a glass of water. As he returned, he spotted Fenris and gave him a cheerful wink before continuing to the woman and handing her the glass.

“Be sure to keep hydrated, eat a good meal, and you’re relieved of duty for the next twenty-four hours - make sure you get plenty of rest,” Anders told her as she dressed again and headed towards the door. “And next time keep well back from the practice ring when they’re throwing fireballs!” he called after her.

“You probably saved her arm and ability to fight.” Fenris said as he watched Anders clean up and dispose of anything he couldn’t reuse. Anders shrugged.

“It’s what I’m here for,” he said. “I’ll have to speak to Cullen about maybe having a couple of templars stationed closer to the mages’ training rings to nullify any spells that get out of hand like that though. Can’t have the regular troops getting scorched any time a fireball goes off in the wrong direction. It could have been far worse.”

“Guess they’re glad you’re back with us then.” Fenris replied. Anders grinned.

“A month ago, that guard was terrified of mages and practically jumped out of her skin if someone cast even a small cantrip around her. Now? She demanded to see me and turned down healing potions because she wanted my help. Ordinary people are learning that they don’t need to be afraid. I’m doing good work here, Fenris - far more even than my little clinic back in Darktown ever did. No-one’s happier than I to be back here. I can do far more good here than I would have done back in Tevinter. You have no idea how grateful I am that you came and got me - even if it _has_ caused a diplomatic headache for the Inquisition.” His expression became more sober. “Josephine says Maevaris will be arriving in a week. She’ll be staying in Haven Josie thinks she’ll ask me to be present during the talks. I’ve told her I want you there as my guard. That is... if you’re willing?” he added, a little uncertainly.

“I...I don’t know. I’ve already caused enough problems, and she saw me take you. It would be nice to be needed...well you want me there, so I’ll be with you.” Fenris tried to give him a smile but he knew it fell short of being genuine. 

Anders set aside the cloth he was wiping his hands on, and stepped in close to the elf, resting his hands on Fenris’ hips as he bent down to gently kiss him. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked softly. “This isn’t just about Mae, is it?”

“No...when you are done here, we can talk. I won’t pull you from your duty to coddle me.” Fenris shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance.

Anders frowned a little, but shrugged. He kissed Fenris again. “Very well. Hal should be dropping by to relieve me at noon; we can go fetch something to eat from the hall then find somewhere to talk; I don’t have any classes to teach this afternoon. Hawke’s taking a group of students to work on their Force spells against some of Cullen’s more experienced Templars.”

“I’ll be in my room when you’re free.” Fenris leaned up to give Anders a kiss before he left. The elf left the infirmary at a fast clip, more eager to spend time with his lover than anything.

Anders turned back to his patients. He had a couple of small refugee children to keep an eye on that had been running high fevers; he put together a tray with some of the broth he kept warm on a stove and made his way to the smaller room off the main infirmary which had become the children’s clinic. He was expecting the Chantry sister quietly sitting watch, but surprised to find Mother Giselle quietly telling the children a story - and not something from the Chant of Light, at that. It sounded like an old tale he vaguely remembered from Ferelden. The two children were listening attentively with rapt faces; he set the tray to one side then folded his arms and leaned against the wall just inside the door, listening.

“And the friendly bear ambled off into the forest, promising the woodcutter’s daughter that there would be honey for her porridge for the rest of her days, and there was friendship between the people of the village and the bears of the forest from that day to this,” Mother Giselle finished with a warm smile. “And now, I believe it is time for your lunch!” she added as she looked up and saw Anders.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said with a small smile. “I remember my mother telling me that story when I was young; haven’t heard it in years. Though I don’t remember the bit with the porridge,” he added with a wink. Mother Giselle laughed.

“It gets boring telling the same tale all the time; sometimes it’s nice to add a little something new. That is how tales grow after all.”

“I wouldn’t know; you’d have to talk to Varric about that,” Anders shrugged. “Alright, come on you two - let me just check your temperatures, and then how about a little broth?”

The children’s temperatures were dropping nicely. Anders gave them each a bowl of the broth then spoke quietly with the Chantry sister for a few minutes before nodding to the two children and heading back into the infirmary.

Mother Giselle was waiting for him. “Something I can do for you, Reverend Mother?” he asked as he headed to the curtained-off preparation area to wash his hands. As he emerged wiping his hands on a towel, she smiled at him.

“It is good to see you back upon your feet, healer. We were all quite worried for you.”

“Really? Well, uh, thank you; I’m sorry to have worried anyone,” he said, feeling self-conscious.

“We said prayers for you in the Chantry,” she went on. “It would be good to see you there for tomorrow’s service? Perhaps in the evening? I know your duties keep you busy during the day.”

“I’m not sure someone like me would be-” began Anders, but stopped when she laid a hand on his arm.

“Healer, we teach that the Maker made magic to serve Man. It is obvious to all here that you are doing the Maker’s work by using the gifts He gave you to the betterment of all here at Skyhold. Please. You would be very welcome,” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Anders dubiously. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“That is all I ask,” she smiled at him. “Oh, and here’s your apprentice, come to release you for your own meal,” she added as Hal entered. The young mage looked up, startled, as the Reverend Mother swept past him with a genial smile.

“He’s... he’s not my apprentice!” he called after her, but she was already gone.

“Well, technically I _am_ ,” said Hal with a shrug. “You have a lot to teach me.”

“Oh, nonsense - your theoretical knowledge is fine and your practical skills are coming along perfectly well,” said Anders. “You just lack practice is all - which you’re getting in abundance. You’d be declared Enchanter in pretty much any Circle.”

“And you a Senior Enchanter,” Hal replied.

“Now you stop that!” said Anders sternly, wagging a finger at Hal. “I won’t hear of it! Stop downplaying your talents.”

“I will - as soon as you do the same,” replied Hal with a grin.

“You...! Ugh!” said Anders, throwing his hands up. “I’m off to meet Fenris for lunch. Call me if there’s an emergency or anything you can’t handle.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hal called as Anders headed back through the door that lead to the library tower.

Anders paused in his rooms only long enough to change out of the plain grey robe he preferred to wear when working and slipped into a dark blue hooded tunic before going in search of Fenris. He knocked on the elf’s door then waited.

Fenris let Anders in with a more genuine smile and another kiss for him. “Hi.”

“Hi love, I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” Anders said with a hesitant smile. “Mother Giselle wanted a quick chat.”

“It’s alright, want to get food and bring it back here or eat in the dining hall?” Fenris asked as he pulled a woollen tunic on with a slight frown. 

“Whatever you like love,” Anders said with an easy smile. He glanced out the window at the large fat flakes falling outside. “Looks like a picnic outside would be rather out of the question though.”

“It’s almost out of the question inside. I hate how cold it’s gotten.” Fenris complained as he tugged on boots Hawke had gotten him. He despised them but it was far too cold to go without them. He held his hand out for his lover’s, eager to get out of his room.

“We could eat in my rooms if you like? They’re pretty warm,” said Anders. “Dorian taught me this neat little charm he uses in his own room, though I don’t keep my rooms quite as hot as his. I think he’s really missing home at the moment.”

“I miss the weather, that’s all I would ever miss about Tevinter.” Fenris muttered as they walked towards the dining hall.

“Between the Western Approach and the Silent Plains, I think I’ve had enough of that heat to last me quite a while,” Anders replied. “You forget, I was born in the Anderfels. This? _This_ feels like home to me, for all I only lived there till I was 6. Plus winters in Kirkwall got pretty chilly. And there was a time when I got stuck halfway up Sundermount with three young elf mages in a blizzard.” He paused. “Actually, that wasn’t much fun,” he said after a moment’s recollection. “Forget the blizzard. _No-one_ likes blizzards.”

“I hated winter in Kirkwall, I hate snow...I hate it anywhere it’s cold.” Fenris said as they entered the hall and he went right for a bowl of thick, hearty bison stew and spiced, spiked cider to take with him. Anders got a tray for them both and got a second bowl for himself plus half a loaf of the fresh-baked bread, still warm from the ovens, and a large mug of the mulled mead that was being served from flagons near the fire.

Fenris followed Anders back to the mage’s room and let out a slight sigh of relief when the warmth hit him. He took off the tunic and boots, pleased to not have to wear them for a while. He dug into his meal like he’d suddenly gained a warden’s appetite. Anders grinned at Fenris’ sigh as he set the tray down then stripped off his own warm tunic before sitting down. The cat looked up from it’s nest in Anders’ blankets with a sleepy mew then went back to sleep.

There was silence for a little while as they turned their attention to the stew; it wasn’t until they were sitting back replete, each with their own chosen beverage, that Anders quirked an eyebrow at Fenris.

“Was it my imagination, or did you frown when I mentioned Mother Giselle?” he asked.

“I could have, I don’t care for her. Is that a problem?” Fenris asked. Anders shrugged.

“Not really, just curious was all,” said Anders. “She wants me to come to Chantry tomorrow evening. I told her I’d think about it.”

“I see...well if you go, be careful.” Fenris poked at his food for a bit before he went for his drink. “Why did you ask me about her anyway?”

“As I said, just curious,” said Anders, staring down into his mug of mead. “I wasn’t aware you had an issue with her. I’ve not set foot in a chantry since... since Karl, except... well. You know. That last time.”

“She looks down on me, I don’t like her, leave it at that.” Fenris replied.

“Fair enough,” said Anders. “I don’t think I’d feel entirely safe going alone, to be honest. No point in making myself a target.” He sipped his mead slowly.

There was a knock at the door, and Anders looked up. “I hope that’s not something wrong in the infirmary,” he said as he set his mug down and rose to his feet. He opened the door to find Belann standing there, looking gaunt and desperate.

“Anders. I know you must have no love for her - not after what happened, I... it’s Solona, something’s wrong. Very wrong. Please, I don’t know what to do and I didn’t know who else to turn to!” he pleaded.

Anders rocked back on his heels, the colour draining from his face, all the breath rushing from him in a sudden gasp.

“Solona... Solona is _here_?” he whispered breathlessly.

“I thought you knew she’d been captured after Adamant.” Fenris sniped, irritated their time together was being cut short because of _her_. Anders shook his head wordlessly.

“Anders,” Belann said quietly but fervently. “She was enslaved by Corypheus just as all the other Wardens were - but far earlier. It... there’s hardly anything of her mind left. She’s been deteriorating ever since Adamant and now.... Maker, _please_. Please, I don’t know what else to do!” He stared at the stunned healer. “You’re a healer,” he whispered. “Don’t you... can’t you....”

Anders suddenly stiffened. His eyes as he stared down at Belann were distant, their colour much lighter gold than their normal amber in the flickering torchlight of the hallway. “Yes,” he said quietly in a different tone. “I am a healer. I’m here to help everyone who needs healing.”

“Oh Maker, thank you - thank you!” exclaimed Belann. “I was terrified you wouldn’t - please, come quick, this way!” He strode on ahead and Anders followed, not glancing back or pausing to grab his tunic.

Fenris glared at the door before he grabbed Anders forgotten tunic and pitched it at his lover. “You’ll get cold, healer.” 

Anders caught it without looking, not pausing or slowing his stride, his eyes on Belann as the Warden went ahead.

Fenris got dressed and left Anders rooms for his own, hurt and frustrated that he was thwarted in even having lunch with his lover. He locked the door, got a fire going, and waited for the room to warm as he fumed.

***

Fenris was still sulky and angry when there came a knock at his door three hours later. He didn’t bother to get up until the knocking became persistent enough for him to crack open the door. “What?”

Anders was leaning against the wall next to the door, looking pale and shaken. 

“Can... can I come in?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“Why so you can run off at everyone’s beck and call?” Fenris snarled as he stepped away from the door. “Come or go, do as you wish.” 

Anders stumbled in, looking a little bewildered and hurt as well as in shock. He dropped into the nearest chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Was that really called for, love?” he whispered.

“Was it called for to run off and take care of a woman that damn near killed me when we were finally spending time together?” Fenris replied. Anders stared at him blankly.

“What?” he said, confused.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember? We finally were taking lunch together, Belann shows up ranting about Solona and you run off with him without even saying goodbye to me or taking your damn tunic.” Fenris said in a huff.

“I did?” Anders said, his eyes showing his confusion. “Maker, I’m sorry love - I just feel so utterly thrown by the past couple of hours that I honestly couldn’t tell you what happened this morning or even what we ate for lunch. Fenris, I’m really sorry.” He stared at the elf, clearly confused yet contrite.

“What do you mean you don’t remember? The moment Belann called you a Healer you...stiffened up, and walked out. What’s wrong with you, what did Hal do to you?” Fenris asked suspiciously. Anders stared at him, the contrite expression slowly giving way to a frown.

“He _healed_ me, Fenris. You were there. You told _me_ what he did, because I had no clue whatsoever - or have _you_ forgotten?” He stared at Fenris for a moment longer, then got to his feet. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” he murmured. “I honestly thought -” He shook his head. “No. You know what? Forget it.” He strode towards the door, his back stiff.

“You honestly thought what Anders?” Fenris asked as he moved to the door and stared up at Anders his expression going from confused to concerned and worried that if the blond warden left, it might be a long time before they spoke again.

“Just let me go, Fenris,” Anders said tiredly. “I just had a nightmarish couple of hours down in the dungeons with a screaming woman who has no recollection of the past five years, maybe more, I’m feeling very jittery and shaken up and I just wanted... I thought I could come to you for comfort, Fenris. Not for a fight.”

“The fact you don’t remember just walking off worries me. I don’t want you to go, I’m just...doesn’t it bother you that you don’t recall that?” Fenris asked.

“No, because shock does funny things to the memory, Fenris, and I’m still partially in shock from finding out Solona has been here since we all got back from Adamant and apparently everyone seemed to have decided to not tell me. Presumably to stave off the chance of the shock worsening my condition or something,” said Anders, still sounding exhausted. He was starting to shiver slightly as the adrenaline finally began to wear off. 

“Very well, I’d like you to stay and I’ll get you something to warm you. If you still want to be here.” Fenris said quietly. He wanted to be angry but something about Anders expression finally got through to him as he looked up to amber eyes that seemed a little...lighter than normal. He ignored it as a trick of the candlelight as he waited for an answer.

Anders nodded his head. “Please,” he said in a small voice. He turned and sat down again, then dropped his head to his hands. “Not cold,” he managed as a shudder ran through him, then another. “Delayed reaction.”

Fenris tugged Anders to the bed and bundled him up in the blankets. “Shock...you told me to warm someone who is in the throes of it. I will get you tea and something to eat.” After he caught a servant to bring them food, he sat with Anders and simply held his hands. “I apologize, I am not myself lately. I did not mean to start a fight when you needed me.” 

“I don’t think either of us have since - since Adamant,” said Anders. “I got dropped on my head, what’s your excuse?” he tried to joke, though the smile soon faded from his lips.

Fenris was spared replying when their tray arrived. He handed Anders a mug and sipped from his own. Anders sat up and cradled his mug in his hands, sipping slowly. As the drink and the blankets slowly warmed him, the colour gradually came back to his face. He lowered the cup when he’d finished the tea, and stared into space for a moment.

“Will you get... angry... if I tell you what happened down there?” he said quietly. “Or should I talk to someone else about it? If you can’t bear to hear about it, I’ll understand.” He glanced at Fenris.

“I cannot hear about her. I’m sorry.” Fenris said as he took a slice of bread and nibbled on it. He knew he didn’t have it in him to care about Solona. Anders nodded, as though he hadn’t really expected any different.

“Maybe I’ll talk to Cullen. Or the Iron Bull. He seems... easy to talk to about difficult things, from what Hal tells me,” he said quietly. He glanced up at Fenris again. “For the record, I really _am_ sorry about earlier,” he added.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll just get used to being left behind.” Fenris said sullenly before he got up to tend the fireplace. Anders watched him as he drew his knees up beneath the blankets, then hunched in on himself and buried his face against his knees silently.

Fenris came back and sat with Anders, and sipped his drink. “You should eat something, you’re finally putting meat on you after being far too thin for your own good.” 

Anders shook his head, not looking up. “I’m not hungry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’ll eat later.”

“Anders, eat.” Fenris insisted as he tried to nudge a plate into the mage’s space, after a few moments of watching him ignore it, the elf moved it aside and asked what was wrong. “What do you want if you won’t eat?”

Anders lifted his head and huffed the loose strands of hair that had worked themselves free of his ponytail out of his eyes in annoyance before turning his head to stare at Fenris.

“Let’s start with this constant harping on about being left behind,” he said with some heat. “I really don’t need this right now, Fenris. I just spent three hours down in that bloody cell Cullen stuck me in when I first arrived here, the last hour of which was spent with a woman screaming constantly in hysterics. I really do _not need this!_ This - this sullenness, like a sulky boy, needling me with guilt when _I already bloody said I’m sorry_ , and then shoving food at me when I say I’m not hungry as if I’m some child who can’t be trusted to feed themselves!” His voice had been steadily rising and getting shakier as he went on, the last few words halfway between a trembling shout and a shriek. He stared at Fenris for a moment, his eyes flashing, and then he buried his face against his knees again. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” he said shakily. “I’m just not dealing with this at all well right now. I’m sorry, forgive me.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say, he was scared and worried for Anders. He took the tray away and went to the fireplace so he could compose himself. He stared at the fire for a while as he got himself together. Finally he looked back shrugged. “No...apology needed.” before he turned back to the fire for a while.

Anders lifted his head slowly and rubbed at his eyes. “I think I ought to go back to my rooms for a while,” he said quietly. “I’m not fit for company right now. I should go rest, take a nap or something before dinner. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream at you like that.”

“You were correct and I apologize. I’d rather you stay but ...do what you feel is best Anders.” Fenris realized he’d slipped back into ‘slave voice’ as Vic called it. It was still one of the things he fell back to in order to deal with uncomfortable truths that came from his lovers.

Anders hated hearing Fenris use that tone of voice, but he was too tired to fight Fenris over it, too heartsick to even bring it up. He merely nodded as he started disengaging himself from the blankets, finally managing to free himself. He headed to the door then paused, glancing back at the elf.

“Will you... come wake me for dinner?” he asked quietly. “Maybe by then I’ll feel more like myself again.”

“If you wish, and if I remember, I need...something.” Fenris replied, as he refused to look at Anders leaving. Anders stood in the doorway for a moment to see if Fenris would look round, then gave a small sigh and left, closing the door quietly behind himself.

He’d nearly reached his room when he spotted Hawke striding back, looking rather pleased with himself for someone who’d been wielding a staff and shouting at templars all afternoon. Of course, that was probably _why_ he looked pleased with himself, Anders reflected.

Vic saw Anders and came over to give him a hug and a kiss, but the expression on Anders’ face made him stop short. “What happened?”

“Let’s see, would it be the three hours I spent down in the dungeons with Solona, or the fight I just had with Fenris?” asked Anders with a false smile. “You know, I’m really not sure. I might have to get back to you on that one.”

Hawke sighed and nudged Anders towards his door. “Talk to me.”

Anders allowed himself to be nudged away from his own rooms, protesting half-heartedly. “Really, I’m sure I’ll be fine; I just _love_ having a hysterical amnesiac woman screaming in my ear for an hour then getting a massive dose of Fenris with a stick up his arse Hawke! Why wouldn’t I be fine with that?”

“Cut the sarcasm with me Anders, I am trying to listen. Remember, the talk we had after you got brought back? About me doing better and listening to you? If you’re going to give me lip you can stay in your room until you’re ready to talk to me like we agreed.” Vic said.

Anders bit back the angry retort that was on his lips, finally listening to the inner voice that suggested maybe Hawke was right. He exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. Yes, we did agree,” he nodded. “And I’d really rather not be treated any further like a naughty apprentice; Maker knows I already got that once today.”

“Do you want to talk or not Anders? I want to listen and be helpful but I didn’t do anything to you today.” Vic said.

“I’m sorry. I really could do with some time to talk this out,” Anders confessed. “I’m just a bit rattled still, and my mouth has a habit of running away with me when that happens. As you may have noticed,” he added with a wry smile. 

“Yeah well, let’s try to curb it if you can. I want to help love, alright?” Vic went into before Anders into his room and waited for his lover to join him. Once Anders was inside he gave him a hug and kissed the side of his neck. “Now, without being snarky what’s wrong?”

“First, I didn’t know Solona was here in the dungeon,” said Anders. “I was having a really good day until I found that out.” He eyed Hawke expectantly.

“I thought she had been shipped off to Weisshaupt. Too bad I didn’t know sooner, I’d have saved the Inquisitor the trouble of jailing her.” Vic grinned.

Anders exhaled a breath he hadn’t realise he was holding. “Oh good,” he said thankfully. “I had this horrible thought for a moment that everyone knew except me,” he admitted. “She’s in the same cell I was stuck in when we first arrived. Which was... not pleasant to realise.”

“So how did you find out and why did you spend time with her? Which is related somehow to Fenris being...well Fenris when he’s in a grand sulk?” 

“Belann came to fetch me, and apparently I was so much in shock over the fact Solona was here that I walked away with him without a word to Fenris, which I have no recollection of,” said Anders. “So he felt the need to needle me about walking away and leaving him.”

“He’s been better about things lately” Vic arched an eyebrow at the skeptical look thrown his way. “He had been after you came back. Not excusing him doing that but something’s not right. We practically had to pry him off us for those first couple of weeks after his confinement and he was sweet as pie. But first, what is wrong with her? Not that I care one way or another but I’m curious.” Vic carried on.

“Oh, that was the next thing to throw me badly,” said Anders. “An hour of her clinging to me, sobbing and screaming hysterically, because she has absolutely no recollection of at least the past five years and possibly even longer. She thought I was dead.”

“Well, I guess Corypheus did a number on her.” Vic said indifferently. “Which means she may be let off for what she did to you, wonderful.” 

Anders stared at Hawke. “The way I was let off blowing up the Kirkwall Chantry, you mean?” he said pointedly. “And the Wardens simply got sent off to Weisshaupt?”

“The rest of the wardens left while we were in Halamshiral. That wasn’t ..you know what I meant Anders. Don’t pick a fight with me, alright? So what happens to her now?” Vic said as he poured them wine.

“I don’t know,” said Anders distractedly. “Her body is... her health had been steadily deteriorating since Adamant, apparently.” He took his glass of wine and downed half the glass in one swallow. “She’s... Maker, I don’t know how she’ll recover from losing so many years. If ever. If ever she was a threat to anyone, she’s certainly not now, and I seriously doubt she ever will be again, Hawke. I guess it will be up to Meneris, but honestly? I think the only humane thing to do would be to ship her off to Vigil’s Keep, because I don’t think she’d survive the journey to Weisshaupt.” He finished the rest of his wine and reached for the bottle.

“Maybe have some food before you find the bottom of the bottle love?” Vic said gently as he went to stretch on the bed. “Are you going to suggest that to the Inquisitor?” 

“It’ll be my recommendation as healer, yes,” said Anders. He stared at the bottle, made as if to pour another glass then suddenly set it back down and turned away. He stared at his hands, frowning slightly, then sighed as he glanced up. “It was all rather nerve-racking,” he went on. “Between the whole shock of finding out, having to work in possibly my least-favourite place in Skyhold and then dealing with her hysteria - whilst really not in the best place mentally myself - I think I was more than a little in shock by the time I got out. I went to Fenris because... well. I needed not to be alone, and I foolishly thought I could turn to him for a little comfort. And got shouted and sniped at for my trouble, and yet somehow I was the one who ended up apologising. I was going to my room to sleep when I ran into you.” He dropped into a chair and sighed. “And then you caught a faceful of my sarcastic attempt to deal with it, which was really rather uncalled for and I’m sorry. Again.”

“Do you need me to stay with you? Or should I talk to Fenris about snapping at you?” Vic asked as he snagged the bottle and finished it off. Anders stared at the bottle a little wistfully then sighed and shook his head.

“You know as well as I do what will happen,” he pointed out. “He’ll feel guilty and just get even more sullen as a result. Better to just wait until he seeks me out.” He stared at the bed, then lifted his eyes to Hawke. “Can I stay here?” he asked quietly. “I’m tired; I could really use a nap for an hour or two.”

“Of course love, want me to lie with you? I can read or something while you sleep.” Vic offered.

“Please,” Anders nodded as he rose to toe his boots off before stretching out on the bed. “Maker, I feel tired almost in the same way I used to when....” His voice trailed off as his eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed then deepened.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solona is fading fast, Iron Bull puts his foot in it, drunken shenanigans and a blizzard. What else could go wrong?

Anders wasn’t in his room when Fenris knocked at his door. Scowling, the elf turned and headed towards the dining hall in case Anders had woken of his own accord and gone there, but a cursory glance around the large vaulted hall showed no sign of the tall blond healer.

Two guards edged past him as he stood there, still talking to one another. “... my shift, and he was still there just now.”

“You’ve got to feel sorry for the poor bugger - any fool can see the Amell woman’s not long for this world,” said the other man. “Oh, looks like stew again tonight.”

“You have to wonder why he hung around when the other Wardens left,” said the first. “Not for her, surely? - Grab us a pint of that ale will you, Wilf?”

“Didn’t you hear? She’s his sister. All five of Revka Amell’s kids turned out mages, and every bloody one of ‘em sent to a different tower, poor kids. Given what’s happened to the Circles, happen it might be they’re the only two left alive,” replied Wilf sagely as he passed his friend a tankard of foaming beer. “Scuse us, mate,” he said to Fenris as he leaned over to get a second for himself. “The healer’s only prolonged the inevitable if you ask me.” 

“Maker. Poor buggers, the pair of ‘em - and the healer too.” The two guards shook their heads and headed over to where the stew was being ladled out.

Fenris frowned at that, not that he cared a whit for what happened to her, but he figured he could take a bowl of stew for Belann and quit avoiding the other man. He got a tray with two bowls and capped tankards so he could head down to the dungeons. He was surprised when the guards let him by as he made his way to the cell Solona had been moved to. “Belann?” he called out when he saw the slighter man sat on the floor and heard him reading aloud through the small squared window in the door. 

Belann paused and glanced up, then got to his feet. He turned and glanced at the sleeping figure on the low bed and tugged the blanket up over one bare shoulder then turned towards the door.

“Fenris? Is that you?” Belann’s voice was cracked and hoarse. He laid the book aside then moved to the door to peer out. “Just a moment.”

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, then Belann stepped out, closing and locking the door behind himself. He stared at the tray in Fenris’ hands.

“Oh Maker. Is that for me? Thank you.” He leaned his back against the door and ran his hands slowly over his face; the man looked exhausted. He seemed to have aged since last Fenris had laid eyes upon him; he looked a good ten years older. “She’s sleeping, thank Andraste.”

“Yes, it’s for you. Is there somewhere to sit and eat?” Fenris asked.

“Oh, just through here - it’s where the guards eat their meals; they let me use it when I eat down here,” said Belann, gesturing a little way down the hall. There was a wooden table with four chairs set around it; a guard was leafing through a book - Fenris recognised the picture on the cover as being one of Varric’s - but he got up when the two men approached.

“She sleeping is she, mate? No worries,” nodded the guard. “I’ll keep an ear out for you.”

“Thank you, Jake,” replied Belann gratefully. The guard left them in peace to eat.

“They’re a good lot down here,” the warden said as he stirred his spoon through the stew. “Rough as most guards anywhere, but good hearts.” He began to eat.

“That’s good...I overheard the men talking and decided to bring you something. I hope that was alright.” Fenris said before he dug into his own bowl.

Belann nodded. “I really appreciate it,” he replied. He reached for his tankard and took a long swallow before turning back to his stew. Fenris found himself staring at the warden’s hands; as Belann had reached for the tankard, he had had a view of the man’s wrists and he was frankly alarmed at how thin they seemed. He’d remembered them as being much stronger and more muscular; he looked again at Belann and realised how the man’s shirt hung upon a frame that was too thin for it. It had been nearly six months since Adamant, and Fenris suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen Belann around at all during that time. Had he been down here in the dungeons all that time? Maker, no wonder the man was little more than skin and bone and looked so pale and exhausted. He looked little better than a prisoner - and in a way, that was what he had been.

“You’re not getting enough food; I’ve seen Anders waste like this, Belann. You need to have more meals and get some sun. You’re paler than he is.” Fenris remarked as he pushed his half-eaten bowl to the other man. Belann glanced down at his already-empty bowl, then at Fenris, then to the bowl the elf was offering. He hesitated, then nodded as he reached for it, shovelling the stew down gratefully.

He made short work of it and sat back, reaching for his tankard. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ve been... preoccupied.”

“So I’ve heard.” Fenris said as sat with Belann, uncomfortable with how much the mage had let himself go. “You need to take care of yourself as well.”

Belann stared down at the tankard in his hands and grunted noncommittally. He was silent for a little while; when he began to talk, his voice was quiet. Had Fenris not been an elf, he would have had to strain to hear.

“They don’t think she’ll live much longer. The guards, that is. They don’t realise I can hear them, but I do. They pity me, I know. They’re probably right, too. I keep asking myself if I did the right thing, going for Anders, but... I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe I should have let her slip away without ever realising the truth but... I had no idea. I didn’t know it had been that long. I didn’t know healing her would do that - I don’t think he realised it either. And now, I wonder if it would have been kinder just to let her go.”

He drew a shuddering breath; the breath of someone who had cried themself hoarse, until they had no more tears to give, too tired to weep any more. “Maybe it’s as well Zevran didn’t see her like that. Maker knows, it was bad enough before.”

“What do you mean by that? No one has seen him since Halamshiral - well his horse was seen once but even I haven’t heard from him,” Fenris said. 

“Halamshiral? When was that?” asked Belann dully. “You lose track of the days down here. He showed up one evening... a month? Two? Maybe more ago? I forget. We talked, and then he sat with Solona for a while. You could still talk to her then, you see; she couldn’t remember anything - not why she was there, or anything like that. She thought she’d been bad and put in solitary, but something seemed to click when she saw him, and she started singing to him in Antivan, and he... he started crying. She fell asleep afterwards, and he left. She started to deteriorate faster after that. She didn’t speak again until earlier, when Anders healed her, and then... Maker, I should have let her go, it would have been kinder!” he dropped his head to the table top and groaned.

Fenris shrugged, unwilling to speak the first words that came to mind; and make Belann even worse off when the man was distraught. “I take it you haven’t left the dungeons in all this while. Perhaps you should sleep in a real bed and take a hot bath while she...rests. Belann - you’re not a prisoner down here.” 

“I don’t know - if she wakes and I’m not there....” He glanced uncertainly back at the cell door.

“You cannot die down here, Belann. You’re wasting away and you’ll be dead along with her at this rate. Take advantage of the time to refresh yourself.” Fenris said.

“It’s alright, mate - I’ll watch for you and send word if she wakes up and calls, OK?” called the guard.

“Oh,” said Belann, then shrugged. “Then... I suppose I accept.”

“You first,” Fenris followed Belann out to be sure the warden actually left. He had some thinking to do about Zevran and why he even went to see her. Something about their past had gotten to the Crow Master and he didn’t like it.

Belann stumbled up the stairs out of the dungeon then halted, blinking, as they emerged in the keep. He stared around as though lost.

“Do you even remember where your room is?” Fenris asked. 

“I... think so,” Belann replied slowly. “I haven’t been there in a long time though. The guards let me use one of their bathing rooms, and usually I sleep on the floor of Solona’s cell.”

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ ” Fenris uttered as he took Belann’s arm and headed into the Keep. “Malum....You are sleeping in a real bed and having three meals before you set foot in the dungeons again. You’re a mage, use Rejuvenate on yourself or something.” 

“Can’t... not a healer,” muttered Belann. “Never could get the hang of it. Creation magic just never came naturally to me.”

“Then you stop by the infirmary after you have a bath,” Fenris said as he hustled Belann up the stairs and to his room. He caught a servant on the way and ordered a large meal be sent to the Warden’s rooms in an hour.

“It’s just a dorm,” shrugged Belann. “Not anything special - just somewhere to stick an unwanted guest.”

“Don’t start with me. Go get in the bath.” Fenris scowled at Belann, as if he could actually make him do as he asked. Belann merely nodded and headed into the bathing room to start pumping water for his bath.

Fenris left the door cracked to give Belann a bit of privacy as he waited for the sound of him getting into the tub. “If you need anything, yell.” 

Belann heated the water with an absent gesture; Fenris winced as he felt the magic tugging at his brands. Somehow Anders’ magic never pulled on his brands in quite the way other mages’ magic did. He was familiar enough with the feel of Hawke’s magic by now to barely notice it, and Hal’s was becoming familiar; Anders’ magic didn’t hurt at all and could even feel soothing. But the strange feel of Belann’s magic was like an unwelcome finger running over his skin.

There was silence for a moment, then the splashing of the other man stepping into the water, followed by a low groan.

“Do you need assistance?” Fenris called when he heard nothing from the bathing chamber for a while. There was no answer. Fenris frowned. He didn’t want to just burst in on Belann; he had the feeling the warden would feel sensitive about being seen naked in the tub. But as the moment stretched out with no answer, his misgivings grew until he pushed open the door and glanced in, just in time to spot the sleeping warden slipping beneath the water.

“Dammit.” Fenris tugged Belann out and got him leaned over the edge so the other man could get rid of the bit of water he had swallowed. His frown deepened; Belann was far too light. “Maker, man, you are going to give me a heart attack.”

Belann coughed and retched a little, opening his eyes in confusion. “What’s going on? I dreamed I was drowning -” He broke off and coughed again. He slowly sat up, wrapping his arms around his chest as he drew his knees up, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings. He dropped his gaze to the surface of the water, face flushing slowly crimson behind the damply-dripping pale blond hair. Naked and vulnerable like this, Fenris could see plainly how thin and pale Belann had become.

“Belann, just give me a moment to get you a towel.” Fenris got three towels for the other man, one to dry him off, another to wrap around his chest and another for his hips. “May I?” he asked with one towel held out.

“Would you... put them down by the tub... and then turn your back? Please?” Belann’s light tenor was quiet and hesitant.

“Of course, do you need help out of the tub? I can reach back if need be.” Fenris said as he let the towels drop.

“No, no!” said Belann hastily. “No need, just... just don’t look until I say. Please,” he added.

“As you need.” Fenris leaned against the doorframe, back to Belann as he waited for the ok to turn. He heard water splashing and dripping and the sounds of Belann towelling himself off briskly before there was a rustle of cloth.

“You can look now,” said Belann. As the elf glanced around, Belann couldn’t quite meet his gaze, still blushing.

“What else do you require?” Fenris was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Ah, your meal...is here.” Fenris took the tray and left the servant slightly bewildered as he shut the door. “Sit, eat.”

“I’m sorry, I think I must have been more tired than I thought,” said the warden as he sat down. “I haven’t fallen asleep in the tub for... longer than I care to recall. I wouldn’t have dared.” He lifted his head a little and essayed a small smile. “I guess that must mean I trust you.” His eyes still wouldn’t quite meet Fenris’ gaze.

“Thank you for that, it means a lot.” Fenris said as he took a mug of ale and sipped from it. “Sorry that I avoided you for so long. I was...not well.” 

“I assumed you were avoiding further fallout,” replied Belann. “I... heard the rumours flying around the Keep. It seemed best to keep out of everyone’s way, and then... well. The dungeon is as good a place to hide as any I suppose.” He drew his plate towards himself and began to eat, devouring the food swiftly.

“No, I was being ...a coward. I wronged you and with all that happened with Anders leaving for a while, I ...let’s just say I’m not really needed here and it got to me. I’d rather just sit and be sure you rest and eat, Belann.” Fenris continued to sip at his drink while the warden made up for lost time. As Belann cleared his plate, Fenris wordlessly lifted the covers off the dishes on the tray and served him a second helping; that disappeared a little slower than the first. Fenris remembered Anders remarking on how he’d always been in pain from never eating enough in Darktown, his warden’s constitution denied the sustenance it really needed, and winced as he thought of what six months of inadequate food must be doing to Belann.

The warden was practically falling asleep in his chair now his immediate needs of bathing and food had been dealt with; his head was slowly nodding forwards as he slipped into a light doze. Fenris got to his feet and was about to rouse Belann enough to get him to the bed when there was a knock at the door. Belann’s head jerked up as Fenris went to answer the door.

Iron Bull and Krem were waiting outside. The Iron Bull stared at Belann. “We were going to invite you to come spar, but I see you have company,” he remarked, then a slow grin spread over his face. “Didn’t know you swung both ways, Fenris.”

Belann’s back stiffened and he turned to stare at the Iron Bull, pushing his chair back from the table as he rose to stare at them both, his arms coming up defensively to cross over his chest as he glared at them, two bright spots of colour standing out high on his cheeks, his face pale.

“What did you say?” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Krem groaned. “Boss,” he said in a warning tone. “Wrong.”

The Iron Bull’s face fell. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to cause offence, Warden,” he said.

Fenris glanced from them to Belann, worried for the Warden. “Belann? Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m not fucking alright,” the blond man replied tersely. “He fucking called me a woman.”

“I am truly sorry,” replied the Iron Bull. “From behind, I just assumed... but I was wrong. I apologise.”

Krem slapped the back of his hand against the Qunari’s bare midriff. “Quit it, Boss,” he said in the same warning tone. “I’ve got this.”

“As you will,” nodded the Bull, an expression of regret on his face as he backed away then turned and walked away down the hall as Krem continued to stare at Belann.

“I’m not a woman,” said Belann in a low, angry voice.

“No more than I am,” shrugged Krem, agreeing. Belann’s expression changed as he straightened a little. 

“You’re... like me?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” nodded Krem, then glanced to Fenris. “Can I come in? I don’t think any of us want to have this conversation out in the hall.

“Sure, you’re always welcome here Krem.” Fenris stood, ready to go if he wasn’t welcome for their conversation. “You can use my room if you need privacy.”

Krem nodded thanks and entered the room, drawing the door closed behind him. He regarded Belann thoughtfully.

The warden had slumped a little in relief as the door was closed, and he sank down into his chair again. “It’s.. alright, Fenris,” he said quietly. “I’m fine with you staying.” He glanced up at Krem, who made his way over to a spare seat at the table and sat down.

“So,” said Krem. “The boss knows about...you know. With me. He’s fine with that and accepts me for who I am. In fact, that eyepatch over his eye? He took a mace blow intended for me when I was... found out.” He grimaced a little. “The boss has always been good about it and accepted me, but... well, people like us - we’re not exactly common, you know? And you’ve lost a lot of weight, which makes your bone structure more obvious - even under a towel. He didn’t mean anything by what he said.”

“I... see,” said Belann slowly. He glanced at Fenris. “Fenris has been trying to help with the, ah, weight loss,” he said, indicating the empty plate and dishes with a wry grin.

“Good,” said Krem with an answering smile. You can train with us and Fenris as you build up your strength again. Bulk up the muscles and you’ll feel more yourself.” He eyes Belann thoughtfully. “You got spare bindings?” he asked. “I imagine the ones you were wearing down there will be pretty grubby.”

Belann glanced back towards the bathing chamber. “They are, a bit,” he admitted.

“OK, I assume you have spares?” said Krem; when the warden nodded, Krem got to his feet and glanced to Fenris. “OK, I suggest we go fetch Belann’s gear.”

“I’ll go, I don’t want to feed the rumor mill even more.” After Belann gave him an explanation of where his things were stowed, Fenris left them to talk while he made his way to the dorms. He took his time getting back so they would have time to speak, without him hovering nearby.

By the time he got back, Belann was visibly far more relaxed, leaning back in his chair as he gesticulated with a half-full glass of wine. “...and the templar looked at me and just gawped!” he laughed.

“Not surprised,” grinned Krem. “I did too, first time I saw you casting with daggers, of all things! Never seen that before - Vivienne is an Arcane Warrior as well but she always uses a staff.”

“Knives are better,” said Belann with a shrug. “When you run out of mana, you can still fight on, and people see the knives and don’t automatically think ‘mage’ which can be very useful at times.”

“Heya, Fenris,” Krem greeted the elf. 

“Hey, am I interrupting?” Fenris asked as he put Belann’s gear on top of his bed and joined them.

“Not at all,” grinned Belann. “I ought to get dressed.” He got up and headed over to the bed to sort through his gear, pulling out a long length of cloth and clean clothes.

“Need a hand?” asked Krem. Belann glanced at him, appearing to consider the question. 

“I’ve never had anyone to help me before,” he said. “But.. thanks, I’d appreciate it.” Both men headed into the bathing chamber, Belann giving Fenris an apologetic look. Fenris helped himself to another glance of wine and sat down; a little while later they both emerged again, Belann tugging on a clean shirt over the bandages binding his chest.

“That’s better,” the warden remarked. I feel more myself now.”

“We need to sort out a proper room for you,” remarked Krem. “I’m thinking maybe you should come and join us over at the tavern.”

Belann reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass.

“Better than an empty dormer that’s too big for you.” Fenris added as he swirled his wine around. He wasn’t feeling much better after his argument with Anders, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry about it or at Belann for that matter. 

“I’ll help carry your things if you do move back there.” he offered.

“No time like the present,” grinned Krem. Why don’t we head over there now? You two can join the Chargers for a drink afterwards if you like?” He glanced at Belann. “You should have a chat with Dalish - I know she’s been curious about those daggers of yours,” he added.

“I’ll help Belann move, I don’t...I don’t know if I can face Bull right now. Not after he saw my lack of reason to join the Chargers.” Fenris admitted.

“Ah, come on,” said Krem. “You never know - maybe when you’ve hung out for a while you might think of something - or maybe we can pool ideas about what you could do,” he suggested. He nodded at Belann. “You too,” he added. “You won’t be dancing attendance on Solona forever - maybe we can help you figure out your place?”

“Fine, better than sitting here by myself tonight.” Fenris gathered up some of Belann’s things after he got his sword strapped on and waited for the others. Belann had pulled on a quilted sleeveless jerkin in Warden blue and was donning a long padded coat. He slung his knife belt on his waist and adjusted it until his matched daggers hung comfortably on his hips.

Fenris followed Krem and chatted with Belann quietly as they went, glad the other man was bathed, fed and felt a bit better. Luckily for the elven fighter, all were in a jovial mood as they joined the Chargers for a few drinks and more food. Belann seemed to relax and unwind a little, joining in with the banter although from time to time he looked a little distracted and withdrawn as he glanced towards the tavern door, as though expecting someone to come and retrieve him back to the dungeon again; a guilty look would haunt his eyes during those moments. But they happened less and less as the evening wore on.

The tavern door opened and several heads turned to look as Dorian entered, shrouded in a thick warm cloak with a fur-lined hood. He paused inside the door, pushing back the hood and brushing snow off his shoulders.

“The weather,” he proclaimed disdainfully, “Is positively _foul_ and fit for neither man nor beast.” He shook the rest of the snow off his cloak, hung it on a peg, and stalked over to the bar. 

“I’ll raise a tankard to that!” Fenris said with a slightly drunk grin. Dorian hefted his tankard of dark beer and made his way over to their table, raising it in salute back to Fenris. Krem merely grinned. Dorian glanced around then slid into the spare space on the bench as Dalish shifted over to leave room between her and Fenris.

“Couldn’t stand to be cooped up in my room any longer, and the library is too dimly lit to read in,” Dorian stated. “Figured I could do with a drink and more convivial company than my books.”

Fenris nodded at that, he wanted to ask why Dorian wasn’t spending time with Meneris but no point in speaking Tevene with Krem around, and others. “Not sure sitting next to me counts as convivial but there you have it.”

“Believe me, you are _far_ more convivial company that Grigorius’ _Transmutations_ ,” Dorian remarked dryly before taking a deep drink from his tankard.

“That sounds boring as the Void.” Fenris agreed before he took a drink.

By Dorian’s third pint he was declaring that he could actually feel his toes at last; when Krem started singing some bawdy Tevinter tavern song, the Altus was tipsy enough to join in loudly, his rich tenor ringing out clearly enough that several patrons at nearby tables turned to look.

Fenris joined in as well, his voice blending with Dorian’s surprisingly well as they gave each other a slightly drunken stare as they sang along with Krem and the others. By the second song the bard in the corner gave up trying to compete and instead wandered over to accompany them upon his lute, whereupon the Iron Bull dragged him over to join them in the raucous music. 

At some point during the evening - maybe somewhere around the fifth or sixth pint; Fenris had lost count - the elf found himself with his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and the Altus’ hand somehow ending around his waist as they sang together, waving their tankards in unison. Neither man noticed the tavern door opening in a swirl of snow and another cloaked figure shuffling in quickly to close the door against the blizzard starting in earnest outside.

Hawke pulled his hood down and stopped in shock. He rubbed at his eyes a couple of times to be sure he was actually seeing Dorian and Fenris, arms around each other and serenading the rest of the tavern. “I’ve hit my head, or something. This isn’t possible.” Vic said as he leaned against a post and just listened.

One of the passing patrons gave him a grin. “They’ve been at it all evening,” he said. “The vints are in a good mood tonight! Better than that old bard and his dreary rubbish!” The man headed on towards the bar.

“More like they’re three sheets to the wind. I wish I could draw and save this forever.” Vic said as he took a tankard passed to him and continued to listen.

Dalish had hopped up onto the table and was starting to dance to the songs; Dorian got to his feet, dragging Fenris with him, and they caroused together. Fenris stumbled a little and Dorian caught him; for a moment Fenris stared up into Dorian’s eyes intently as the Altus set him back on his feet, steadying the elf with a gentle hand on the small of Fenris’ back. Dorian’s eyes looked almost silver in the bright light of the lamps lighting up the tavern.

_“Can see why Hawke fell for you.”_ Fenris told him quietly in Tevene as he stared at the Altus.

Vic didn’t move as he watched them, unsure what he would do if Fenris made a move or if Dorian noticed him and dropped the elf on the ground.

“Careful, _amicus_ ,” Dorian said quietly to the elf. “I wouldn’t like to see you fall.” He regarded the elf with an intent gaze that almost matched Fenris’ for heat.

“ _Amicus? Is that where we are now?_ ” Fenris asked as he kept Dorian’s gaze without realizing it had fallen almost silent around them.

“ _It’s where I am now,_ ” replied Dorian quietly. “ _I would like it if you were there too. Unless... have I misstepped?_ ” A faint look of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

“Time for another round of drinks!” the Iron Bull suddenly announced. “Drinks all round; you’ve earned them!” His announcement was greeted with tipsy cheers. He suddenly spotted Hawke. “Champion! Come and join us!”

Dorian’s face went blank right before he dropped Fenris to the hard, dirt floor.

“ _Vishante Keffras!_ ” Fenris squawked right as he hit the ground. “I’m drunk...I bounced.” Fenris giggled before he turned his head and saw Hawke. “Shit.”

“ _Venhedis_ \- Fenris, I’m sorry, that was frightfully clumsy of me,” exclaimed Dorian as he extended a hand to the drunk elf. “I’m not usually so clumsy - are you alright? Oh dear, I think I’m a trifle drunk too,” he added.

“I’ll tell you when the room stops spinning.” Fenris waited to take Dorian’s hand and slowly got off the floor. “Losing my touch, could drink half the others under the table before I felt it.” He actually clutched on to Dorian so he didn’t fall back on his face. Dorian dropped back onto the bench and suddenly found himself almost with a lapful of giggling elf.

“Steady on, Fenris; you’ll have us both on the floor in a minute!” exclaimed Dorian.

“Ah, get a room, the pair of you!” teased Dalish as she jumped off the table and giggled. “Or better still, give us another song!” She turned to Krem. “Come on Krem, give us the one about the dog and the sergeant’s daughter again!”

“I’ll take a drink, I think these two have had enough.” Vic said as he came up to them and gave the elf a look that said they would have words later. “Come on, sing us another song love.”

Fenris looked away and tried to get out of Dorian’s embrace so he could go. However his legs didn’t approve of that plan as he nearly took them down again. “Don't’ feel like singing anymore, help me back to my room someone?” he mumbled.

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you’re going to be sick on me?” exclaimed Dorian in dismay. “Hawke, would you care to retrieve your tipsy boyfriend before he does something he and I will very much regret?”

“I just got here, you can get him to his room I’m sure?” Vic said with a glance at Fenris then back at Dorian.

“Not… going to be sick. Just need to leave.” Fenris mumbled. 

“I’m not entirely sure that if you and I set foot outside that we won’t both go down,” remarked Dorian. “It’s warm in here!” he added petulantly. “I don’t really want to go floundering in a blizzard. I think my toes have only just defrosted!”

Vic finished his drink and got Fenris’ gear before he picked up the elven fighter. “Fine, but we are going to talk about this, love.” he said as Krem got the door for them.

“Can it wait until I’m not so drunk?” Fenris whimpered as he tried not to throw up from being jostled around so much.

Dorian watched silently until the Bull nudged him and set a fresh tankard of ale in front of him. “Ah, leave Fenris to Hawke. They have to sort things out between them. You don’t want to get caught in the middle of that,” he said warningly.

“No... no, I really don’t,” remarked Dorian as he turned away and took up his tankard, though the guilty look still haunted his eyes.

**

Vic got them inside and to Fenris’ room in silence. He let the elf down on the bed and got a bucket for when he sicked up. “Care to explain why you looked ready to fuck Dorian in the middle of the tavern? After you already went with Belann and raked me over the coals for my mistake?” 

“Stop shouting at me.” Fenris moaned as he tried to find the bucket. 

“I’m not shouting, you’re drunk. So care to explain yourself?” Vic asked as he watched Fenris flop onto his back and try to keep from sicking up.

“Really, can’t it wait until the room isn’t spinning?” Fenris replied in a huff. 

“No, it can’t. Sometimes this is the only way to get an honest answer out of you to be blunt. Besides the cold should have sobered you a little.” Vic said as he leaned over the elf.

“Vic...please don’t do this now. I’m going to be sick all over you if you keep leaning over me.” Fenris sounded so pitiful as he tried to sit up and make Hawke move.

“Oh I am going to do this now, especially when you fucking laid into me over Dorian then I come in and you’re making eyes at him! What happened to I’d rather cut off his hand than let him touch me? Seems you’ve changed your mind about that.” Vic snarled.

“Invictus...please it feels like someone is trying to rip my skull open with a dull knife. Can’t this wait?” Fenris moaned.

They were so intent on each other, Hawke’s voice rising as he let his anger show, that neither man heard the gentle tap on the door.

“Did you wait before you humiliated me in front of everyone? Did you wait before you almost pitched Dorian over the fucking rail?” Vic had started to shout as his rage built, and his hands began to smoke just a bit as he fought not to light things on fire.

Fenris just groaned as he covered his ears and curled into a miserable little ball of drunk elf.

The gentle tapping became a more insistent rapping, unnoticed by either man, and then finally the door handle turned and Anders stood in the doorway, staring at them, worried.

Vic turned around to yell at whoever was intruding but saw it was Anders. “Oh glad you’re here love, look who I caught damn near swooning into Dorian’s arms after he protested that he’d rather cut off the man’s hand than allow him to touch him! Now poor thing is too whiny to listen to me.” 

Anders stepped into the room and let the door close behind him as he stared at the two men. “Are you aware pretty much everyone in the courtyard and half the people in the keep must be able to hear you?” he asked quietly. “I could hear the shouting from your room, Hawke.”

“I don’t care, besides everyone in the tavern already heard my displeasure.” Vic snarled.

Anders visibly flinched from the vitriol in Hawke’s voice. He glanced to Fenris, then back again. “Your hands are smoking,” he said very quietly. “Hawke. Get a grip on yourself, _please_.”

Vic shook his hands to clear the smoke as he took a seat. “Sorry, I’m just furious. After all that shit he pulled, almost throwing Dorian off the balcony, claiming he would rather cut off Dorian’s hands than let him touch him? I walk in to find them serenading everyone, then almost kissing in the tavern as they stared into each other’s eyes. So yes, I’m out of sorts.” 

Fenris had uncurled to look for the bucket again, unable to argue back or do more than regret his life choices. Anders stared at him, then wordlessly crossed over to the bed and without bothering to ask permission, he pressed the palm of his hand against Fenris’ forehead and sent a cantrip into the elf, dispelling the effects of the alcohol, closing his eyes briefly as he shunted the alcohol from his bloodstream into the elf’s liver. He frowned, then stepped away, leaving Fenris sober but feeling the pressure in his head of an impending hangover. 

The healer turned on his heel and stalked away to a point equidistant to both men, folding his arms and staring at his boots rather than either of his lovers.

“Now. I want to hear exactly what is going on. And without shouting,” he added, lifting his eyes to stare at Hawke, then at Fenris.

“Hung out...with Krem and Belann, we got drunk at the tavern, I was feeling good for once and was singing...with Dorian and others.” Fenris paused as he felt another jab of pain in his head.

“Yeah and Dorian had his arm around Fenris, and dipped him or something but they were staring in each other’s eyes. I heard you Fenris, you said you understood how I fell for him. You...how could you?” Hawke asked.

Anders’ frown deepened as he turned back to Fenris. “Fenris?” he said softly. There was a faint look of tired disappointment in his eyes that the elf found hard to meet with his own gaze.

The elf didn’t look up, he sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he willed himself not to throw up from the pain. “It just happened Anders, I wasn’t going to fuck him. I was actually having fun for a change and Hawke is making out like he caught me sucking his cock in the middle of the damned tavern. He called me Amicus, a close friend, he wants to be that nothing more. He wouldn’t even bring me back to my room because of how it would look. Give me some fucking credit.”

“I heard you...and what if I hadn’t come into the tavern Fenris? Would you have made us the laughing stock of the Keep, again for running off the moment we don’t give you all our attention? Or are you still whining about that to anyone who will listen?” Vic snarled.

Anders winced. Hawke was coming rather close to echoing his own outburst of only a few hours ago. He swallowed as he glanced back to Hawke. “You’re smoking again, love,” he said quietly, noting the haze of heat and smoke that was drifting up from the angry mage’s clenched fists as Hawke glared at Fenris. Anders glanced back at Fenris. “Am I going to have to go out there in that blizzard to the tavern to find someone who can tell me exactly what happened?” he asked. “Should I go find Dorian and ask him what in the Void happened? Because there’s the truth somewhere in here, but I’m damned if I can work it out.”

“I told you.. but it’s clear Vic doesn’t believe me. Go ask Dorian or Krem just get out of my room if you’re both going to yell at me.” Fenris said as he flung his arm over his face to block out the light. “I know you left the headache on purpose, so you’re getting your punishment in too Anders.”

“Fine,” said Anders stiffly. “I will.” He stalked towards the door.

“Take a coat, I’ll be in my room since you don't’ believe me either.” Vic snapped.

Anders paused and turned back to stare at Hawke. “I believe you think you saw what you did. Whether your _interpretation_ of that is true or not? I honestly don’t know,” replied Anders. “I just know that with you two in this mood, I’m not going to get a straight answer from either of you. You’re too angry to see sense, and he’s too hung over - and was likely too drunk to remember reliably anyway.”

Hawke glared at Anders for a long time as he pondered what to say but came up with nothing. He stepped away from the door so the other mage could leave. Anders watched him, then inclined his head slightly in a mocking half-bow before he left the room, heading for his own at a brisk pace. He could hear the winds howling outside as he entered his room and headed straight for the wardrobe to haul out his warmest coat then threw a cloak on over the top before heading for the courtyard.

The blizzard was in full howl outside; he hesitated a moment in the doorway, watching the driving wall of snow; then he tugged the hood of the cloak up, tugged his grey linen scarf up over his nose and headed out.

Within three or four steps he couldn’t see more than two or three paces ahead of him. He turned in the direction of the tavern, going from memory, and set off, head lowered against the howling wind and driving snow. It was hard going; he couldn’t help but remember the time he’d been trapped on Sundermount with the three young elves, trying to reach the Dalish camp. Except here he was alone.

An idle thought crossed his mind; how ironic it would be if he got lost right in the middle of Skyhold and froze to death. And then he felt a different thought intrude: he wasn’t alone out here. There was someone else. 

Someone in need of help.

He stood still, listening to the scream of the wind. Had he heard something? No, it was just the wind, it -

No. There it was again. A faint sound... like someone reaching the limit of their strength, desperate.

He turned towards the sound, throwing up a barrier around himself to temporarily block the wind and the snow. He called up magelight to illuminate the darkness. It glared off the fiercely driving snow, but there - there at the edge of the light; a figure. Someone stumbling through the snow from the direction of the gate. As he took a step towards the figure, it stumbled and fell. Anders took two more steps, then realised the figure wasn’t rising; the snow was beginning to cover the fallen form. He broke into a run, his footsteps floundering through the snow as he yelled for someone, anyone to come and help as he raced to the black body collapsed in the snow. He reached the still form and dropped to his knees in the snow, heedless of the wet cold that soaked through the knees of his pants as he reached for the body and rolled the unconscious man over.

It was Zevran.


	54. Chapter 54

They were lost in the snow. Zevran was a dead weight in his arms as Anders cast about himself desperately. The wind drove snow, cold and sharp and stinging, into his face; it was gathering upon his shoulders and upon Zevran in his arms. He bowed his head and tried to hold Zevran as close to himself as possible, trying to angle the unconscious Antivan so that the snow wasn’t driven against his face.

The longer they were out here, the worse Zevran’s chances would become; Anders knew that. The cold was their enemy; they’d be lucky if they escaped with hypothermia and frostbite. He knew Zevran was already dangerously chilled, and if he didn’t get them to shelter soon, so would he be.

He knew the gate was some distance behind him; he stared blindly through the driving snow and tries to remember in which direction the main entrance foyer lay. He turned in that direction and struck out blindly.

The wind howled in his ears, shrieking and deafening him. The snow hampered his footsteps, the hem of his cloak dragging through the drifts as Anders struggled on. The snow was getting deeper by the minute; it was already over his ankles and mounting, deep enough to hinder him as he ploughed on. The courtyard of the keep was surely protected and sheltered by the high stone walls; how much worse must it be up on the exposed battlements or out on the mountainside?

He was starting to shiver now, the cold biting through even the thick warm cloak he’d thrown on over his coat. He’d lost all sensation in his fingers and his cheeks. Even with a scarf wound over his nose and mouth, his nose was slowly becoming numb. They needed to find shelter, and fast.

How long had he been floundering around in the snow? He had no idea. The bobbing ball of magelight over his head did little to illuminate his way; it merely reflected off the whirling wall of white snowflakes as the wind drove the snow on. He couldn’t make out any light from the keep itself; he just had to trust that he’d picked the right direction and struggle on.

His feet were chilled; his toes slowly going numb. They were in serious trouble, he realised; if he lost all sensation in his feet, he could fall. Desperately, he drew on his magic to generate a little warmth for them both. It would keep him going a little longer and hopefully help protect Zevran, but Anders knew there was a danger to using his magic this way; if they were out here too long, eventually he would exhaust his mana - and the resulting chill could well prove fatal out here.

His foot hit something solid and suddenly he fell. He landed heavily on the steps, dropping Zevran. He managed to get his arms out enough that he didn’t fall onto Zevran himself.

His thinking was slowing as his body became more chilled; it took him a moment to realise. Steps. There were steps leading up to the keep. 

He gathered up Zevran again and began to struggle up the steps. He fell twice more before he reached the large double doors.

Anders struggled towards the keep, staggering under the dead weight of the unconscious elf in his arms. The doors were shut fast.

“Help! For mercy’s sakes, someone help!” he yelled as loudly as he could. “Maker, anyone!” 

He fell heavily against the shut door. “Please, open the door!” he screamed.

It was suddenly wrenched open, and he nearly fell. He managed to stagger another few steps, the icy winds from the open door behind him swirling around him, before he fell heavily to his knees. “Someone help us!” he cried desperately.

***

Fenris staggered out of his room, ready to yell at whoever was making all the Maker bedamned noise. There were shouts and cried of alarm coming distantly from the direction of the main entrance hall. He frowned, and headed in that direction.

There was a crowd clustered around something on the floor; he pushed through, irritable, until he saw Anders kneeling there, shivering violently, bent over a still form clad in damp black clothes. Anders reached out a shaking hand to brush wet blond hair out of the unconscious man’s face, and with a painful lurch of his heart in his chest Fenris realised it was Zevran. He forced his way through past the onlookers and flung himself down next to the still form of the elf. 

“What happened? Where was he?” he asked as he gathered the unconscious elf into his arms. He stared down into Zevran’s deathly pale face, the lips blue. “ _Carissimi_ , why...what happened?” he asked though he knew there would be no answer.

“I f-f-found him - in the - the - the s-s-snow,” said Anders. He was shivering hard, chilled to the bone. “Maker, th-th-thought I-I-I-I’d n-n-never find...find...way back t-t-to the keep,” he managed to gasp out between chattering teeth. “Zevran... l-l-l-like i-ice. I-i-inf-f-f-firma...ma...mary.” He was shaking hard now, uncontrollably, barely able to speak for the chattering of his teeth.

Other people were running to see what was going on. Cullen’s voice could be heard distantly down the hall, demanding to know what was going on, the Inquisitor’s voice ringing out clear as he ordered people to get out of the way.

Fenris didn’t listen; he just barged through the crowd of people, people giving way before him as he headed to the Infirmary as fast as he could, never looking back at the blond mage huddled on the floor behind him, shoulders still caked in snow. He wasn’t going to stop for Cullen, or Meneris or even Hawke who had belatedly arrived to see what was going on. He only had eyes for Zevran. “Don’t die on me, dammit.”

Anders struggled to his feet to stagger after Fenris; he nearly fell again as Cullen caught up to him.

“Maker, man, you’re chilled to the bone! What’s happened?”

“Zev-zev-zevran,” Anders managed to get out. He tried to say something else but by now his teeth were chattering si hard and the shaking was so violent he could barely stand upright.

Cullen slung Anders’ arm across his broad shoulders and started to help the chilled mage towards the infirmary; when Anders’ knees gave way, the Commander swept him up into his arms and carried him, the Inquisitor and Hawke following behind at a trot as Cassandra bellowed at the crowd to get back to whatever they’d been doing and stop gawking. Varric broke off from the dispersing crowd to run after Hawke and the others.

Fenris shouldered his way into the infirmary and found a cot near the fireplace to put Zevran. He started to pull the other elf’s clothes off so he could wrap him in warm blankets. Hal looked up startled from settling a patient in one of the other cots; when he saw who it was that Fenris had brought in, he ran for the fire and set a pot of water on to boil before reaching for the pot of clear broth kept warm near the back of the fire, lifting it out with a cloth wrapped around the handle.

Cullen carried Anders into the infirmary, the mage’s face paler than Fenris ever remembered seeing it before, his lips blue as he shivered and shook uncontrollably, barely conscious and in not much better shape than Zevran. Fenris spared only a brief glance at the mage before he turned his attention back to the Antivan elf.

Zevran’s face looked almost grey beneath the dusky tan; his lips bloodless. His skin was like ice to the touch.

Cullen lowered Anders down to lie a cot nearby then started to strip the snow-encrusted cloak and coat off. Hal moved to Fenris’ side and helped him strip the freezing cold and damp clothes from Zevran’s unresponsive body before sending a touch of fire magic through the blankets to warm them before they wrapped Zevran up.

Cullen had managed to tug Anders’ coat and cloak off and was wrapping a blanket firmly around the shivering, half-conscious blond apostate.

Hawke, Cassandra, Varric and Meneris rushed into the infirmary. Cassandra took in the scene at a glance. 

“I shall inform Leliana,” she said curtly and left swiftly.

“Give me the broth and I’ll try to get some into him, unless you need to check him over first.” Fenris said to Hal as he took one of the Antivan’s cold hands in his and tried to warm it. 

“He’s too far under to be able to swallow and unresponsive,” Hal said tersely as Meneris came over to stare at the near-frozen Crow. To all intents and purposes, Zevran looked dead; he was scarcely breathing, and as Hal checked his heartbeat it was dangerously slow and weak. Anders opened his eyes and stared at them.

“N-n-need t-to raise- raise his c-c-core t-t-temp- temperature,” Anders managed to get out between violent shudders and the chattering of his teeth. “Al-al-also f-f-f-frost bi-bite.”

Hal nodded. “Give the broth to Anders,” he told Fenris as he sat on the edge of the cot and laid a hand on Zevran’s forehead, taking the limp, cold hand in the other as he bowed his head and began the slow, delicate work of healing and warming Zevran from inside.

Fenris handed the bowl to Cullen without looking back as he watched Hal work. His head still ached but it was nothing compared to the ache that had blossomed in his heart at the sight of the elf. Anders’ hands shook too much to hold it; Cullen lifted Anders up and began to carefully feed him as he glanced up worriedly at Hawke and Meneris. Anders was slumped against the Commander, his eyes closed, opening his mouth each time Cullen touched the spoon to his lips and swallowing mechanically, each shiver causing him to shudder uncontrollably.

“Hawke, any idea how long they were out there?” asked Cullen.

“Well, Anders wasn’t gone long at all - I have to say maybe a half hour or forty five minutes at most?” Vic answered.

“Long enough to get chilled in that storm,” said Cullen. “Inquisitor, we’ll have to pass word for everyone to remain inside for all but the most essential things. It’s bad enough out there that a man could wander for ages within feet of safety.”

Zevran suddenly twitched, then began to violently shudder under Hal’s hands.

“What’s wrong with him, what are you doing?” Fenris asked as he was about to grab at the young mage.

Anders opened his eyes a little. His shivering had lessened thanks to the warm broth and the blankets. “It’s a good sign,” he murmured tiredly. “You know it’s bad when someone is too cold to shiver. Hal’s brought his temperature up to the point his body’s defences are kicking in.” He shivered again. “Maker. Never thought I’d find the way back.”

Hawke came further into the room and got another serving of broth for Anders. He sat in front of the blond warden and offered him more food. “Don’t argue, let me help since I can’t heal for shit.”

Anders was in no fit state to argue. Cullen shifted around slightly so he was holding Anders as Hawke slowly spoonfed the blond mage.

On the other cot, Zevran was now suffering constant shivering fits, though he remained unconscious. Hal continued to gently work healing magic and slowly bringing the Antivan’s temperature up to normal. Hal’s eyes fluttered open slightly.

“He’s been wounded,” he said quietly. “Several arrow wounds... and poison. I’m healing them. I think the poison may have contributed to his hypothermia. Not sure what it is... seems designed to paralyse slowly.”

“Send it into his stomach then purge,” Anders said tiredly, opening his eyes briefly. He glanced up at Hawke. “Want to sleep,” he murmured.

“Not yet, remember what you taught me about shock and things. I want you to wake up if you sleep.” Hawke offered his lover more broth.

Fenris chewed on his knuckle as he watched Hal work. “Please don’t let him die.”

“Not planning on it,” Hal muttered.

Zevran’s eyes flickered open slightly, only a hint of the whites of his eyes visible as he turned his head slightly and his fingers twitched in Hal’s hand.

“ _Carissimi_ …” Fenris said out of habit.

“What do you need once you’re warmed up love? I’ve got a flask in my room.” Hawke asked. Anders shook his head briefly.

“No... alcohol thins the blood, makes you more susceptible to chill,” he answered. “Just... healing. Can’t feel my hands or toes. Think... think I’ve got frostbite. Need warmth, and sleep once I’m warm. I’m more worried about Zevran.”

Hawke took Anders’ ice-like hands in his and began to send what healing he could through them, warming them gently with his magic. Anders drew in his breath with a hiss, then grimaced. 

“Love?” asked Hawke anxiously.

“Hurts,” Anders managed between gritted teeth. “Can’t be helped.”

He cried out in pain when Hawke turned his attention to the blond mage’s feet. “Maker, your feet are like blocks of ice!” he exclaimed.

The Antivan elf suddenly moaned and jerked his head away from Hal’s hand; the red-haired mage stared down at him for a moment then laid his hand over Zevran’s chest. The Antivan was weakly struggling to free his other arm from the blankets.

“Careful, he could have knives or other things he’ll reach for on reflex until he realizes he’s not under attack.” Hawke warned.

Fenris was bouncing on his heels as he fought the urge to throw himself at Zevran. The long absence didn’t matter anymore, he just needed the other elf to live.

Hal shook his head. “We stripped him naked,” he replied absently. His gear’s on the floor under the cot. Ah - there -”

The Antivan elf suddenly gagged, and Hal leaned forward to turn him on his side. “Fenris - a hand please?” The warrior leapt forward and together they managed to turn Zevran onto his side before the unconscious Crow began to retch up a foul-smelling black substance into the bowl that Hal held. “It’s the poison,” said Hal quietly. “He should warm up faster now that’s no longer in his system.”

“Stomach's always the best place to shunt poisons or blood when healing - quickest way to get it out of the body, if not exactly the most pleasant,” Anders remarked.

Zevran coughed, then groaned again as his eyes fluttered open more fully. “S-s-so c-c-old,” he murmured.

“What can I do?” Fenris asked as he watched Zevran shiver.

Hal held Zevran’s hand out to Fenris. “Hold his hand; sit where he can see you. He will be confused and disoriented when he fully wakes. Possibly in pain, though I’m doing my best to minimise that chance,” he replied.

Anders was drowsing, his eyes closed as he rested his head against Cullen’s shoulder. The Commander glanced around for a runner. One spotted his slight head jerk towards him and dashed over. Cullen rattled off terse orders for his command staff then turned back to watch as Hal continued to work on Zevran.

Fenris wanted to curl under the covers with Zevran but kept the other elf’s hand in his as he stared at how pale he looked as he laid there. “Come back please, carissimi.” he said softly.

Zevran’s fingers suddenly tightened around Fenris’ hand as his eyes flew open and he jerked, inhaling sharply with a gasp; his eyes were blank for a moment as he struggled to free himself from the blankets wound around him.

“Easy, easy. you’re inside now. Safe and warm with us _carissimi_ ,” Fenris said as he tried to get Zevran to ease his grip. Zevran blinked at him, still shivering, and then dawning recognition flickered in his eyes.

“ _C-c-car-carissimi?_ ” he murmured.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Fenris said as he pulled Zevran’s palm to his lips to kiss it. 

“Fenris... Venatori,” Zevran managed to whisper. “On the mountain. In the pass. About a thousand; hard to tell in the storm. Climbing.”

Cullen exchanged startled and worried glances with Meneris. “I have to mobilise the men,” said Cullen. 

“We need to close and fortify the gates,” said Meneris.

“That won’t be easy,” said Cullen. “In this storm, the bridge will be practically a death trap. We’ll need to send the scouts out with poles and ropes to guide the men.”

“Then get to it,” said Meneris tersely. He turned to Hawke as Cullen carefully lowered Anders back down onto the cot; the blond apostate was asleep, exhausted from the cold, pain, and the healing Hawke had worked on his hands and feet. The blond mage was fortunate not to have lost any fingers or toes, Hawke reflected; a little longer and he may well have. Anders didn’t stir as Cullen carefully tugged another blanket over him, tucking him in.

“Hawke,” said Meneris, “I’m going to need you to mobilise the most experienced mages capable of Force and fire magic. I’m going to need them on the battlements to provide barriers for the guards and to keep the stones warm enough to melt the snow and keep the men warm.”

“Good idea,” nodded Hawke. He turned to Hal, who glanced up.

“I’ll watch Anders,” the young mage forestalled him.

Hawke nodded. He turned and bestowed a gentle kiss on Anders’ cheek then with a last glance at Fenris, headed off out of the infirmary at a run.

“Fenris,” said Meneris. “I know you’re worried for Zevran, but I need your help to get the Chargers and others out of the tavern. That storm’s a death trap - but I know you can get there and back and bring a couple of people with you. We need them here - and we need you to help us.”

Fenris stared at Zevran’s face for a while as he considered what to do. He didn’t want to leave his lover’s side nor did he really want to be used. Finally he turned and reluctantly let go of Zevran’s hand to face Meneris. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.” 

Meneris nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Please - bring Dorian back first. And Bull, if you can manage him as well? Or... is Bull too large? I... confess I don’t fully know how far your abilities extend.” Meneris frowned slightly, his expression troubled.

“No one seems to know…or care,” Fenris sniped as he moved to the middle of the room. He knew he was being petty and childish again, but his fear over Zevran had him snappy and irritable. He lit his brands and reappeared in the Tavern where he last was. He opened his eyes to find everyone staring at him. 

Dorian glanced up from where he seemed to be nursing a cup of coffee, and blinked at Fenris for a moment before realisation dawned in his grey eyes. “Ah. Come to evacuate us?” he asked, as he rose from the bench and stepped towards Fenris. “I... hope I was not the cause of too much trouble with Hawke, _amicus_?” he added very softly.

“I don’t want to talk of it now, or here with everyone gawking at me. My head’s still killing me,” Fenris muttered. “Can you give a little power to get Bull with us?” 

“Of course,” Dorian nodded. “Better yet... I think I’ve worked out where I went wrong with opening a portal. If I’m right... we can open a portal between here and the keep. You’ll only need to make the one journey; if I can successfully anchor the portal at this end, I can collapse it safely behind us once everyone’s through.”

“Fine, I don’t care as long as it doesn’t make this headache worse,” Fenris muttered in annoyance. Dorian nodded. He walked out into the centre of the tavern, shaking out his hands as he frowned in concentration, then he held his hands palms up. The very air in the tavern suddenly seemed heavy and charged as green flickering energy pooled in the necromancer’s hands then began to swirl about them. Dorian murmured something indistinct as he brought his hands close together, the green energy coalescing in a swirling green ball; and then suddenly he flung his arms wide and the energy flew outwards to form a flickering circle of green fire. The rest of the tavern could be seen through the hazy surface of the portal. 

Dorian turned and held his left hand out to Fenris, as with the right he plucked at the air and a shimmering green tendril from the surface of the portal snaked out to curl around his fingers.

“Take us there, Fenris,” he said quietly, his gaze distant and abstract.

The elf nodded and lit his brands once more, a pained grimace on his face as he concentrated on the foyer instead of the Infirmary. He let his brands dim as he felt the hard flagstones under his feet once more. “There, I’m going to sit down.”

Dorian didn’t answer; as they arrived, he staggered slightly; Fenris realised the mage still held fast to the tendril of green energy. It seemed to disappear into thin air, but Dorian turned to face it and brought his other hand to touch it. The end of the tendril turned into a flaming ball of actinic green fire, and then he flung his arms wide and the energy snapped out into a portal, identical to the first - save this time, when they stared into it they could see the common room of the tavern, and the others all staring at them.

Dorian still held his arms outstretched, and Fenris realised that the mage was keeping the portal open by his own force of will.

“Hurry!” the Altus called hoarsely. “I don’t know how long I can hold it - and I would advise stepping smartly; Maker only knows what would happen to anyone caught in the middle when it closes, because I certainly don’t!”

“Well?” said the Bull as he rose to his feet and hefted his axe. “What are you all waiting for? You heard the man!”

The crowd of people began pouring through the portal, Krem and the rest of the Chargers directing them through. Cullen, the Inquisitor and Cassandra arrived as the last stragglers were running through.

“Go on, get through!” Bull ordered his people. Dalish was through first, staring at Dorian with wide eyes as the Tevinter mage still stood, arms outstretched, his body visibly trembling now with the effort of holding the portal open.

Bull was the last one through; as he passed Dorian, he patted the mage lightly on the shoulder. “You can let it go now, Vint,” he said quietly. Dorian nodded, stiffly; he let his arms fall, and the portal closed in upon itself with an audible pop of inrushing air and winked out of existence. Dorian swayed, and nearly fell; the Iron Bull caught him.

“I’m alright - it’s alright, nothing to worry about; I’m fine,” Dorian was saying weakly as Meneris ran to his side, Cullen jogging after. “I’m perfectly alright - just tired. Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath.”

“What happened to the other portal?” asked the Bull. Dorian laughed, a little breathless.

“There _was_ no other portal, my friend,” he answered. “It was all just one portal, just two different sides. One side there, the other here. Close it here, and it closes there.” 

“Maker, that’s... incredibly useful,” said Cullen, astounded.

“Or would be if it didn’t exhaust Dorian in the process,” said Cassandra. “How many came through?”

“Thirty in all, Seeker,” said Varric. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up that Sparkler’s found some great way of moving your troops for you.”

“Yes, so I see,” said Cullen, visibly disappointed.

“And I can’t do it without Fenris,” added Dorian as Dalish handed him a vial of lyrium and a stamina potion; he nodded his thanks and downed them both.

Said elf was curled in a chair with his head in his hands, miserable as could be after using his abilities while nursing a headache.

“You can stand down now, Fenris,” said Cullen. “Get yourself to the infirmary; Hal should be able to sort that headache out for you. And thank you. We appreciate what you’ve done today.”

“You should go to the infirmary as well, Dorian,” stated Cassandra.

“I think not,” said Dorian, giving himself a shake as he straightened up. “You’ll need every experienced mage you’ve got out there.”

“If I get up, you’ll be wearing my dinner on your boots Commander,” Fenris as he covered his eyes and tried to block out the noise from everyone milling out.

“It’s alright, Curly; leave Broody to me,” suggested Varric. The Commander stared at Fenris for a moment, then nodded, turning away as he began to shout orders, every word echoing painfully through Fenris’ head.

“Remind me to kill him for shouting once I can stand up.” Fenris mumbled. Varric patted Fenris gently on the shoulder.

“Would a healing potion help?” he offered. “Or do you want me to run and fetch Red?”

“He’s helping Zevran, just leave me here,” Fenris replied before he curled up in the chair again.

“Now, come on, Broody. I’ve seen you fight through worse hangovers than this,” said Varric. “Maker knows, Hawke dragged you out after enough benders that for a while Isabela and I were laying bets on whether we’d ever see you fight without one. C’mon, lean on me and we’ll get you there. You know you’ll feel better once you can see for yourself how Ser crow is doing.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I throw up on your crossbow.” Fenris said as he slowly got to his feet and winced. “This is worse than any hangover I can remember.”

Their progress was halting and slow, and Fenris had to stop to throw up three times along the way. Eventually, after what felt like forever to the elf, they reached the infirmary.

Hal glanced up as the entered. “Fenris? What happened?” He got to his feet.

“No one touch me, let me lie down and die in peace. Helping with the portal made my headache worse.” Fenris found the first empty cot he saw and curled up on it.

Hal approached him slowly and came to stand at the foot of his cot. “I can help,” he said quietly.

Fenris groaned in answer. Hal stared at him for a moment, and decided to take that as a yes. He moved around until he was standing beside Fenris, and he carefully sat on the edge of the cot, keeping a slightly nervous eye on the elf’s hands. He lifted his own, already glowing with healing energy, and reached out to gently lay a cool hand upon Fenris’ forehead.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he twitched under Hal’s hand. Hal let the healing magic trickle into Fenris’ scalp, easing away the tension and smoothing away the pain.

“I’m trying to make you feel better,” the young mage murmured.

“Very well,” Fenris said as he closed his eyes. He tried to relax as Hal’s magic flowed through him. Hal let go a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and let a little more energy flow into the elf as he sought out the source of the pain and worked to relieve it. He let a little wash of healing delicately trace along a few of the brands that seemed more irritated than normal and made a mental note to mention it to Anders later; maybe the more experienced healer would know what it meant.

He sat back. “How do you feel now?” he asked.

“Better… I’m going to go to sleep now,” Fenris muttered. Hal gathered the skirts of his robes and got to his feet. 

“Zevran has been restless,” he remarked. “He should be sleeping, as Anders is, but....” He sighed.

Fenris didn’t say anything, he just got up and crawled under the warm blankets with Zevran and closed his eyes again. Zevran’s eyes flickered open and he snuggled closer, then buried his face against Fenris’ side as he tried to stifle a cough. 

Fenris’ eyes snapped open as he stared down at Zevran. The Antivan elf’s body was racked by another cough. 

“Zevran?” he asked softly. The other elf mumbled something indistinct then shivered suddenly, even though snuggled together in the blankets Fenris felt warm. Fenris carefully felt Zevran’s forehead and realised the man was burning up with fever. “Hal!” he called in alarm as he sat up.

Hal was at their side in a moment, his robes swirling around his ankles in a soft swish of fabric. The healer reached down to feel Zevran’s forehead, frowning, then lifted one limp wrist to feel for Zevran’s pulse; his frown deepened. Closing his eyes, he sent his senses into the unconscious form of the elf, then opened his eyes again.

“He’s fighting off the last effects of the poison,” he said quietly. “In his weakened state, he was more susceptible to its effects.”

“Can’t you do something for him?” demanded Fenris. Hal shook his head.

“His body needs to fight this off; it isn’t life-threatening though.”

The infirmary doors opened and three chantry sisters hurried in, their chantry robes protected by the white of healer’s overtunics and swathed in cloaks that were caked in snow.

“Healer, we’ve been sent by Mother Giselle,” said the foremost sister. “We understand that a Venatori force is approaching Skyhold and she fears there will be casualties; she sent us to assist. I am Sister Marella; these are Sister Sarai and Sister Rebecca.”

Hal opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the door behind him leading to the rest of the keep opened and four mages entered in a hurry; Hal recognised them as being Anders’ healing students - the eldest, most advanced. The eldest, Parcival, in particular had shown himself to be very adept and an excellent clinician; he’d assisted Hal a lot recently. Parcival nodded to him.

“We came directly we heard the bells ringing the alarm,” he said. “We are here to assist.”

As Hal turned back to the chantry sisters, Sister Sarai looked dubious and Rebecca outright rebellious and angry, but Sister Marella inclined her head. “We will assist the mages as much as possible - we may not have their powers of healing, but we can fetch and carry, dress wounds with bandages, perform triage and administer whatever potions or poultices you deem necessary,” she stated firmly.

Hal nodded. “Very well; Sisters, please stow your cloaks; then I need all of you to help me take stock of our supplies and prepare trays of instruments and bandages in preparation for the casualties.” He turned to Sister Sarai. “Sister, would you please set as many pots as will fit upon the fire to boil water.” She nodded and bobbed a little curtsey.

Anders was sitting up and rubbing his eyes drowsily. “Hal? What’s going on?” he asked.

“Venatori have been spotted moving towards Skyhold - a large force, Zevran said about a thousand; we expect to be under attack any moment,” the red-head replied. “You should be resting.” The sisters gasped in horror at his mention of how many Venatori were in the force approaching them; the mages eyed each other worriedly.

“Andraste’s tits, man,” the blond healer growled as he kicked off the blankets and reached for his boots. Two of the sisters looked appalled at his blasphemy but Sister Marella merely covered her mouth to hide her smile as she eyed Anders with a twinkle in her eye.

Anders rose and walked over, eyeing the four apprentices with approval. “Right,” he said. “I need a cup of coffee, and I suggest you all do the same, because Maker knows if there’s a thousand Venatori then we’ll have bloody carnage and we’ll be kept busy.”

As Anders gave directions to his assistants, Fenris slipped from the warmth of Zevran’s cot and reluctantly pulled his boots back on. He wanted to stay with Zevran - particularly with Zevran tossing and turning feverish and ill - but his sense of duty and responsibility was asserting himself and he knew that his skills would be required on the battlements with Hawke and the others. If Dorian could face it in his weakened state, then he himself could do no less.

“Fenris?” said Anders, noticing the elf.

“Zevran is feverish, but he will be safe here with you,” the elf stated as he pulled his thick warm overcoat on. “I will be needed in battle.”

Anders crossed to him and pulled the elf into his embrace, kissing him tenderly. “Forgive my earlier anger, love,” he whispered as he sent a rush of healing, invigorating energy through Fenris, chasing away the last remaining vestiges of his hangover and headache and revitalising him.

“You will need all your mana for healing,” Fenris chided.

“Hush,” replied Anders quietly. “You will need to be at your best out there. Be safe, love.”

“I will,” replied Fenris and kissed him back. Then in a flash of lyrium brands, he was gone; teleported back to his rooms to retrieve his sword.

Anders turned back to his assistants. “We have work to do,” he said tersely. He didn’t miss Hal’s thankful look as the blond healer took over.

***

Though surely attacking under the cover of the blizzard was the height of foolishness if not outright suicidal, the Venatori came on nonetheless. The force of the storm had lessened their numbers, but still they came on. They overwhelmed the men in the first guard keep at the far end of the bridge, then came on across the bridge towards the second.

Meneris, Cullen and Cassandra couldn’t fathom the motives for this attack or how the Venatori had uncovered their location; Skyhold was nigh unassailable save by a frontal assault across the bridge and surely such an attack would be disastrous by any measure of such things. And there was no way they could have brought siege weaponry with them, given how swiftly they had travelled through the mountains and the pass that led to Skyhold.

Then all became clear when the force of mages threw up barriers to protect themselves and the troop of red templars in their midst as they threw themselves at the gate of the second bridge keep. The troop could not account for much more than perhaps a fifth of the force Zevran had seen and managed to outrace. They had no idea if Corypheus was with this army; they were only aware of what was happening due to the brave scouts who had rigged up ropes along the sides of the bridge and then with those as guides, raced on foot between the bridge gatehouses to bring reports through the winter storm. Leliana’s crows could not fly in this weather; there was no prospect of sending for aid from any of their nearest allies.

It was a war of nerves as much as anything else - and, Cullen realised, one of attrition. The Venatori doubtless knew that Skyhold dare not leave the battlements unguarded even in such a storm, and that the defenders would be forced to rely on their own force of mages to protect the troops from the elements. Even with the mages spaced out to the limits of how far their barriers would reach, still there were not enough to protect all the troops, so perforce there were gaps along the battlements, with the remainder of the troops kept stationed in the towers. Though Hawke, Vivienne, Dorian and Solas were spaced out along the front wall and were rotating the mages frequently, Cullen knew that as time wore on, all the mages would become exhausted - and there was only so much lyrium available.

Being unable to directly observe the enemy was also telling on their nerves; the troops were restless, and Cullen couldn’t blame them. The command circle were restless as well - and frustrated.

“I don’t know what Corypheus expects to achieve by this attack!” Meneris growled in frustration for the fourth time in the past hour alone.

“It must surely be a diversion,” said Leliana. “Corypheus seeks to divert our attention away from something.”

“Or perhaps he seeks to pin us in and starve us out?” suggested Blackwall with a frown.

“Foolishness if he does,” replied Josephine. “Our supplies are more than adequate to wait him out - and his troops will be far more vulnerable than we if they attempt to camp out in this weather upon the mountains.”

“He must perforce rely on a swift, decisive attack to overwhelm us,” stated Cassandra. “Which he cannot do; his troops are constrained by the bridge and by the weather, which is as much on our side as anything else.”

“Unless he’s got another bloody dragon,” growled Cullen. “It’s like Adamant but reversed.”

“In lieu of further intelligence, I suggest you have the troops on the walls and the mages stand down, Commander,” said Leliana. “We cannot afford to lose our mages to exhaustion before the battle.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, you’re right,” said Cullen with a sigh. He turned to give the order, and ordered a tally of how many had become casualties of the storm; they’d been losing a few to the infirmary here and there with frostbite or hypothermia despite the best efforts of the mages.

A scout breathlessly ran into the room, belatedly saluting. “Commander, the second bridge-keep has fallen. Venatori have been seen approaching the last bridge-keep.”

“Thank you,” Cullen replied. “Go below and warm yourself by a fire and get something hot to drink; you’ve earned it. How stand the scouts?”

“We’ve lost two to the storm and one to the Venatori,” replied the scout. “About twenty men managed to retreat back from the two fallen bridge-keeps; the rest are reported lost. The Venatori are taking prisoners.”

“For blood sacrifices no doubt, said Fenris heavily.”

“It seems most likely,” agreed Leliana.

“Damn them!” exclaimed Meneris as he slammed his fist down upon the table.

They could do nothing in this storm except wait it out as the Venatori slowly pressed on towards them.


	55. Chapter 55

With the storm raging on through the night, if anything intensifying, there was nothing they could do. They couldn’t keep a guard on the battlements - but at the same time, the Venatori were unable to progress beyond the last gate-keep on the bridge, and a couple hundred yards separated them from the gates of Skyhold itself. That distance may as well have been a couple hundred miles, for all either side could cross it. The Venatori scouting force were as besieged by the storm as they were - and unlike the Venatori forces, the Inquisition had plenty of supplies.

Cullen ordered the guard to stand down, fresh guards stationing themselves in the towers whilst the mages rested. Dorian, Hawke, Solas and Vivienne were all exhausted by the time they’d managed to return to the keep, Dorian practically at the point of collapse and having to be helped back by Hawke and Solas.

Fenris found Anders and the other healers tending to numerous cases of frostbite amongst the guards who had been on the battlements; they were glad to have nothing more serious than that or hypothermia to deal with. Zevran still tossed feverishly in his bed, his body racked with occasional coughing.

He took a chair next to Zevran, took his hand and simply looked at the other elf. Fenris wondered where he’d been, how he’d been so injured and why he was out in the storm. He closed his eyes for a moment, and realized how exhausted he was when he nearly tipped off the edge of the chair to the floor. “I don’t want to leave you, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. 

Zevran coughed hard, the spasms racking his body painfully; when the fit passed, he opened his eyes blearily, their gaze unfocused as his hand tightened on Fenris’ fingers. 

“Do you need something? Water, broth? Just nod if you want me to get you something Zevran,” Fenris asked as he gave his wayward lover a smile.

“Water,” the other elf managed to rasp softly, then coughed again.

Fenris got a pitcher and cup, and held it to Zevran’s lips so he could drink. “Slowly _carissimi_ , don’t try to take too much.”

Zevran sipped slowly until the cup was empty, then his head dropped back onto the pillow. He managed to raise a trembling hand to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, groaning quietly. “Where - where am I?” he murmured, his eyes still glazed and feverish.

“Skyhold, Anders found you out in the snow when the storm was getting started. Lucky that he did; you would have frozen to death if he hadn’t been ...out there.” Fenris refilled the cup and held it up once more. “I was worried for you.”

Zevran drank again, then waved the cup away when he’d had enough. He panted slightly to catch his breath. “Then I was in time,” he said finally. “I feared I would not make it.” He glanced at Fenris. “Haven is burning. The whole town... it is destroyed, save one or two buildings. All that they had rebuilt... gone.”

“You warned us of the Venatori in time, my heart. Once you can walk, we can tell the Inquisitor.” Fenris said as he caressed Zevran’s face gently. “I was so worried Zev, I feared the worst when we got no word from you. I am relieved to have you back, though saddened at the loss of Haven.”

“I was not in time to warn them,” said Zevran with a sigh, then coughed, fitfully. “ _Carissimi,_ ” he whispered softly as his eyes closed again.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you cannot blame yourself. Rest, my heart. I’ll be here.” Fenris kissed him on the forehead before he pulled a cot over, laced his fingers with Zevran’s and closed his eyes. 

He felt Zevran’s grip weaken in his hand, and then go limp as the Antivan elf slipped back into a restless slumber. Fenris himself drifted into sleep, only vaguely aware as Anders gently pulled a blanket over him then kissed his cheek. The elf was fast asleep before Anders had staggered over to the nearest empty bed and fell onto it, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

The snow storm was still raging the following morning. Fenris awoke to find Zevran still fitfully sleeping, his blond hair soaked with sweat as he tossed his head upon the pillow.

As Fenris sat up and glanced around, he spotted Anders sprawled upon his back on a cot, one foot sticking out over the end, the other leg and one arm trailing on the floor, his other arm flung above his head and fast asleep, snoring faintly.

Hal was slumped in a chair, dozing; one of the chantry sisters had thoughtfully draped a blanket over him as he slept. The infirmary was quiet, the peace disturbed only by Zevran’s occasional coughs and Anders’ soft snores.

As Fenris got up from the bed, a chantry sister glanced up from her seat in a corner. She rose and came over on silent feet. “Are you well?” she asked softly.

“Not really but I cannot sleep. If there is broth, I’ll take some for him and a hot drink for me, sister,” Fenris said tiredly.

“Yes, there is broth; the kitchen sent more over earlier,” she smiled as she headed over to the fireplace. She set a kettle of water to boil as she dished up a bowl of the broth. The kettle boiled in short order and she brewed tea, then brought the cup and bowl over to him on a tray.

“He is still feverish?” she asked as she handed him the tray, then carefully felt his forehead. “Hmm, the healer left a preparation of feverfew and crystal grace to help bring his fever down; I shall brew it.” She disappeared off to the dispensary part of the infirmary.

Fenris sat and sipped his tea in an attempt to warm up as he watched Zevran. He knew the other man needed rest but he also needed nourishment, even if it was thin broth.

The sister returned a short while later with a cup of dark green liquid. “He should drink this before the broth,” she said. Zevran was coughing fitfully again; the sister moved around his low cot and slipped an arm beneath his shoulders, sitting him up a little so he could breath more easily. Zevran opened his eyes and looked around slowly, eyes still glazed; as she placed the cup to his lips he drank it slowly. The liquid smelled bitter and sharp to Fenris’ nose, but Zevran did not so much as grimace.

The sister fluffed up his pillows then settled him more comfortably before she nodded to Fenris and took the empty cup away; she paused beside Hal to tug the blanket a little higher before she carried on into the dispensary.

“I have broth if you’re hungry.” Fenris said as he reached out again to touch Zevran. The Antivan elf glanced up at him, his eyes focusing on Fenris with difficulty before he nodded.  
“Tap my leg when you are done.” Fenris said as he scooted closer so he wouldn’t risk spilling the hot broth on either of them. “ _Carissimi...amatus. What happened?_ ” he said sadly as he fed Zevran slowly.

“Red templars,” Zevran sighed, between mouthfuls of soup. “Was careless. Saw me. Haven... it was burning, I needed... needed....” His voice tailed off as his gaze wandered, unable to concentrate. “They burned the chantry; the sisters were screaming, screaming....”

“It’s alright, I was ...just wondering out loud. Save your strength, Zev,” Fenris said as he held up another spoonful for his lover. Zevran swallowed it, then coughed softly.

“You don’t understand, I tried... tried to get them out but it was too late. They all burned, even the novices....”

There was the sound of a sharply indrawn breath and then smashing pottery; as Fenris’ head whipped round, he saw the chantry sister staring at Zevran horrified.

“No, oh no, no!” she exclaimed.

Anders came to his feet, one hand reaching blindly for his staff as he stared around wildly for the source of the noise; Hal had started awake at the sound of the pot smashing upon the infirmary floor. Anders stared at the chantry sister then the broken pot then rubbed his eyes as he made his way over.

As the chantry sister began to sob, Anders gently pulled her into his arms making soothing noises. “Shh, it’s going to be alright, Rebecca,” he said quietly. “We’re safe here. It’s going to be alright.”

“They burned the Haven chantry!” she sobbed. “They burned the sisters; he said they burned them all!”

Anders stared down at Fenris and Zevran, his eyes widening.

“Zevran, maybe we should get you to my room so we can talk without frightening the sisters?” suggested Fenris.

Hal got to his feet and made his way over to check on Zevran, who was rambling nonsense, lapsing into Antivan. Fenris could make out occasional fragments; something about candles and fire, and he was privately glad the rest were incoherent.

“He’s pretty out of it,” said Hal. “Really he shouldn’t be moved, but he may relax better in familiar surroundings.” He glanced around at Anders; the blond healer still held the chantry sister who now clung to him, sobbing.

“That would be a good idea,” the blond healer nodded. “I’m a little preoccupied here - you two take him. And, Hal?” he added, as the red-head bent down to slide an arm around Zevran’s shoulders; he glanced up. “Send a runner to fetch Cullen. The Inquisitor needs to know about this.”

Fenris and Hal got Zevran to his feet, wrapped up in a spare robe and a blanket draped around his shoulders. “I’ll come back for his clothes after,” said Hal. “Let’s go.”

“I’ve got him, lead on to my room,” Fenris said as he tried to get Zevran calmed enough to stop babbling but gave it up. He replied in the bit of Antivan he knew and some Tevene as they walked.

Hal collared the first runner they encountered and ordered her to run and fetch the Commander. “And wake him if necessary!” he called after her as they continued on with Zevran.

It took far longer to get Zevran back to Fenris’ rooms than they’d expected; Zevran’s footsteps were slow and stumbling, and several times his legs gave out beneath him. His body was radiating heat and the robe was soon soaked with sweat. It was a relief when they reached Fenris’ room and could lay the delirious Antivan down.

“Would you like me to stay?” asked Hal quietly.

“I...for a bit yes, especially if you can do something for his fever,” Fenris said as he got a cloth to dip in cold water.

“DId you give him the feverfew and crystal grace decoction?” asked Hal as he gently checked Zevran over again.

“Not enough time... not enough time,” groaned Zevran.

“Yes and he was having broth before he started rambling.” Fenris answered as he laid a cool cloth on the other elf’s head. 

“Hmm. It should start to work soon, but I shall see what I can do,” said Hal. “This should only be his body’s attempt to drive out what remains of the poison.” He sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand upon Zevran’s chest. 

“Fenris... _carissimi_ ,” groaned the blond elf, one hand reaching out blindly.

The warrior sat next to Zevran and took his hands. “I’m here, you’re alright now.” 

Zevran opened his eyes, their golden gaze fever-bright as he rolled his head to stare at Fenris. “Am I dreaming?” he breathed.

Hal was frowning slightly. “There’s congestion in his lungs,” he said quietly. “Pneumonia I think. Contracted before he reached us - possibly a mild infection that he ignored in his attempt to reach us. Let me see what I can do about it.”

“Not dreaming, you’re back with us _mi cariadad._ ” Fenris said shakily.

“You are a sight for sore eyes indeed, my love,” said Zevran, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips though his eyes were still glazed and unfocused. “It has been too long.”

“Yes, long enough I feared the worst my heart. Once this is all over you’ll have to tell me what you have been up to.” Fenris wiped at his face when he felt wetness on his cheek.

“A long tale indeed,” breathed Zevran. “I have travelled far, and tasted of death too often. My past still haunts me, it seems....” He closed his eyes and coughed; Hal frowned, moving one hand against Zevran’s chest. He pressed the other against Zevran’s ribs.

“Easy my heart, there will be time to tell your story. Perhaps we can talk of retiring the Crow Master so you can just be with me...us.” Fenris amended quickly. 

Zevran began to laugh; it quickly devolved into harsh, racking coughing that left him gasping for breath. Hal’s hands glowed a brighter blue; after a moment, Zevran was able to draw breath a little easier.

“That... was what I was _doing_ , my heart,” he managed with a ghastly smile. He took Fenris’ hand and pressed it over his heart, pushing Hal’s hand away. For a moment, Fenris couldn’t understand why - and then he felt fresh scar tissue perhaps a finger’s breadth below the other elf’s heart and an unevenness of the nearby rib that suggested it had been chipped; as Zevran drew a sharp breath, he realised it must have been a very recent injury.

“Maker, man...you didn’t need to come that close to death to get rid of the Crow Master,” Fenris hissed. 

“Unintentional... but it would have been foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity,” Zevran replied softly. “A lucky shot on a street in Val Royeaux. I was recognised. As far as the Crows are concerned, I died on that street, bleeding my last. They didn’t bother to check when they threw me into the sewer.” He chuckled wryly.

Fenris closed his eyes and held back a sob at how close Zevran had come to actually dying. He took the other elf’s fingers in his and gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m glad you’re back, I was worried you had perished, or left as well.”

“Only temporarily, my love,” Zevran replied softly.

“I missed you so much,” Fenris said as he wiped at his face with his free hand. “I’m sorry, I need to stop sobbing like a child at everything. I’m just glad you’re going to be ok.”

“His body was weakened from several wounds; they’d been steadily taxing his strength for some time. Inadequate food or sleep did the rest; far too easy for an opportunistic infection to turn into something nastier,” said Hal.

“I could not stop,” said Zevran quietly. “Rest, food, sleep - they were not important, only that I gave warning in time.”

“Which you did,” nodded Hal. “I’ve bolstered your body’s own natural defences, but you must get plenty of food and sleep.”

“There is an enemy at the gates,” said Zevran softly.

“They shall not pass them, _mi cariadad_ ,” replied Fenris. “The storm has stalled them, and there is no way into Skyhold save over the bridge, and they will not find that so easy.”

“Your part in this fight is done, Zevran,” said Hal quietly. “It’s time for you to rest, not fight.”

Zevran stared at Hal, then nodded with a resigned sigh. “In truth, I am still exhausted,” he said softly as his eyes drifted closed. Hal rose and turned away from the bed; Zevran’s hand shot out and grasped his wrist suddenly. “Does Solona yet live?” he asked softly, not opening his eyes.

“She does,” replied Hal quietly. Zevran was silent; after a moment, he released Hal and turned his face away. His breathing slowly evened out into sleep as Hal watched silently.

***

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and scowled down at the map. Across from him, Anders stood, restless, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the table absently as he stared intently at the small dot on the map labelled “Haven”, demarking a town that now, for the second time, no longer existed - wiped out once more by Corypheus’ forces.

The Inquisitor paced. “You are certain this wasn’t just the ramblings of a sick man?” he said as he paused and stared at Anders.

“Zevran is sick - but he was intent on telling us this news,” replied Anders. “And his ravings afterwards were... consistent with what I would expect of someone who had seen something like this. The chantry sister who took his clothes to wash them came to tell me they were badly singed in places. And Hal told me that amongst Zevran’s injuries were burns, including on the palms of his hands - which would tally with what he said of attempting to rescue those trapped in the chantry.” His eyes followed Meneris as the elf returned to pacing once more. “I think we can assume none survived the sack of Haven,” the blond apostate concluded heavily.

“I pray you are wrong, Anders,” said Josephine as she and Leliana entered the room. 

“Believe me, so do I,” he said with a sigh. “I just -”

“Magister Tilani was in Haven,” Leliana interrupted him.

It felt like someone had punched him hard in the gut; suddenly Anders couldn’t breathe.

“Maker, Leliana!” swore Cullen as he moved around the table. “You can’t just break the news to him like that!” He caught Anders’ elbow as Anders gasped for breath; Josephine hastily poured a glass of wine and held it out to him.

“No, no... I’m alright, I’m....” Anders managed to gasp as he drew a shaky breath then suddenly shook his head. “No, damn it, I’m _not_ alright!” He glared at Leliana. “Did you break the news to Varric that way too?” he demanded. “Just throw it in his face like that with no warning?”

Leliana’s gaze softened. “I am sorry, Anders,” she said more quietly. “I thought you would prefer to know the unvarnished truth rather than have us dance around the issue and not tell you.”

“Let him sit down,” said Cullen, sparing a glare for Leliana’s bad timing before turning back to Anders.

“I don’t need to sit down,” retorted Anders, pulling away from Cullen though he accepted the wine from Josephine. “I need - I need to know -” His anguish showed upon his face for a moment before he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, schooling his expression into stillness before he opened his eyes again. “Zevran escaped. It is not unreasonable to think that Maevaris did as well. She’s a smart woman, a very capable mage. I cannot believe she didn’t escape. She may very well be out on the mountain somewhere.”

“In this weather?” said Cullen dubiously.

“She’s a mage. She may have found somewhere safe to hole up until the storm has passed - used her magic to form a shelter....”

“Anders,” said Cullen quietly. “Do you think that’s-”

“Don’t!” snarled Anders as he turned on the Commander, then more quietly, “Don’t. Don’t say it. Until we find a body or some other proof, then I have to believe Mae’s still alive.” He stared at the Commander then abruptly downed the wine in his glass.

Hawke stared at Anders as he sat the glass aside carelessly. It tipped over and shattered somewhere under the war table, luckily missing the map. “Anders, don’t do this to yourself. You saw the shape Zevran was in, and you are a healer yet you were nearly frozen in less than an hour. I love you with all my heart but don’t set yourself up for disappointment like this.”

Anders stared at him aghast, then slowly shook his head in disbelief. “Not you too,” he whispered. He backed away from the table. “No. No, I’m not listening. No.” He backed away towards the door.

“Anders, denying what could be isn't going to help you right now.” Hawke got between his lover and the door before Anders could flee. “Look at me love, just look at me and breathe.”

Anders glanced towards Hawke, his eyes not quite meeting the Champion’s gaze. “I have to believe she’s out there,” he said stubbornly. “Just as I would if any of us were out there.”

“Does she mean that much to you then?” Hawke asked quietly.

“I was referring to the Inquisition in general, love,” said Anders, his shoulders slumping. “If she meant as much to me as you do, don’t you think I would have been more unhappy when Fenris and Dorian brought me back?”

“I see...I don’t know about her, but this isn’t the time or place for it. Either way, I know you are a good man and you want only the best. Don’t get your hopes up is all I am saying, alright?” Vic replied.

“She’s my friend, Hawke,” Anders said quietly. “We were travelling together for two weeks, sharing a carriage and meals together, and we became friends. I’m... fond of her, and if there had been longer I... may have become more fond of her. But that’s unimportant; all I know is _my friend_ is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if she’s alive or dead and I...I....” He stared at Hawke, his eyes glistening wetly. “Can we... I have to go,” he said abruptly, turning to the door. “I need air. I can’t breathe; this room’s too damned small.”

“I’ll come to your room with you if you like.” Hawke said as he moved out of the way with a long glare for Leliana. Anders didn’t answer; he pushed the door open and stumbled out of the room. He made it about ten feet down the hall before he stumbled and fell heavily against the wall, his chest heaving as he fought not to throw up.

His mind kept showing him horrendous images - Mae, trapped, in a burning building, unable to escape. Her blonde curls crisping away in the heat. Her face -

His stomach heaved.

“Let me get you back to your room. Come on love.” Vic slipped his arm around Anders’ waist and led him down the hall.

“No,” Anders panted, trying to wrench his mind away from the images his mind kept insisting on dwelling upon. “Infirmary. I have work to do.”

“If you wish,” Vic said as he veered them to the right and towards the Infirmary.

“Maker, this is just one long nightmare,” Anders muttered to himself. “Each time something new happens, I find myself thinking, ‘I’ll wake up in a moment.’ But I don’t.”

“Sorry love, wish I could fix that for you,” Vic said as he pushed the door open and let Anders walk on his own. He spotted Hal, but not Fenris or Zevran. 

“Hal, where’s Zevran?”

“He and Fenris took Zevran to Fenris’ room,” said Anders. “I had my hands full with a hysterical chantry sister.”

“Sister Rebecca is sleeping peacefully,” said Hal, gesturing to one of the beds. “Once she calmed down enough to take the sleeping draught you prepared for her, that is.”

“Maker, I think I’m going to need some of that myself,” remarked Anders, shaking his head.

“Oh?” said Hal, curious, glancing to Hawke in confusion. Anders shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Maybe later,” he said as he headed into the dispensary.

Hawke mouthed _later, much later_ to Hal once Anders had turned away. “I’m going to get some rest in my room love, come by later?” 

“Assuming the storm doesn’t let up and we don’t suddenly find ourselves in the middle of a pitched battle, yes,” Anders called back as he pulled on an apron then reached for a bundle of elfroot.

Hawke bit back the retort he had on his tongue instead of sticking his foot in his mouth. “I’ll just check on Fenris then.” 

Hal glanced, worried, towards the dispensary then turned to Hawke. “What’s wrong? He’s not alright; I know the signs,” he said very quietly.

“He heard about Haven, and our tactless spymaster let him know Magister Tilani was there when it was attacked.”

“Magister Tilani?” echoed Hal, uncomprehending.

“The woman he was going off with to Qarinus. I’ll tell you later, keep an eye on him for us please?” Vic asked.

“Sweet Andraste, yes of course!” exclaimed Hal quietly. “I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

As Hawke glanced back towards the dispensary, he could see Anders fiercely attacking the elfroot with pestle and mortar, pounding the hapless tuber into paste as though it had personally offended him. 

“Perhaps, keep that elfroot from becoming useless mush as a start?” Vic suggested.

Hal winced. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said in a dubious tone as he walked towards the dispensary, leaving Hawke to head off to his own rooms.

Vic shook his head before he set off to check in on Fenris and get some much needed rest. He knocked a couple of times before he eased the door open and peeked in.

Fenris was awake and sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading a book quietly. Zevran was sprawled in the bed, a damp cloth laid upon his brow, shifting restlessly.

The elf looked up at the sound of the door and nodded at Zevran before he padded over to Hawke. “Hi,” he said softly.

Zevran groaned and rolled over onto his side, mumbling something inarticulate. His eyes were half-open; the low candlelight in the room reflected golden off his eyes. 

“Hey, you alright? Need breakfast sent to you love?” Vic asked as he leaned in for a brief kiss. Fenris returned it, then nodded as he glanced to Zevran, then back to the Champion. His expression was a little troubled.

“Want to go in the hall so we don’t bother him?” Vic asked softly. Fenris darted another look at the restless Zevran, then after a moment nodded. He slipped out into the hallway, drawing the door almost but not quite closed in case the sick man called out for him.

“Hal says he has pneumonia,” the elven warrior said quietly. “Likely an opportunistic infection, worsened by inadequate sleep and food.”

“Well, make sure he has food and sleeps a lot. I’m sure if he won’t sleep on his own maybe Hal or Anders can bring you potions. I don’t think sending him to sleep with magic would be good.” Vic said.

“No... not after what he saw,” replied Fenris darkly. “Have you heard? About the chantry?”

“Yes, sadly Anders heard as well and knows that Tilani was at Haven so now he’s in a state.” Vic sighed. “I won’t keep you from him love, I know you’ve been worried. I’ll have breakfast sent up and if you need me I’ll be in my room for a nap.” 

Fenris blinked. “I... see,” he said quietly. “Where is Anders?”

“In the Infirmary, attacking a few bunches of elfroot as if they told him to fuck off and die,” Vic said wryly. 

“Hal is there, and some of his apprentices should arrive there shortly,” said Fenris slowly. “I suppose allowing him to work would be better than letting him brood in his room and distress himself further.”

“Hal is keeping an eye on him for us, though Maker help the poor lad if Anders realizes I asked him to do so. He can be terrifying when he’s on a tear. Go on back to Zev, I’ll just bring us all breakfast, I think I’m a bit hungry myself.”

“Indeed, he can at that,” smiled Fenris wryly. He reached out and caught Hawke’s sleeve before he could leave. “Love... I am sorry we have quarrelled so much. Though Maker knows, if he had not been so furious at us both then Zevran would likely be dead and no-one the wiser - and Skyhold fallen to the Venatori. Still... it saddens me that we quarrelled.”

Vic reached down and kissed Fenris on the lips. “As am I, _Amatus_ , I was cruel to you the other day. Forgive me?” 

“I do,” said the elf quietly. “I hope Anders has forgiven us both as well.” 

There was an inarticulate shout from inside the room; Fenris threw open the door hastily. Zevran had gotten himself tangled in the covers and was struggling to free himself, cursing in Antivan.

“What are you doing?” said Fenris as he ran to help the irate elf.

“I am trying... to get _out_ of this thrice-damned bed!” exclaimed Zevran, huffing with annoyance as he tossed his hair back out of his face with a jerk of his head.

“You are supposed to be resting!” said Fenris sternly.

“Well we know he’s feeling better at least. Reminds me of another elf I know.” Vic said with a grin he could not hide.

“You need to lie down and not overtax yourself,” said Fenris sternly.

“I _need_ to get _out_ of this wretched bed and to take a _piss_!” hissed Zevran, then slipped into a mixture of Antivan and Tevene swears as he told Fenris just what he could do with the bed and the blankets currently entrapping him.

Fenris sighed and tugged the blankets off Zevran and offered his arm so he could help him up to the privy. “You remind me of a wet cat.”

“And like a cat I do not enjoy being wet or cold,” the Antivan agreed. He plucked at the sweat-sodden robe he still wore. “I do not like this, but I suspect I shall like the cold worse.” He winced then frowned. “I am still babbling. This being ill is tiresome and I do not like it,” he groused.

Fenris fought back a laugh as he helped Zevran along. Once his cranky lover was done, he paused on the way back through the bathing chamber and sat him on the stool closest to the wall so he could run a bath. “This will help, and I can put you in a clean robe.”

“You are laughing at me, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran. “That is most unfair of you.” He coughed, and winced.

“I am not laughing, I value breathing,” Fenris replied.

Hawke stuck his head in to check on them. “You both alright? Do you still wish me to get you a meal?” 

“I think that Fenris has decided to drown me in cold water,” Zevran remarked dolefully as he stared at the water being pumped into the tub. 

“I’m not drowning you, you’ve got a fever.” Fenris said tiredly. “Fine, Hawke warm it a bit so he won’t jump out when his ass hits cold water.” 

“We’re in the mountains!” Zevran protested. “It will be like ice! I am sure Anders would say that bathing in ice water is bad for me.” He looked at Hawke hopefully.

“He’s right love, let me heat that for you.” Vic said as he let a fireball form in his hands before he dropped it to water. “Test that Fenris, please?”

Zevran shot Hawke a thankful look as steam curled lazily above the hot water. He opened his mouth to speak but was suddenly hit by another coughing fit. Fenris was at his side in a heartbeat, rubbing Zevran’s back soothingly as the other elf fought to draw breath between coughs. 

“Hang on, let’s get him over the steam - it’ll help open up his airways and help with that cough,” said Hawke as he got around to Zevran’s other side; between them they managed to help Zevran over to the tub. After a couple of minutes inhaling the steam, Zevran felt something in his chest ease and he could breathe easier, the coughing fit subsiding and leaving him feeling wrung out and exhausted.

“Let’s get him into the water,” said Hawke as Fenris checked the water. They stripped off the robe, then between them carefully lifted him into the tub.

Zevran groaned appreciatively as he settled into the hot water. It was just the right side of scalding, and to the sick elf it felt heavenly.

Fenris had drawn his breath in sharply as they stripped off the infirmary robe and he was able to properly see the fresh scars and barely-healed wounds on Zevran’s body; he now stared down at Zevran with a worried look. In addition to the knife wound, he had several barely-healed arrow wounds that Hal must have dealt with whilst healing him. There were barely-healed burn marks up both arms, and Fenris remembered Zevran’s ramblings about not being able to save any of the chantry novices or sisters.

Zevran opened his eyes and noticed how Fenris was staring at his arms and hands, and a sorrowful look came over his face. “I tried,” he said softly. “I failed.”

Fenris caught both of Zevran’s hands in his. “No. You couldn’t have saved them,” he said steadily. “You were just one man against an army of Venatori and red templars. You got here though, and you warned us in time.”

“Thanks to you, we’ve kept the Venatori off and they didn’t catch us unawares,” said Hawke firmly. 

Zevran stared at the water for a long while, then closed his eyes. The heat was starting to make him feel dizzy again, his thoughts clouded.

“Let me wash your hair,” said Fenris gently. After a while, Zevran slowly nodded.

“I’ll leave you both to it,” said Hawke. “Oh - Zevran. When you were in Haven - did you see any sign of Magister Tilani?”

Zevran lifted his head and stared at Hawke. His gaze was glazed, but he managed to focus on Hawke. “Yes, I saw her,” he said quietly.

“Did she... is she dead? Did she manage to escape?” asked Hawke hesitantly. “If there’s anything I can tell Anders....”

“She was staying in the tavern I think,” said Zevran slowly. “I saw her fighting a group of red templars outside, but the chantry was on fire at that point. I did not see her after that, but she may have escaped.”

Fenris kept his mouth shut as he gathered some of the soft soap in his hands to wash Zevran’s hair. “Close your eyes to keep the soap out. Speak if you wish.” 

Hawke sighed. “She may well be gone then, I doubt Anders will listen to me without a body as proof. He’s got hope she may yet live.”

Zevran closed his eyes and tilted his head back as Fenris worked the lather through his long blond hair. “She may have done. After all, I survived, did I not? She wasn’t hurt when I saw her.” He was silent as Fenris rinsed his hair; once Fenris was finished, Zevran’s eyes drifted half-open. “I would have moved faster if I hadn’t been already injured. If she headed down out of the mountains she may well be alive.”

“She’s a magister, I’m sure she’ll figure something out to survive.” Fenris said as he reached down for a half-filled bucket to rinse Zevran’s hair. “Keep your eyes closed a bit longer.”

Zevran obediently closed his eyes again. At least with his eyes closed, the room didn’t seem to be spinning quite so much. His head drooped as he grew drowsy Fenris and Hawke’s voices washed over him.

“Wait! Let me heat that Fenris.” Hawke said right as Fenris lifted the bucket. The elf tried to check himself, his eyes widening as he realised the water in the bucket was still ice cold. He couldn’t stop a large splash spilling over to hit Zevran’s back.

Zevran arched his back in shock with a startled scream, his eyes flying open. He gasped as Fenris hastily lowered the bucket; it was a moment before the shocked Antivan was capable of speech.

“I am most certainly wide awake now,” he finally managed to get out. “That was... rather more invigorating than I was expecting, _carissimi_!”

“I’m sorry!” Fenris said contritely as he handed the bucket to Vic for heating. Zevran shuddered and drew a slightly shaky breath.

“It is nothing, my heart; nothing to the cold I experienced yesterday,” he said as he tossed wet hair out of his face. “I was simply not expecting it.”

“Here Vic maybe you should rinse Zevran off, I’ll get some towels.” Fenris said as he moved out of the way. Zevran glanced back over his shoulder eyeing the bucket in Hawke’s hands, then glanced up to meet Hawke’s gaze. He quirked up one eyebrow with a faint half smile, then turned around again and closed his eyes as he tilted his head back a little. 

“I shall trust you, friend Hawke,” he said, shivering slightly.

Just as Hawke began to tip the hot water over Zevran and Fenris was reaching for towels, the door burst open and the Iron Bull barged in, his massive axe at the ready as he cast his one eye over the room for any threat.

Zevran reacted without thinking; he leapt from the tub, already tucking his head down and curving his back as he leapt to hit the floor with one shoulder, rolling smoothly as his hand lashed out to grab a knife as he came to his feet in a low crouch, one hand to the floor for balance as he flipped his long wet hair to his back and glared at the Bull with a snarl. Hawke and Fenris both gaped and in the same instant wondered where the knife had come from.

“Well considering that tuck and roll, I can assume you’re not actually being murdered in here, Zevran,” Bull said as he eyed the naked assassin. “Nice; now I see why Fenris is so into you.”

Zevran slowly rose to his feet and casually tossed the blade in his hand, catching it by the handle again before executing a neat bow. “Merely a bracing rinse that was... colder than expected,” he said off-hand. He smiled and took a couple of steps back towards the tub then paused, pressing one hand over one of the recently-healed wounds. “Maybe... I am not as recovered as I thought,” he said, swaying slightly. He took another step and then gracefully collapsed to the floor.

Fenris ran over and pulled Zevran into his lap. “Dammit Zevran, my hair is already white - you’re going to give me black hair again at this rate.” 

“Sorry,” the Antivan managed to slur; his skin felt burning hot to the touch again, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Would you like a hand with him?” asked Bull, setting his axe aside.

“No thank you Bull, I’ve got him.” Fenris said as he rose with Zevran in his arms. He looked at the bed with a frown. “Actually...take him, just for a moment while I change the sheets.” He reluctantly let Bull hold him.

The Qunari carefully took the Antivan from Fenris, cradling him gently in his massive arms. Zevran’s eyes drifted open and he stared up at the Iron Bull for a moment before he closed his eyes again. The Bull glanced at Hawke. “You should dry his hair; his breathing sounds like he has pneumonia. It would not be a good idea to let him get chilled.”

“Um, sure, Bull.” Hawke took a towel to Zevran’s head, careful to wring out the ends as well as his scalp. “I’ll make sure it’s fully dry before he goes to sleep. I’ll be back in a bit, we never did have breakfast,” Vic said as he headed off to the dining hall.

The Iron Bull carried Zevran carefully into the bedroom. “All anyone is talking about right now is Haven burning and your Antivan friend racing ahead of the Venatori army. Almost like Dorian’s arrival before Corypheus. With an additional little piece of drama like that of the Inquisitor’s survival after Haven, from what I understand it. He has made something of a name for himself already it seems.”

“I’m more concerned with his recovery than any fame he’s gotten.” Fenris said snappishly before he caught the expression on Bull’s face. “Apologies, I’m wound up from worrying for him.”

“Of course you are,” replied the Bull. “I would feel the same if it were one of my people.” He glanced down at Zevran and frowned a little. “If you wish, I will sit with him whilst you fetch one of the healers,” he offered.

“Hal said his body has to work through it; we already gave him some...decoction but he needs it before he eats. I...I’ll run to the infirmary and be right back. Just don’t startle him, because I still don’t know where that knife came from before.” Fenris waited until Zevran was settled in the bed before he started to go.

“I should check the bathing chamber carefully were I you,” replied the Bull with a knowing look. “It would not surprise me if he had secreted away several blades in there. He took that one from the underside of the stool as he passed it.” He took up a position leaning against the wall beside the bed. “No-one will disturb him whilst you are gone,” he assured Fenris.

“Alright.” the elf gave one last look before he ran down to the infirmary and found Anders still assaulting herbs while Hal seemed to be busy with patients. “Love? Those herbs didn’t do anything to you.”

Anders was staring into space as he worked at grinding the herbs with single-minded determination; as Fenris spoke he jumped then glanced around, startled. He blinked at Fenris, then stared down at the herbs and groaned, poking the pureed green gloop with a forefinger.

“I’m worse than useless right now,” he groaned. He set the pestle and mortar aside then wiped his hand on the apron before stripping it off and laying it aside. He reached up and tugged the hair tie from his hair, shaking his long locks loose before scraping it all back neatly and retying his hair. He turned to the sink and pumped cold water into it to splash his face and wake himself up with a sharp gasp.

“Right. Well. Um,” he managed incoherently. 

“I...needed more of that...thing Hal gave Zevran before he eats. Deco--decoction of crystal grace and something else?” Fenris asked.

“Crystal grace and feverfew,” Anders nodded. “It’s a good general-purpose febrifuge. How is he doing?” he added as he turned away and began to check through the racks of dried herbs and reagents. He reached for a jar of dried, faded blue blossoms, shaking out a handful into a small pot before gathering up several leaves of a plant Fenris didn’t recognised. Frowning in thought, he crumbled them on top of the dried flowers then added cold water before cupping his hands around the pot and channelling heat into the mixture until it steamed and began bubbling.

“He was doing well until he reacted to Bull barging in made him go on the attack. He fell in a rather graceful heap to the floor then startled me, again.” Fenris said as he watched Anders work. Anders winced.

“He shouldn’t really be out of bed,” the healer remarked as he reached for the pestle and mortar, frowned thoughtfully at the green gloop then carefully tipped a little into the steaming pot. He set the pestle and mortar aside once more then carefully stirred the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon, sniffing it carefully. “How bad is his fever?”

“He’s not as delirious as he was. He needed the privy and a bath, it was instinct that led him to go after Bull.”

“That sounds promising,” said Anders. “Then again, Zevran’s always been pretty resilient. I suppose it’s a survival trait in his line of work. Still, best not to let him over-exert himself.” He turned back to the racks of herbs and selected a feathery dark blue-green herb. He stripped off a couple of handfuls then set them on a chopping board and set to work with a wickedly-sharp little knife, chopping the herb up very fine with a rapid rocker motion before scraping the herb into the pot. He stirred briskly, sniffing cautiously, then he channelled a little healing magic into it.

“This will be a little stronger than the decoction he was given before,” said Anders. “He may seem very drowsy after taking it; let him sleep as much as possible.” He inspected it cautiously, then carefully strained the liquid into a small dark bottle, chilling it with a touch of ice as it poured through to cool it. He corked the bottle then handed it to Fenris. “Four fingers in a cup, give it to him every four hours. In a day or two he should be fine.” He smiled tiredly, then turned to lean against the workbench.

“And how are you?” he asked softly. “I haven’t had a chance really yet to apologise for blowing up at you and Hawke.”

Fenris looked down and shrugged. “I am...not alright. I don’t want to discuss it here in the infirmary however. If you wish, you can come back to my room, Vic went to get food for us and Bull is watching over Zevran.”

Anders peered out into the infirmary, then turned to Fenris and nodded. “It’s quiet; there’s nothing here that Hal and the apprentices can’t handle, with the chantry sisters’ help,” he shrugged. “And Maker knows I’m not accomplishing anything in here except -” he picked up the mortar and frowned at its contents, “-elfroot... liquid? Ugh.” He set it down again. “That was relatively fresh, too.” He sighed. “Come on, I can check Zevran, we can dose him and then maybe we can talk properly without interruptions. At least whilst this storm continues and the Venatori are held at bay.”

“Alright, it would probably do him good to see you now that he’s not quite raving.” Fenris said as he gave Hal a wave and headed back towards his room.

Anders followed, half lost in thought as they walked. They returned to find the Iron Bull was crouched down next to the bed, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Zevran’s eyes as he murmured something to the Antivan elf. Zevran’s eyes were closed as they entered, but he opened them and glanced up at Fenris as he heard his and Anders’ footsteps.

“Ah, you brought the healer,” remarked the Bull without turning. “You may want to check that arrow wound below his ribs.” The massive Qunari got to his feet then turned to them, nodding to Fenris.

“Thank you,” muttered Anders as he edged past the mercenary and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for Zevran’s wrist as he checked the elf’s forehead with his other hand. “Pulse is rather fast; temperature still high.” He tugged back the blankets low enough to lay a hand over the freshly-healed wound in question; a bruise was blossoming beneath the dusky skin, and Zevran’s eyes betrayed a slight wince as the blond apostate pressed lightly. Anders frowned, then his hand glowed a faint blue.

“Another piece of arrow?” Fenris asked as he sat next to Zevran so he could take his hand. 

“Hmm,” Anders nodded. “Or a fragment of bone knocked loose from the rib; hard to say. “Fenris, would you....” He turned slightly and glanced at Fenris as he lifted his hand away from Zevran’s ribs.

“What if I hurt him?” Fenris asked as he glanced down at the dark bruise then lit his brands. He looked to Anders for instruction. 

“You won’t,” said Anders. “Fenris, you have done this before. Remember when you took those fragments of bone from my head? Hawke told me how you did it. This is far simpler; you just need to pass your hand through his side and just feel for the little fragment. You can do this, love.” 

“I trust you, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran quietly. “And even if it should hurt, what of it? It will only be a little pain. I can tolerate that. But if you prefer not, then I am certain I have a knife sharp enough to suffice.” He glanced to Anders, and the healer could feel him briefly tense before deliberately relaxing his muscles.

“Alright, alright.” Fenris closed his eyes and slipped his hand into Zevran, a slight wince for the way it felt until his fingers brushed the fragment of ...bone or arrow. He pulled his hand free slowly and let Anders take over. Zevran stiffened as Fenris’ fingers slid into his side, and as the small fragment shifted he closed his eyes. As Anders’ hand brushed gently over his skin and sent another wave of healing into his side, Fenris could feel the blond elf slowly relax again. Fenris opened his hand to stare at the piece of chipped and bloodied bone he held.

“It’s always a piece of random bone.” Fenris remarked as he looked to Anders. “Do you need me to do anything else?” he asked quietly. Anders shook his head.

“I think whatever you did when Bull came in probably put stress on that rib, causing the bone fragment to break free,” he told Zevran. “No more acrobatics until I tell you otherwise, you hear? Otherwise I’ll tell Fenris to tie you to the bed.”

The Iron Bull made a faint rumbling noise; it was hard to say if it were approval, amusement or sudden interest - or all three. Anders shot him a look, then turned back to Zevran. “Or, I could just drug you to sleep.”

“There will be no further acrobatics,” Zevran assured him. Anders ignored the slightly disappointed look on Bull’s face; he was certain the Qunari were only doing it to annoy him, if the way his eye kept flicking to Anders then back to Zevran were anything to go by.

“You should take the medicine I’ve made for you,” the blond apostate went on. He glanced at Fenris. “Four fingers in the bottom of a cup,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Zevran. Anders shrugged.

“Crystal grace, feverfew, a little elfroot.”

Zevran sniffed the cup when Fenris handed it to him, then shrugged and swallowed it down. 

“There will be no fun like that until you are fully healed, carissimi.” Fenris warned. Zevran chuckled. 

“I shall hold you to th-” He broke off, blinking slowly. He focused on Anders with difficulty. “There... there was something else in there....” He frowned drowsily, and then his face cleared a little. “Ah. Embrium,” he said in a faintly sing-song voice. “Sneaky, my dear friend, very... sneaky....” His eyes fluttered closed and his breathing deepened into sleep.

“He could taste embrium in with everything else, huh?” remarked the Bull.

“He is - or was - the Crow Master,” replied Fenris quietly. “No doubt he could identify every herb in the infirmary by taste or scent, and many more besides.”

“Far more,” agreed Anders. “I keep very few truly poisonous herbs in the dispensary. The most dangerous ones, I keep locked away. Zevran is far better versed in poisons and the brewing of such things than I am. I wasn’t really trying to fool him - not really. But by noticing the embrium, he didn’t notice that I’d augmented it magically to work far faster. He’ll sleep for a couple of hours at least.”

“You were itching to ask him something,” remarked the Bull. “Something real important to you. But you gave him that potion knowing how fast it would put him under.”

“Because his health is more important than satisfying my curiosity,” said Anders tersely, not looking at the Bull. He was aware of Fenris giving him a startled look; he kept his own gaze on Zevran’s sleeping face, unwilling to meet Fenris’ eyes. He reached for Zevran’s limp wrist to check his pulse - more as something to do rather than something he _needed_ to do.

“Looked like more than curiosity to me,” said the Bull. “But it’s also clear you don’t want to talk about it just yet. I’m not gonna push - but seems to me you’re gonna need to talk about it to _someone_ soon, just for your own peace of mind.” He got to his feet. “I can also see that you two have some talking to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” He fetched his axe then headed for the door; he paused in the doorway to glance back at the blond apostate.

“You decide you need to talk, my door’s always open, Anders,” he said, and then Anders and Fenris were alone.

Anders stared at the door, then finally glanced at Fenris and found the elf was studying him intently.

He suddenly found all the things he’d thought of saying had gone clean out of his head, and he had no idea what to say. He stared at Fenris and hoped the elf would speak first, but as the moments stretched, he realised that _he_ was also at a loss for words. Whatever they had to say to one another was also for Hawke’s ears; without him they couldn’t start.

They sat in silence, listening to the snowstorm still raging outside, and waited for Hawke.


	56. Chapter 56

Fenris cleared his throat and looked to Anders with a pensive expression. “Anders...I am sorry for what I’ve put all of you through. I’m at a loss and I’ve lashed out at you and Vic. It’s just...I feel useless here. Leliana wanted to use me as a spy, Cullen thought my talents would be better served with Scout Harding than with the soldiers; and I don’t have a good enough reason to join the Chargers.” He took a sip of wine as he pondered what else he could say before Hawke arrived.

“I’ve tried talking to Vic about some of it, but he’s enjoying himself far more than he or I expected in teaching the young mages. It’s taken so much of his time, and anyone else I would see is busy as well. I’m ...it’s so hard to find the words for what I need to say in Trade or Tevene. I know it is safe to speak of my feelings with you, but I am still scared of what you will think of me,” Fenris finished.

Anders got to his feet, pulling his loose outer robe close around himself as he began to slowly pace, feeling too restless to merely sit there waiting. “I think Hawke’s found a sense of purpose he’d been missing since Kirkwall,” he said slowly. “My place here was always going to be as a healer. But I can understand why you would feel the lack of a place here. Though... hmm.” He frowned as he paused, staring down at his boots as he explored a sudden thought in his mind. The faintest hint of an idea had caught his attention.

“What?” said Fenris. “You’ve had an idea. I can see it in your face.”

Anders slowly turned towards him. “The Inquisition takes a dim view of slavers - and from something Josephine mentioned to me the other day, I got the impression that the Venatori have been taking an active role in the slave trade along the Sword Coast. I know Cullen’s planning to send some patrols that way to investigate - and I think he’s planning to use the Chargers for it.”

He noticed the sudden keen interest that flared in Fenris’ eyes as his nostrils flared at mention of slavers, and he smiled. “Fancy the chance to hunt down slavers, my love? Would that give you reason enough to join the Chargers? You have unique knowledge that the Chargers would do well to respect on that score.”

Fenris stared at him, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Yes... that would certainly be a good reason,” he agreed.

“And you know you’d be returning back here after every patrol,” Anders added. “You’d have the chance to get out of Skyhold, put your skills to use, do some real, solid good and make the difference you want to for those poor wretches bound for slavery in Tevinter.”

Fenris got to his feet and suddenly grasped Anders’ upper arms firmly, startling the mage. Fenris claimed the mage’s mouth in an enthusiastic kiss, then laughed at the stunned expression on Anders’ face. “Love, you have found the answer for me! I shall speak to Cullen first thing in the morning - and the Iron Bull second!”

Anders smiled back at him.

"Thank you love, this has been a huge help." Fenris wrapped Anders in a hug and smiled up at him. Anders rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder and exhaled as though he had been holding his breath, not entirely certain of Fenris’ reaction.

“I’m glad I finally spoke to you, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.” Fenris said as he kept hold to Anders.

“And I’m sorry I lost my temper,” replied Anders quietly. “Not just over what happened in the tavern, but - but over Solona and my walking away and then the way I lashed out at you afterwards and - Maker, I’m still so sorry about that love, I-I shouldn’t have done that....” Anders’ voice broke and he clutched Fenris tighter, pressing his face into the elf’s shoulder to hide the tears that were stinging his eyes. He felt tired, light-headed; nerves raw from lack of sleep and food and a day that had been far too full of downs and not enough ups. 

Fenris returned his embrace and let Anders hear his own sob so he’d know it was safe to let go with him. “I deserved some of it.” he rasped.

“Don’t- d-don’t cry, or I-I- Fenris -” Anders’ shoulders shook and he gasped for breath raggedly.

“Too late love,” Fenris replied as he held Anders and let his own tears fall. He felt Anders start to crumple as the blond apostate clung to him, crying in real earnest, his breath coming in shallow, panting gasps, ragged and raw.

Fenris held him up as he let his own tears fall but was mostly silent as he let Anders lean on him. Neither man turned when the door opened and shut behind them, Fenris jumped when he felt a hand on the back of his neck and Vic’s voice behind him.

“What’s...what’s happened?” Hawke asked, worried more bad news had befallen them. Anders lifted his head slowly when he felt Hawke’s hand gently card through his hair; his eyes were red and he hiccupped as he tried to force down his tears.

“Nothing - well - only something that we should have done sooner,” he amended then sniffed hard; he blinked back his tears and tried to smile, though it came out a little watery. “Apologising to each other.”

“Alright, I was worried something else had happened. You two going to be alright?” Vic asked before pressing a kiss to each man’s cheek. Anders nodded.

“I think so,” he answered, then glanced at Fenris. “Love?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” Fenris pulled away so he could wash his face and reduce the puffy redness of his eyes.

“Do you want to come to my rooms for a bit? Zevran should sleep for a while yeah?” Vic asked as he found himself with his arms full of blond mage when Fenris stepped away.

“I’m sorry I was so angry with you both,” Anders whispered. He clung on to Hawke - not entirely out of affection; he’d felt briefly dizzy as he straightened. He should have eaten earlier, he realised. He should do something about that before he did something embarrassing, like faint.

“No, it’s fine. I was a dick to both of you,and I should apologize to both of you as well.” Vic leaned down and kissed Anders gently. “I’m sorry, I was an ass to you.”

Anders chuckled slightly, the effect slightly spoiled by his red eyes and the tear tracks on his face. “If you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have been wandering around in the snow to find Zevran,” he pointed out. “I couldn’t find the tavern in the snow, and then I heard him. So maybe it all turned out for the best. Maybe nearly freezing to death was my penance for losing my temper.”

“No, it shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry alright?” Vic wiped the tear tracks away with his fingers and gave Anders a slightly watery smile of his own. “You two will have me bawling in a moment.”

Fenris simply watched them, unsure if he was to get an apology as well. He wasn’t sure it was deserved after that moment in the tavern but he wasn’t going to drag that out again.

“Please don’t or I shall be a real mess and fit for nothing,” Anders warned him, blinking rapidly. He glanced to Fenris, then back to Hawke and lifted one eyebrow; he too was wondering if Hawke’s apologetic mood extended to their lover.

Vic gave Anders one last kiss before he went to Fenris and knelt before him. “I know you hate it when I loom over you love.” he took the elf’s hands, kissed each palm and looked up to him. “I am sorry Fenris, I know I’ve been a terrible ass and a bit of a hypocrite to you, and I hope you forgive me for it.”

Fenris stared down at him, a little surprised. He hadn’t been sure just what Hawke had been about to do when he dropped to one knee; for a moment he had had the fleeting thought he might have been about to produce a ring or make some great proclamation or proposal or something, so it took a moment or two for him to gather his thoughts together and formulate a response.

“I... I think perhaps we have both been as bad as each other, Vic,” he managed finally. “Perhaps we should forgive each other? You have my forgiveness; do I... do I deserve yours?” He hated the way his voice sounded - weak and uncertain. He stared down into the former Champion’s eyes, nervous and worried.

“Of course love, you have my heart and soul. You know that right?” Vic said as he grinned up at his lover. He turned and beckoned to Anders as well with a grin. He took the other mage’s hand in his and looked to both of them.

“I’m not good with words or feelings, and this might seem sudden but I’ve been thinking about us a lot. How, there is..there’s an emotional bond between us. I want to make it more...official, and I know I’ve been a terrible partner, so think about it for a while. But consider bonding with me? Us together, I would be, it’s...fuck, I thought I’d had the words but I’m messing it up. So...consider marrying me, maybe?” Vic asked with a hopeful smile for both his lovers.

Anders looked stunned. He stared at Hawke, speechless; he tried to speak but nothing would come out.

“Marriage?” said Fenris, equally taken by surprise as his earlier wild guess was suddenly proven right after all. “But... the three of us? Is such a thing even _possible_?”

“I’ve seen other marriages that people thought wouldn’t work. King Alistair is a warden yet he married.” Vic shrugged as he looked to Anders with amusement, then worry as the other man swayed. “Fen, I think he’s going to faint.”

Fenris glanced at Anders, then swore as the blond apostate’s eyes rolled back and his knees gave way. He managed to get his arm around Anders’ waist as he went down. “Maker, help me, Vic!” said the elf urgently.

“I’ve got him, easy love.” Vic let Anders down the rest of the way to the floor, and shuffled around until he had the other man’s head in his lap. “I didn’t think he’d faint.”

“He’s exhausted, I’ll bet he’s had very little to eat while running around today and I ...I didn’t think you would ever, you know. I’m...me and, Vic. I’m a little stunned too.” Fenris admitted.

Anders’ eyelids were fluttering and as Fenris spoke, he opened his eyes and looked around himself in dazed confusion. “What... why am I on the floor?” he asked faintly.

“You fainted when Vic proposed love.” Fenris replied. 

Invictus just waved at him and smiled. 

“I did?” he said, dizzy, as he put a hand to his head. “I’m sorry, it was... I wasn’t expecting it, and after everything that’s happened today, I don’t think I’ve eaten and... Maker. Did you - do you... you really mean it?”

Fenris leaned forward and gently stroked Anders’ face, glancing briefly up at Hawke then smiling down at the bewildered blond mage. “I really think he does, love,” he said huskily. “I-”

He broke off as Zevran suddenly shifted on the bed and muttered something in his sleep, then rolled over. “It’s burning... Maker forgive me, they’re burning....” he said distinctly and then made an odd little choked hiccupping sound before falling quiet again.

Fenris rose, his mirth gone as he stepped over to the bed and gently stroked the pale blond hair away from Zevran’s face as the other elf slept. “Be at peace, _amatus_ ,” he said softly. “It’s over. You’re safe. Sleep.”

Zevran sighed, then settled into a deeper sleep.

Hawke helped Anders to sit up. “Perhaps we should go somewhere else,” murmured Hawke quietly. Anders nodded.

“My room’s a little closer I think,” he replied softly. 

“That sounds good, let’s go.” Fenris said quietly. He and Hawke helped Anders to his feet, then they all quietly slipped out of the room to leave Zevran to rest.

“Fenris, you go with Anders to his room - I’ll go fetch food,” said Hawke. He waggled a finger at Anders. “Not a word - you need to eat!” He headed off in search of the kitchens, leaving Anders and Fenris to head to Anders’ rooms alone.

Anders made his way over to his workbench. He poked the brazier then lit it with a wave of his hand before setting a small pot of water over it to boil. He took a piece of elfroot and started chopping it up small.

“Love?” said Fenris, coming over to wrap his arms around Anders. The mage pressed one hand gently over Fenris’ hands as they rested over his heart, then scraped the chopped elfroot into an earthenware mug before adding a pinch of shredded willowbark.

“I just have a bit of a headache,” said Anders. Fenris pulled away then stepped around to stare up at Anders, worried. “Oh, no, nothing serious!” Anders added hastily. “Just from not eating I imagine, on top of everything else.”

They stood in silence whilst Anders waited for the water to boil; Fenris slung an arm around his waist as they waited, and Anders smiled slightly and wrapped an arm around the elf’s shoulders. They only moved apart when the water began to boil and Anders moved to pour it into the mug. He gestured to extinguish the brazier then carried the mug over to the table and sat down, setting the mug a little to one side to let the tea steep a while and cool enough to drink. He glanced at the snow still being driven almost horizontal by the wind outside, and shivered.

“Are you cold?” asked Fenris, startled; the room was quite warm.

“No, just... remembering,” replied Anders as he stared at the snow. “And wondering how many might have escaped from Haven. Varric told me that when Corypheus first struck the town, people escaped through the chantry - there was a secret passage that led out to a place high above the town. Maybe some of the townspeople and the chantry sisters might have gotten out that way?”

“You are presuming that they rebuilt the new chantry where the old one was,” pointed out Fenris.

“Oh,” said Anders quietly. “Yes... yes, I was. But... maybe something of that passage might still exist? There might be survivors out there.” _Mae might be out there._ He didn’t voice the words.

Fenris merely turned and stared pointedly at the blizzard outside; Anders turned away and reached silently for his mug of tea. He cooled it slightly with a little touch of ice, then sipped it slowly. 

Fenris checked the urge to give an exasperated sigh, and instead he came to stand behind Anders, leaning over to wrap his arms around the mage. “Your concern and your worry for the townspeople does you credit, love, no matter how unlikely their survival might be. And indeed, perhaps people such as they who are accustomed to dwelling in such an inhospitable clime as this would likely have a better chance than one from Tevinter such as myself or Dorian.”

_Or Maevaris._ The words hung unspoken between them.

Invictus returned to find the mood somber as he set the platter down. “What happened?”

Anders set his mug down. “The people in Haven... some of them might have gotten out. Some might still survive,” he said quietly. 

Vic frowned slightly but kept in the sigh he wanted to let go. “Let’s eat love, you need it and I’m hungry as well.” 

Anders stared down into his mug then nodded. “Likely my mood will improve with food,” he agreed.

“We can hope so. I should probably get back to Zevran, though I miss you both.” Fenris said then looked at Invictus. “What about...Zevran and I, if we have this bonding ceremony?”

Anders paused, in the act of serving himself from the platter, and glanced at Fenris, then Hawke. He’d been wondering about that himself, though it wasn’t his place to ask.

“I thought it better to leave that to you two once he’s recovered. I know you love him Fenris, I wouldn’t expect you to leave him. This would just make our bond more official, you know it’s already there in our hearts.” Vic said as he tilted the elf’s face towards him. “Do you think it will be a problem?” 

“I...don’t know Vic. He’s not even able to care for himself now, so asking him will have to wait.” Fenris glanced away for a long moment before he returned his lover’s gaze. “If I wanted to bond with him as well, would you allow it?”

Anders stared down at his plate, then began slowly to eat, flicking a glance at Hawke from time to time. He already knew _he_ had no issue with Fenris’ relationship with the other elf, but he’d always had the impression that Hawke felt a little jealousy over it.

Hawke seemed perplexed by the question. “Allow? Love, I would never keep you from Zevran. If he wants that from you, I will not keep you apart.” Vic leaned over and kissed Fenris on the cheek, then dug into his food. 

“No objections from me either,” Anders added as he reached for the mug of tea. “Though your hands are going to be wearing a lot of rings in that case,” he added with a smirk.

“I would wear them around my neck, rings get in the way of my sword work.” Fenris shrugged as he poured more tea and sat back in the chair. “Never thought I would have this, thank you both.”

“How...” Anders paused, frowned, then went on. “How exactly would we do this? I mean, we can hardly walk up to Mother Giselle and say ‘will you marry all four of us please?’ I mean, the Chant of Light and the laws of the Chantry are all quite clear about it - marriage is the union of two. It says nothing about three or four. Would she - I mean, have you actually talked about this with her?”

“Why would I talk about it with _her_?” Vic asked. 

Anders looked at him, nonplussed. “Because - because marriages are performed by the Chantry,” he said, bewildered. “Who else would perform it?”

Vic shrugged. “I thought maybe the Inquisitor, since the Chantry doesn’t really...I thought it was kind of gone? I’m not really...an Andrastian, you know that love.” 

Anders stared at his plate, uncertain what to say. The whole situation was completely unexpected, and he was more thrown by it than he really dared to let on - at least, not in his current state. He’d already been reduced to tears by a simple act of apology and embarrassed himself by fainting in front of them both, and he didn’t really want to examine too closely his own confusion and uncertainty until he was certain he wasn’t going to do or say anything else he might later regret. He continued eating slowly.

“Love, you don’t have to decide anything right now, ok? Let’s get Zevran healed up so he and Fenris can talk about it and we’ll go from there.” Vic came over and kissed Anders before he gave him a gentle hug. 

Anders didn’t quite trust himself to speak; he nodded as he leaned into the hug, closing his eyes briefly.

It took him a few minutes to realise something was different, and then he realised. The wind was no longer screaming so fiercely outside. He opened his eyes and stared at the window; it was still snowing, but the snow was falling as big, fat, soft flakes, not hurled against the window as driving ice.

“The blizzard’s ending,” he said softly.

“Good, maybe it won’t be so damned cold in the Keep now.” Fenris muttered.

“No, you don’t understand,” said Anders. “The only thing stopping the Venatori army from attacking was the blizzard. They’ll attack now.”

“I understand perfectly, and when they try to attack, I’ll wet my blade on the fools.” Fenris said with a hint of his old self. 

Somewhere deep in the keep, an alarm bell began tolling. Anders got to his feet. “I’ll be needed in the infirmary,” he said, worried. He grabbed his mug of tea and downed the rest of it hastily.

Fenris pulled him down for a kiss before he did the same to Invictus. “Be careful, both of you.”

“And you, love,” said Anders. He turned to Hawke and embraced him tightly before kissing him. “Be safe out there, love,” he said softly.

“Always, go on and get ready. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” Vic said before he waved Fenris off and got ready for a fight. Anders crossed to the wardrobe, stripping off his outer robe and reaching for one of the plain grey ones he preferred when healing, then snatched up his staff and set off for the infirmary at a run.

Fenris checked on Zevran again once he was back, worried about leaving him while he was still so ill. The Antivan was stirring as Fenris entered; as he leaned over him, Zevran’s eyes opened and he frowned faintly with a confused expression. 

“I hear bells,” he murmured. “But the Chantry burned. Why can I hear bells?”

“You’re in Skyhold _cariadad_ Haven is long behind you. Open your mouth, take more healing potion so you can sleep. You are in no shape to fight.” Fenris said as he thumbed open another vial laced with Embrium.

Zevran gave him a sleepy smile. “You would drug me to sleep, _carissimi_?” he murmured, but obediently drank the potion nonetheless. 

“I know you too well Zev, and I wish you to heal properly. I love you, and don’t want to lose you to this.” Fenris kissed him on the forehead and brushed some the long golden strands from his eyes. “Rest, my heart.”

“Come back to me safely, my heart,” slurred Zevran. He lifted one hand to gently stroke Fenris’ cheek; his hand fell limp and his eyes closed once more before he could quite complete the movement.

Fenris dressed in the armor that had been made for him especially for the cold climes around the Keep. He didn’t argue about the boots or thick, fur lined gauntlets, since they’d actually keep him warm. He ran out to find Cullen so he could be placed where needed the most. He actually gave the Commander a wicked smile as he waited to enter the fray.

Invictus had gone with Dorian to round up the mages that could hold the line with offensive magics together with Vivienne; to his surprise, Belann appeared with them. His expression as he took up his stance, his blades at the ready, told him that now was not a good time to question him.

He was aware of Solas leading out the mages who would be taking up the defensive lines in the courtyard, and another small group of mages standing together with a few chantry sisters, all wearing white robes with red over-cloaks that stood out like blood against the snow; it took him a moment to realise the mage giving them directions had dark blond hair tied back into a ponytail, not a slender mage with long blood-red hair. It seemed Anders had chosen to lead the frontline battle medics himself.

Invictus scowled at that but he knew if he second guessed his lover he’d never hear the end of it. He vowed to keep an eye on Anders as best he could during the battle. Fenris didn’t get the chance to lay into Anders because he was sent off to lead a small group to be the second line of defense if the Venatori made it across the bridge. He was going to have words for the blond mage once all was set and done.

From where Hawke stood on the battlements, he could see the torches carried by the Venatori forces clearly - in particular those clustered around a large object being steadily moved down the bridge.

“Looks like a battering ram, Inquisitor,” Cullen said darkly to Meneris.

Fenris glared at the coming forces. “Keep your footing, and watch the sides. Once they try to use that ram we might well tumble off the edge.” He pointed to the other elven member of their group, “Get one of the mages to keep the ice melted.” He called to the other human scout he vaguely recognized. “Get pots of oil up here so we can douse anyone who tries to climb up while they are distracted by the battering ram.” 

The elf headed along the battlements at a trot and shortly returned with Dorian. “What’s this about needing a mage?” he asked. “Fenris? You leading this little party then?”

“Yes, _amicus_ ,” Fenris replied without thinking as he leaned over to check on the enemy’s progress. “We need to stay warm and when ready, heat that oil to catch anyone who tries to scale the wall.”

Dorian shot him a startled look at _amicus_ , then smiled. He gestured grandly for everyone to stand back from the wall; then, with perhaps a trifle more flourish than was strictly necessary he cast a heat enchantment on the stones until they began to give off a comforting heat. Ice melted and ran off as warm water over the stones. One of the soldiers gave him a grateful look, and he gave her a casual wink and an easy grin as he leaned casually against the wall and folded his arms.

“You’re useful after all Pavus,” Fenris said with a slight grin. “I hope I get to mix it up with them on the ground. I prefer it.” 

“I am a man of many talents, _amicus_ ,” replied Dorian. He glanced out over the wall; the next moment, he leaped clear. “Watch out!” he cried as he hastily tried to throw up a barrier just as a large boulder smashed into the wall above them. Fragments of stone and rock fell towards them, but thankfully the barrier held.

“ _Venhedis_!” Fenris snarled as he looked up to see more boulders headed their way. “Vic, we need another defensive mage up here, NOW!” he yelled. Dorian was braced with both hands on his staff, holding it horizontally above his head as he strengthened his barrier; screams and shouts were erupting all along the battlements as boulders smashed into the battlements. Fenris could feel magic pulling on his brands as all along the walls, mages cast barriers to protect the soldiers they were assigned to, but still some rocks made it through. Some sailed completely over the outer curtain wall to slam into the walls of the inner keep; some landed in the courtyard. Some slammed into the battlements just below where mages maintained their barriers; as the wall and walkway above crumbled, mages and soldiers alike plummeted screaming down to the rocks below.

The muffled thud and twangs of their own catapults filled the air as the Inquisition returned fire, the battlemages hurling fireballs and lightning storms down upon the red templar forces on the bridge below whilst the catapults were trained on the army massed on the far side of the gorge. Few of the mages in Skyhold had the power or range to reach to the far end of the bridge with their spells - but on the other hand, that meant few Venatori had that range either, even with blood magic.

Another boulder slammed into the wall near Fenris’ group; Dorian began to swear fiercely in Tevene, the sweat beginning to run down his face and into his eyes as his arms trembled slightly under the strain of holding up the barrier under the impact.

“Get off the battlements! Dorian, drop your shield to just you as soon as we’re clear.” Fenris yelled before he cussed a blue streak when a piece of boulder whipped by. Dorian nodded, not taking his eyes off the boulder that was arcing towards them. As it started to descend, his swearing became more frantic.

“ _Venhedis_ no, no, nonono it’s coming in too low!” he shouted as they began to run past him. The last off was the woman he’d winked at; just before she reached him, the boulder slammed into the wall just below their position, taking out a section of the wall and crumbling away the stones beneath their feet. Fenris managed to grab the back of Dorian’s tunic and yank him back to safety, but the woman was not so fortunate; she disappeared out of sight with a last, terrified scream. 

Dorian stared back in horror as Fenris managed to drag him to the safety of the tower. He managed to get to his feet and nodded to the elf in thanks, then glanced back to the missing chunk of the battlements where they’d been standing a bare minute before.

“Let’s… get down there. I’ve got some Ventori to take my anger out on,” Fenris gasped as he tried to catch his breath. Dorian merely nodded, uncharacteristically quiet and thin-lipped.

The Venatori mages were hurling offensive spells towards the defenders on the walls from the last bridge-keep, their spells arcing across to strike every reachable target as below, a force of red templars rolled a battering ram forward towards the massive gates of Skyhold. Vivienne was hurling offensive magic of her own back, alternating between sending lightning storms down towards the red templars and fireballs towards the enemy mages. The Inquisition forces were raining arrows down on both the red templars and the Venatori, trying to pick off as many enemy mages as they could, but they were hampered by the Venatori’s propensity to use any blood spilled only to power more and worse offensive magic; many of the battle mages on the walls had been kept occupied with dealing with the force of demons that were now popping up here and there on the battlements. 

Fenris made his way to Cullen with a grim look. “The battlements are a lost cause to their catapults. We took some losses, but it would have been worse if not for the mages. What is the plan for the front line and where can I go kill Venatori?” 

“Fall back to the courtyard with your group and join the defenders there; that’s where you’ll be needed when they break that gate down,” said Cullen tersely. “They daren’t use their catapults now though - too much risk they’ll hit their own forces.”

“On our way; Dorian, get another mage that’s good with shields and join us,” Fenris called out as he kept his group on the move.

He was distracted as they headed down the stairs leading to the courtyard by a flash of light that illuminated something red up on the battlements; as he glanced up, he spotted two healers fighting alongside a group of four soldiers against a demon that had cut off their only avenue of retreat. It was the red of the healers’ cloaks that had caught his eye; he paused to watch as the taller of the two healers raised his staff and spun it one-handed as he turned to throw out a fan of ice with his free hand before following it up with a blast of lightning from the point of staff, the light from the spell illuminated the group of soldiers and healers clearly and with a start, Fenris suddenly realised it was Anders fighting, his pale grey healer’s robes already splashed and stained with blood. The blond apostate was fighting the demon with single-minded determination.

The other healer was helping two of the fighters deal with a third who was injured, leaving only the one warrior to stand alongside the apostate.

“Why are you stopping?” said Dorian. “Who’s that?” The Tevinter Altus narrowed his eyes as he stared, then swore. “That’s Anders, isn’t it? Maker, look - another demon behind the first!”

“All of you, get down to the courtyard _now_!” snarled Fenris. “Pavus, with me!” He didn’t give Dorian a chance to say anything as his hand closed about Dorian’s wrist; the next moment, they were on the battlements and behind the two demons that had Anders and his group trapped.

Dorian and Fenris soon had the hindmost demon defeated and destroyed, even as Anders finally managed to dispatch the one he’d been fighting. Anders rested the blade of his staff between two stones and leaned on it as he panted. His robes were dark with blood, his face flecked with it.

“How much of that blood is yours?” asked Fenris, restraining the urge to scream at him for endangering himself. 

“Very little,” Anders panted. “There would have been more if you hadn’t arrived just then though.”

“I thought you were safe in the infirmary!” exclaimed Fenris, angry.

“We don’t have time to fight about it,” Anders answered. “We’ve got an injured man we need to get there right now.”

“Anders, we’re going to lose him!” said the other healer.

“No, you won’t,” said Fenris tersely. “Dorian, make a portal.”

Dorian understood instantly; he gathered energy swiftly and cast the portal, snatching at the air with one hand to gather the tether. He nodded to Fenris, who took them direct to the door of the infirmary in the courtyard; the moment they’d arrived, Dorian opened the portal on that side, and then Fenris beckoned them swiftly through. Anders urged the others through and was the last to follow; the moment the blond healer was safely through, Dorian let the portal collapse.

“ _I’m going to murder him later for giving me whiter hairs,_ ” Fenris sniped as he turned to Dorian. “Do you need a rest, lyrium?” 

“Yes, I-” began Dorian, but broke off as a loud, dull booming sound rang out from the direction of the gate. They stared at each other as it rang out again; on the third time, it was followed by the unmistakable sounds of wood splintering and cracking, clearly audible in the frigid air.

“Oh _vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian groaned. “A rest will have to wait; just lyrium and a stamina potion will do.”

Anders reached into a belt pouch and thrust a small glowing blue vial into the Altus’ hand and held out a stamina potion. Dorian nodded his thanks and knocked them both back one after the other, then nodded to Fenris. 

“Unless I miss my guess, that was the main gate,” he said.

“Dammit,” Fenris said tiredly before he lit his brands. “At the least, I can teleport outside the gates if I have a target to aim for.” 

“Save your strength,” said Dorian. “They’ll come to us soon enough.”

“I might not have a choice, if it means keeping others safe and making a way out,” Fenris replied with a slight huff. 

“Fenris,” said Dorian warningly as he caught hold of the elf’s wrist, ignoring the warrior’s warning snarl. “If you get your fool self killed because you overstretched yourself, then _if_ any of us survive this, do you realised that Hawke and Anders will force me to raise your no-doubt very bloodied yet still beautiful corpse from the dead just so they can scream at you for getting yourself killed? Before no doubt doing the same to me for letting you die,” he added off-hand. “Save your strength; we can run there. Save your ability until we really need it.”

Fenris pulled his arm free and got himself under control with a terse nod. “Get our group in line and let’s get back out there.”

Dorian nodded, and they ran to join their group along with several others that had retreated from the battlements down to the courtyard to meet the threat there.

The gates hung drunkenly from what remained of their hinges, smashed and broken; red templars were pouring into the inner courtyard around the abandoned battering ram. The troops in the courtyard surged forward to meet them with a loud roar.

“ _Amicus_ , keep the scouts safe; those of you with a sword and shield, with me!” Fenris called out.

It was a nightmarish, hellish fight, lit by torchlight and the light of the mage’s spells as they hurled fireballs and cast lightning, and by the baleful red light that emanated from the crystals growing from the very bodies of the red templars. The air was full of the screams and cries of the wounded and dying as the Venatori forces sought to press forward through the broken gates and the defenders strove to drive them back.

At some point there was a sudden rush of reinforcements from the battlements, and Fenris turned from dispatching one foe to find Hawke stepping over the bloodied corpse of another behind him. “Watch your back, love,” the former Champion muttered tersely before giving him a brief, harried grin.

The fight wore on, and there seemed to be no end to the enemy forces driving through the gates. Bodies were stacking up just inside the gates - enemies and friends both, the defenders slowly being pushed back into the courtyard as they fought desperately to keep the enemy bottlenecked by the gate. The night wore on slowly. Fenris had just lifted his head to glance around as he wrenched his sword free from the body of yet another templar, when he heard the sound of a horn blowing. His eyes scanned the courtyard then spied Blackwall, of all people, standing atop the stairs that led into the keep; as eyes turned his way, he began to leap down the stairs. 

“Withdraw!” roared Cullen from the battlements above. “Inquisition, _withdraw!!_ ”

Bewildered, Fenris glanced round, seeing the Inquisition troops falling back; and then he heard an unearthly howling sound coming from the direction of the stables. A moment later, a crowd of mages surged forward on foot, all drawing upon their mana as they ran, screaming, into the courtyard; the sheer raw force building in the air set every hair on Fenris’ body on end.

Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, and to Fenris’ surprise Anders all ran forward; the blond apostate was limping heavily. Anders glanced to Hawke and shook his head as the Champion made to join them; Belann leaped down from the battlements and ran out to Anders’ side. The five mages spread out to face back down the length of the bridge, and at a shout from Solas the serried ranks of mages released their mana straight into the five waiting mages. As the rest of the Inquisition watched and the Venatori forces in the courtyard stared bewildered, the five mages moved in unison, their hair rising about their faces as the air around them became supercharged with raw power. Then as one they released the spell and a massive wall of fire hurtled steadily from their outstretched hands and roared out along the bridge, incinerating everyone and everything in its path.

Hawke’s eyes were on the massive conflagration they’d unleashed; but Fenris only had eyes for Anders, who at the moment they released the spell had closed his eyes tight.

Fenris ran forward even as Cullen shouted at him, he knew something was wrong with his lover. He got to them just as Anders swooned into Invictus’ arms. “What’s the matter?” asked the elf.

None of the other four mages were faring much better; Solas and Belann were still on their feet - just - but Vivienne had collapsed, and Dorian had dropped to one knee, exhausted. 

The other mages pitched in to fight along the rest of the Inquisition troops; they soon had the remaining Venatori and red templars dealt with. Though Cullen had shouted for the Venatori at least to be taken prisoner, the enemy all fought to the death until only the Inquisition were left alive.

The stench from the conflagration upon the bridge was indescribable. Not a single living thing was left standing the entire length. The heat radiating off the stones themselves forced everyone back away from the gate; Hawke and Fenris dragged Anders away, Solas and Belann managing Vivienne between them as Dorian managed to stagger after them under his own steam.

“Stand aside, let me through!” called Cullen as he pushed his way past the throng in the courtyard to where Anders and Vivienne had been laid out. “Maker, when you suggested this to me, Solas, I never thought we’d have to actually use this as a tactic!” His face was pale and near exhausted beneath the dirt of battle, blood smeared, half-dried, down the side of his face from a cut above his right brow.

“Maker...that was brutal. My brands ache, even as far back as I was.” Fenris said quietly.

“We could not have been certain that it would have fully worked, Commander,” replied Solas. “It was very much a tactic of last resort.” The elf was sporting an array of cuts across his face himself; as Fenris glanced around, he realised no-one there had escaped at least some superficial wounds. Belann was trying to staunch the flow of blood from a ragged cut across his left shoulder; he was missing several pieces of armour, and what remained was battered and dented. 

“Have Anders taken inside to his rooms before he wakes up,” Cullen ordered. “I want him well aware from that stench; the last thing any of us needs is our best healer going catatonic.”

“Or any of us, I’ll never get that noise or smell out of my mind;” Vic said tiredly. He wanted to just carry Anders in but that was beyond him. Cullen glanced around then waved to a couple of the infirmary healers, who ran off to fetch stretcher-bearers. Cullen stepped back out of their way and stood next to Dorian. 

“That was....” said Cullen; whatever he was going to say was lost as Dorian’s knees suddenly gave way and the Commander had to catch him swiftly before he could hit the hard paving stones of the courtyard.

Meneris saw Dorian nearly go down and ran over to his side. “Love, what did you all do? I felt that in my mark.” 

“Inquisitor, you recall how the Redcliffe mages were able to give you the power needed to close the breach at Haven?” said Solas. “This was a variant of that. A group of mages providing raw power to five trained mages, each powerful in their own right, but together with that powerful force behind them, they become something else again - weaving the same Wave of Flames spell in unison. Quite devastatingly effective, but of a necessity it was something we’d only theorised might be possible. The theory was sound, I’m glad to report - though it is taxing upon the mages who are the focal points, of course.”

Meneris’ eyebrows rose to his hairline as he pondered what Solas had told him, then drew down in a scowl as he realized what that could have meant for the five mages, including Dorian. “I’m going to have words with you, Solas; the only reason I am not screaming bloody murder is because I don’t want to let them see me try to cleave you in two right this moment. Get out of my sight; once they are recovered, we will have a reckoning.” 

“Inquisitor, the scouts on the battlements - well, the ones not puking their guts out at the moment - report that what remains of the Venatori army appears to be retreating. What there is of it, anyway,” Krem reported, eyeing Dorian and the other mages with a slightly disbelieving look. “ _Malum_ , I saw some fucked up shit in Tevinter but that was on a whole different level.”

“Tell me about it. Get a count of casualties, injuries and such by the noon meal tomorrow. Get the dwarven craftsmen on those battlements at first light to assess damage. I’ll be in the infirmary with the mages.” Meneris slipped his fingers over Dorian’s face quickly just to be sure his lover still breathed.

“He’s still alive, Inquisitor; just exhausted I think,” said Cullen. “He’d already helped Fenris rescue a couple of healers and a patient from the battlements earlier in the battle, and Anders will have been hard at work. I saw Vivienne take on several demons herself; likely she, Dorian and Anders had already near-exhausted themselves before they all did...” Cullen gestured towards the gate as his voice tailed off. “That,” he finished quietly.

Two stretchers had been laid out, Anders laid on one and Vivienne on the other. Cullen lifted the unconscious Dorian up easily into his arms. “Cassandra, take over,” he called as he and Meneris turned to follow the medics carrying Anders and Vivienne inside. 

Invictus and Fenris sat with Anders once he was set on a cot, with Vic getting a cool cloth for his head and ready with potions for him. Fenris held one of Anders’ hands as he ignored his minor wounds and aches.

Cullen carefully laid Dorian down on an empty cot; Vivienne had been laid out on another, several of the chantry sisters coming forward to take care of her. Cullen straightened and stared down at Dorian thoughtfully, then stepped back out of Meneris’ way. Dorian’s eyelids were fluttering already as he slowly returned to consciousness.

“H,i love, that was an impressive stunt you all pulled out there,” Meneris said as he sat next to his Altus. Dorian opened his eyes and glanced up at Meneris then smiled tiredly.

“Not one I wish to repeat any time soon,” he replied then slowly sat up. “That was... quite indescribably appalling to have to do. I don’t think I shall sleep at all easy tonight, my love.”

“I daresay no one who witnessed it shall. Once Hal checks you over, I want you back in our rooms,” Meneris said.

Hal hurried over, looking harried and tired; he moved first to Vivienne, checking her over. After a moment, he straightened, then hurried over to Anders.

The moment he touched the blond apostate, Anders’ eyes snapped open and he lashed out frantically as he sat up and scrabbled backwards, his breath coming in a frantic pant as he tried to get away.

“Easy love, easy. We’re in the infirmary, and it was just Hal,” Vic said as he wrapped his arms around Anders and spoke softly in his ear. “Relax, please.” 

Anders gasped for air. “I’m... I’m going to be sick,” he managed to get out breathlessly. Hal hastily grabbed a nearby empty bucket and handed it to Hawke, who set the bucket on the floor then held Anders’ hair back as the blond mage vomited. 

“I can’t say I blame him,” said Dorian faintly. “In fact I’d say there’s much to be said for his reaction.” 

“Here, wait - let me -” began Cullen as he hastily grabbed another bucket, but Dorian waved him off. 

“No, I... I’ll be alright, just... just give me a moment,” said the Altus faintly as he lay down again.

“Love, are you alright?” asked Meneris, worried.

“No, not really,” said Dorian softly. “That was really rather horrible. I mean... I’ve used fire spells before; I’m no stranger to fire magic after all. But I’ve never unleashed anything on that kind of scale. I really don’t want to think too hard on just how many we -”

“If it helps, then from what we know of red lyrium then what you did was a mercy,” Cullen interrupted him quietly. “Those poor bastards will be at rest - and the Venatori were all blood mages. Who knows how many innocents they’ll have slaughtered for their foul rituals? How many lives did you save tonight, Dorian? That’s what you should be asking yourself - not how many you killed.”

Anders lay quietly in Hawke’s arms, exhausted and silent. His eyes were closed, but Hawke knew he was listening to Cullen. Fenris hesitantly took Anders’ hand again, half-expecting Anders to pull away; but Anders merely half-opened his eyes and glanced at Fenris before closing them again. Hawke gently stroked a hand through Anders’ sweat-darkened hair.

Fenris frowned thoughtfully. “We should get him out of these bloodstained robes,” he murmured. Hawke glanced down at them in surprise; he had thought at first that Anders was wearing dark red robes, but as he stared, he suddenly realised Fenris was right. The colour was blood, soaked through the fabric.

“Come on, let’s go back to Hawke’s room and we can get you cleaned up and in bed.” Fenris tugged gently at Anders to get him to sit up.

“Where do you keep spare robes love? Or something of mine should fit you for tonight. Get up, I know you hate being carried if you can walk.” Vic grimaced at the feel of drying blood where his hands brushed against his lover. 

“Is he hurt anywhere?” asked Cullen, his tone almost anxious. “That’s... none of it is _his_ blood... is it?”

“I don’t think so Cullen.” Fenris said softly. He roused Anders to his feet and with Vic’s help tried to get him to walk. Anders took a step and winced, then sagged against Vic. 

“Actually... some of it might be,” he admitted quietly.

“Alright, Vic you get him stripped, I’ll go get some bandages.” Fenris said as he steered them back towards the cot. “Dammit you are so fucking stubborn, why didn’t you say you were hurt!” 

“Didn’t hurt until I tried to walk,” replied Anders quietly. “Adrenaline kept me going. And you’re a fine one to talk.” He tried to smile, but it came off lopsided and was rather ruined when his leg buckled beneath him.

“Don’t talk shit about him when you can’t even stand up love,” Vic replied as he got Anders supported enough to get him lying down again. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Fenris stood there instead of looking for something for Anders to wear, he was more worried about the way he’d nearly gone down. 

Anders winced as he tried to straighten his leg. “It’s superficial stuff mostly,” he tried to protest. “Only, one of the bastards caught my knee, and I think something gave.” 

“I’ll fetch Hal, unless you just need to rest so you can heal it yourself?” Fenris asked before he made a face at the mess that was Anders’ leg as Hawke peeled back the robes and the shredded tatters of the blond apostate’s pants. “You need Hal, I’ll be back.” 

“Make sure he brings really potent painkillers!” Vic called out to his lover. “Something gave? It looks like whoever got you nearly took a good chunk of your knee. Can you do a nerve block so you don’t scream bloody murder in my ear when I clean it?” 

Anders fell back onto the bed with a grimace. “Just give me a moment,” he said faintly. For some reason it hadn’t hurt as much when he hadn’t seen the extent of the damage, but now it was hard to concentrate on anything else. The adrenaline had worn off, and he suspected he’d likely worsened it when he woke up so suddenly and tried to get away from everyone.

“Maker, Anders - how did you not notice?!” exclaimed Cullen.

“Probably the same way you haven’t noticed the reason for the blood running down your arm, Cullen,” Anders said quietly. “And Meneris hasn’t said anything about the reason he’s favouring several ribs on his left side, because he’d forgotten them whilst he was so worried over Dorian but he’s noticing them now.” 

“Stop telling on everyone to avoid accepting that you damned near lost a leg.” Vic said with a raised brow. “I’m not hurt, so don’t look at me. But Fenris was limping, the bastard.”

“You’re dangerous with the ability to spot wounds even when damn near chopped up yourself.” Meneris grunted as he shooed Dorian’s hands off him. “I’ll be fine...I think.”

“I’d be a bloody poor healer if I couldn’t do triage at a glance,” replied Anders. “They stirred up dragons in the Bone Pit often enough that Hawke gave me plenty of practice at it, even if I hadn’t already been pretty good anyway. Besides,” he added with a small smirk, “I have help.” He shifted incautiously on the bed and then his breath caught in his throat as the blood drained from his face. “M-Maker,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the pain. He suddenly could barely think for the agony in his leg, and it was taking all his concentration not to scream.

“Love, what can I do?” Hawke asked. Anders gritted his teeth; he could feel perspiration trickling down his face. He was going to start screaming soon in spite of himself.

“Put me out,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Rest love, rest.” Vic put Anders out with a whispered word and three fingers to his forehead. Anders’ eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped, unconscious.

Cullen was staring at the blood pooling beneath Anders’ leg; abruptly he shouted for healers, for Hal, for anyone capable of actually helping. Hal was running back over, his eyes wide in alarm. 

“What’s wrong, what happened?” he asked, breathlessly, then swore in Antivan as he threw himself down, the glowing blue of healing magic surrounding his hands as he reached towards the long sword slash that had nearly taken out Anders’ leg.

“You’ve been around Zev too long,” Fenris muttered. Hal snapped something back at him in Tevene that had Dorian sitting up in surprise and staring at him. The red-head ignored both of them, closing his eyes as he concentrated on healing the unconscious apostate.

“I didn’t teach you that!” Fenris quipped.

“Well, don’t look at _me!_ ” exclaimed Dorian.

“Hal spent rather a long time hanging out with the Bull,” said Cullen slowly.

Hal muttered something in Qunlat that Fenris was fairly certain cast aspersions on the Commander’s parentage.

“Hal!” Fenris replied in rapid fire Qunlat back at the young mage to watch his manners. Hal snapped back at him without opening his eyes, telling him just exactly what he could do with his manners, and the bronto he just rode in on, and the whole damned Inquisition to boot if he didn’t shut up and quit distracting him. “Unless you _want_ me to botch this healing and leave Anders with a permanent limp - in which case, by all means be my guest and continue carping about my _fucking language_ ,” he finished with a vitriolic hiss.

“Fenris. Shut up,” said Cullen tersely.

The elf simply sat down and gawked at Hal as he worked. 

As the mage worked on in silence, the Iron Bull came over. “Hey, Boss,” he greeted Meneris quietly. “Courtyard’s clear. Numbers of the dead will be on your desk come morning once Leliana’s done tallying ‘em. Dwarves’ve gotten temporary gates rigged up. Cassandra’s still busy with the men.” He glanced at Hal. “Kadan,” he said quietly, then asked him something quietly in Qunlat; after a moment, Hal replied. The Bull nodded. “You know where to find me, Kadan,” he said quietly as he turned away and headed back out again.

Hal finally sat back and brushed loose hair out of his face with a trembling hand. “It’s done,” he said quietly.

Fenris remained quiet his gaze on Anders as he took in what Bull called Hal. Kadan was not an endearment given lightly. 

“Thanks Hal, can I be of help now?” Vic asked as he brushed his fingers over Fenris’ shoulder and gave him a smile. 

“I don’t know,” he said wearily as he glanced around. He blinked tiredly. “Cullen. You’re bleeding. Inquisitor, your ribs... Maker, so many to take care of,” he added, in tones of one who went past his reserves of strength some time ago and had been running on adrenaline and lyrium for perhaps longer than was wise. He got to his feet and glanced round for bandages.

“May I help?” Fenris asked softly.

“Bleeding needs to be stopped, but... wait, you were limping earlier as well...” Hal paused in indecision. 

“Healer, I think we can take care of things now,” said a chantry sister as she approached. “All the life-threatening injuries have been taken care of.”

“But the Inquisitor, the Commander....”

“We’ll be fine, Hal,” said Cullen gently. “I think you need rest.”

“Anders shouldn’t be moved for a while anyway, I should check on Zevran, I’ll be back in a bit.” Fenris said as he got up and winced. “Or not.”

“You’re hurt... how bad?” asked Hal.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to lie down. I don’t want you telling me...those things again, some aren’t even possible I think.” Fenris said as he crawled onto a cot next to Anders and closed his eyes.

“Don’t be hardheaded, let Hal look at you then he’s going to bed himself. No matter what he threatened to do to you and your grandchildren to come.” Vic grinned as he waved the younger mage on. Hal blushed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things,” he said as he approached Fenris’ cot. “But you _were_ distracting me, and I... I’m sorry, I was just....” He stared at Fenris and slipped back into Qunlat, knowing that the elf was the only person there who would understand. “ _There are times when you need to lean into the anger because it gives you the strength you don’t have alone,_ ” he said softly. “ _Tell me what is wrong._ ”

“ _Took a couple hard hits to my left leg, it’s not broken but ...it’s probably strained badly,_ ” Fenris replied. Hal nodded. He fished a vial of lyrium out of his pocket and knocked it back, then sat down on the edge of the cot to begin healing Fenris.

Cullen frowned as he saw how Hal’s hands shook as he took the lyrium; he turned aside to the chantry sister. “How much has he taken?” he asked softly. 

“Five since the blizzard ended, ser,” she replied. His frown deepened and he moved slowly to be within arm’s reach of the young mage. Hal’s eyes were closed; he was oblivious to all around him as he healed Fenris’ leg.

“That’s the last one he’s going to take today,” Vic said as he watched Hal work.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Cullen softly. “Hawke, if you would be so kind? I think we should be certain Hal sleeps.”

“What?” asked Hal, distracted, as he opened his eyes, his work on Fenris’ leg done.

“Come on, you need to sleep young serah,” Vic said as he nudged Hal to a far cot and cast sleep on him before the red-head could argue.

“Thank you,” Cullen exhaled slowly. “And now, I think I will make do with a poultice and some sleep; I think we should all get some rest.”

“I agree,” murmured Dorian, already half-asleep sprawled on his cot.

“I’ll go check on Zevran and find somewhere to lay my head for a few hours. I’ll be back to check on you all later,” Vic said as he gave both his lovers a kiss on the cheek before heading off.

Anders’ only answer was a faint snore.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is feeling better and a whole lot of frisky. Anders realizes he doesn't have to give in to every desire and the Inquisition deals with the aftermath of the Venatori attack.
> 
> TW: Blood play, biting kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long ass chapter, but there was no good place to put a break

In the light of day, the extent of the damage was clearer; not only to the battlements, but to the bridge. Each of the gate-keeps had been swept away entirely by the force of the mages’ wall of flame; about mid-morning, Cullen and a number of his captains had walked the length of the bridge. It had been scoured clean, every living being reduced to ash, the very stones themselves cracked in places from the heat. Where the Venatori army had amassed on the far side, there was a vast empty space, the ground still radiating heat. Farther out, they could see the burnt-out remains of tents and the scattered corpses of men and beasts of burden alike.

The work of rebuilding and clearing began in earnest that afternoon. Josephine and Cullen inspected the damage together before drawing up plans for rebuilding. The dwarf engineers would need time to properly survey the bridge and establish what repairs would be needed to make it safe before any heavy loads were allowed to cross it.

The dead were given funerary rites; the pyres were set upon the far end of the bridge. No-one was ready to face the stench of burning flesh so soon after the Clearing of the bridge. That’s what they were all referring to it as now.

Anders, Fenris, Dorian and Vivienne spent a further day in the infirmary before being moved back to their own rooms. Fenris was back on his feet first; Zevran’s fever had broken that night even as the battle raged, and though weak, he slowly recovered his strength.

Meneris raged at Solas for a full hour over the way he had endangered the Inquisition’s most senior and most powerful mages. When Solas had admitted that there had been a not-negligible risk that any or all of them might have been burnt out by the act of focusing that much power through them, Meneris’ rage had gotten the better of him. Solas sported a distinctive black eye for a few days afterwards.

The dispensary was kept busy for a while with requests for sleeping draughts; later on, as lessons in the mages’ tower resumed, several of the tutors reported that many of the mages were having difficulty with fire magic.

It was a week later that scouts found the first living survivors from Haven. A small group; four men, eight women, three children - one of them a babe in arms. One of the women was tall, with curly blonde hair; she stood straight and regal in her once fine rags; despite the bandages covering her arms and the scarring cut over one eye, she had commanded fire in her hands as she ordered the scouts to state their names and business. It was only when they assured her they were from the Inquisition that she finally relaxed.

They had been sheltering in a cave on the mountainside since the destruction of Haven; though Maevaris’ magic had kept them warm, they were starving and exhausted, and on arrival all were taken to the infirmary, including the magister who had saved them.

Fenris had taken to a small spot in the library that was out of the way, and known only to his lovers and Dorian when he needed space or just wanted quiet. It also meant he could hear a lot of the comings and goings on the floor below. He kept looking over the rail with each shout until he had to go look. He barely recognized the tall magistra as she came in with the others. Though it pained him to do it, he headed off to find Anders and let him know.

He headed down to the infirmary and straight to the dispensary when he didn’t see him among the healers tending to the few patients. “Anders…”

The blond healer glanced round, then smiled as he set down the knife he’d been using to chop embrium with and reached for a cloth to wipe his hands with. “Hello, love,” he greeted him. “Something I can get you?”

“No, I...your magistra yet lives, and is here. I saw them arriving and wanted to let you know.” Fenris’ voice was low as he at Anders briefly then away. “I’ll be in my spot in the library, or maybe the tavern when you are done speaking to her.”

“Mae? Mae’s alive, she’s _here_?” exclaimed Anders. “ _Where??_ ”

“Probably headed in here with the other survivors, I figured you’d want to know.” Fenris said, refusing to look up at the expression on his lover’s face.

He heard voices in the corridor, and then before the elf could flee he heard the door open.

“You should see the healer first, he’s just this way -” said a male voice, and then there was silence.

“Hello, Anders,” said Maevaris.

Anders lifted his eyes from Fenris to stare at the blonde magister. She looked tired and in pain, but she managed to smile politely at him.

“They said you were dead, but I didn’t believe them,” said Anders quietly. “I knew you were still alive.”

“Alive, yes,” she nodded. “In pain, half-starved, and exhausted - but you should know it would take more than that to put me down.”

“What happened? How did you escape?” he asked her, coming forward as Fenris shrank away, watching them miserably. Anders reached for her hands but she pulled them away without meaning to.

“We’re tired, Anders; there are three children who need your help and we all have injuries that need attention,” she replied. She turned and headed into the infirmary; despite the rags she wore, she moved as though she wore the finest Orlesian silks in her own drawing room in Qarinus, not this clinic where soldiers were sporting injuries from the siege. She turned and gestured imperiously to Anders. “Your questions will have to wait until later.”

A look of hurt confusion filled Anders’ eyes before his expression became closed and shuttered; he moved forward, and turned to the woman carrying the baby, his demeanor one of professional detachment as he addressed his healer’s duties.

Fenris scowled as he watched them spread out. He came out and let her see him, sure to give Maevaris a smile as he approached Anders. “Love, I’ll be in our rooms when you’re done.” The warrior left with a kiss to Anders’ cheek before he walked right past Maevaris without giving her a second look.

The magister ignored him as though he were merely one of the servants, her attention on Anders as the healer set to work.

Dorian was waiting outside Anders’ door as Fenris headed towards it; the Altus was frowning slightly, but his expression cleared as he spotted the elf. “Ah, Fenris! I wanted to have a quick word with Anders, but I gather he’s not in; would you mind passing on to him -” He broke off as he took in Fenris’ scowl. “Oh dear. Dare I ask?”

“She survived Haven and he’s got his best hangdog look going.” Fenris snarled as he tried to gather himself. “Apologies, you don’t deserve my anger over her appearance. Did you need something else?”

“She?” said Dorian, frowning; Fenris suddenly realised the Altus had no idea who he was talking about, as he remembered that Maevaris was an old friend of the Altus.

“Magister Tilani survived Haven and is in the infirmary. I needed to leave,” he explained further.

Dorian’s eyes widened. “Maevaris was in _Haven?_ ” he exclaimed. Fenris belatedly realised that no-one had actually told Dorian. The Altus looked stunned. “But... no-one told me, I had no idea - _Venhedis_ , she might have died and I would never have known!”

“I thought you knew? She was on her way here to have...words with Meneris about us rescuing Anders. She’s in the infirmary if you need to see her for yourself, excuse me please.” Fenris skirted around the other man so he could get to his room or find Hawke. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Behind him, he heard Dorian repeating to himself, “I never knew!”

Fenris’ rooms were closer than Hawke’s; he went there first, and found Zevran sitting on the windowsill, one bare foot braced against the window frame, the other leg dangling out the window as the Antivan elf sharpened one of his long fighting knives. As Fenris paused just inside the door, Zevran’s hands stilled on his blade and he cocked his head to one side to stare at the white-haired warrior.

“There is something wrong,” Zevran said quietly. “You are unhappy.”

“I can’t hide anything from you, _carissmi_ ,” Fenris said as he sat on the bed and beckoned Zevran over.

The former Crow pulled his foot back in through the window and dropped down lightly to the floor, sheathing his knife and tucking away the whetstone as he padded over to the bed. He slipped onto the bed and curled around Fenris to rest his head in the other elf’s lap as he looked up at him. “I heard the way you walked,” he said softly. “Your heart is troubled. What is it?”

“It seems that Anders’ Magistra survived Haven along with some others. It sounds ridiculous to say it, especially in light of Invictus’ proposal, to worry that he may yet hold feelings for her. I am still angry at her for helping convince him to leave for Qarinus. I fear I will lose him if I cannot control my hurt,” Fenris admitted as he let his free hand card through Zevran’s hair.

“Proposal?” said Zevran, his smile quizzical. “What is friend Invictus proposing to do? ...ohhh, yes, _carissimi_ , you may keep doing that,” he added, his eyes slipping closed as Fenris’ fingers trailed through his hair.

“I told you of Invictus’ proposal to bond, but as I fear you were still too unwell to recall it. We still need to talk about it. Anders was concerned with how the four of us, or three if you are not the marrying type, would work if the ceremony was done by the Chantry. I was surprised to find that he is a devout Andrastian, even now.” Fenris stared ahead as he let his fingers massage the other elf’s scalp. 

“That is not what bothers me, it is what her return could mean for us if he still has feelings for the Magistra. I cannot...I can not abide it if he wishes to be with her as well.”

“Has he ever given you reason to suspect that he has?” asked Zevran quietly, his eyes still closed.

“He went with her to Qarinus - well, was on the way before we got him back. Varric said he...had been with her quite a bit in Halamshiral. I want to say it was because of all the fighting before they left, and his injury but I wonder sometimes if he misses the company of a woman, what we cannot give him.” Fenris replied.

“There are many beautiful women here in Skyhold,” Zevran mused. “I have seen many of them looking favourably upon him. He is easy upon the eye, no? And he is gentle, a healer - that makes him very attractive in women’s eyes. He would have his pick of women if he wished it.”

“I fear asking him, what if he says yes and resents us for it? I don’t know Zevran, I’m just worried about her reappearance. Would it be terrible if I admit to you that I almost wished she perished? Not fully but her return is irritating me.” Fenris sighed as he sat with his Antivan, worried of how Zevran might take that.

Zevran finally opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris. “That is unworthy of you, _carissimi_ ,” he said reprovingly. “Tell me, how did he react when he saw her? Did he snatch her up into his arms? Did she throw herself lovingly into his embrace?”

“He was happier to see her, than she was to see him. I am sorry, I am...not a good man Zevran.” Fenris looked away, unable to take the censure in Zevran’s gaze.

“Then it is as well that I am not a good man either,” replied the Antivan with a grin. “So, he was happy to see her, but no declarations of love? He did not throw her down and ravish her before your very eyes, outraging the chantry sisters and scandalising the servants?” As Fenris scowled, Zevran shrugged and closed his eyes again. “A pity; the servants here are growing too complacent and could use a good dose of scandal.”

“That is not funny Zev. To see that would have been like a knife in my heart.” Fenris continued to comb his fingers through the blond locks of his lover. “Well you could ravish me, it’s been far too long since I’ve been shoved against a wall and taken.”

Zevran opened his eyes slightly. “Hmm,” was his non-committal reply. He frowned slightly.

“Not in the mood I take it?” Fenris replied; the hint of disappointment was too much to keep from his lover. Zevran winced.

“It is not that, my heart,” he said slowly. “I am... not certain how much of my strength I have regained. I have not been ill like that since I was at your mercy back in Kirkwall - when I was poisoned and you would have watched me die, had Anders not taken pity upon me.”

Fenris looked away again, ashamed of how he’d been towards Zevran so long ago. “Forgive me that, some day.” he rose to get water or wine, so he wouldn’t have to think about how things might have turned out if he’d let Zevran die back then.

“I already did, many times over, my love,” replied Zevran; he had moved only enough to allow the other elf to rise. He rolled over onto his back, hanging his head over the edge of the bed to watch Fenris upside down. “But if it would ease your heart again to hear it? Then I forgive you. I forgive you for each and every time that you have, by thought, word or deed, either caused me physical harm or mental pain. There; is that sufficient?”

Fenris took a sip of wine then nodded as he came over with a drink for Zevran. “I’m sorry, I am not handling things well today. Will you lie with me for awhile, I need...I need…” Fenris sat his glass aside and stretched out on the bed with a look at his lover. “Hold me for a while?”

Zevran lifted his head, then sat up, shifting around so he could lie upon the bed, his head resting upon the pillow. He held out an arm so Fenris could snuggle in against his side. “Better?” he asked softly.

“Yes; sorry I am being so needy today, _carissimi_ ,” Fenris said as he tugged the covers over them.

Zevran pressed a kiss against Fenris’ temple. “I apologise in advance if I fall asleep, my love,” he said quietly. “This bed is very comfortable, and I have not yet recovered my full strength.”

“It’s alright; you need your rest, my heart. Besides, you are warm and this is relaxing,” Fenris said as he kissed Zevran’s jawline up to his pulsepoint. “I may well fall asleep with you.”

As Fenris’ lips brushed his pulse, Zevran gave a soft gasp then shivered slightly. “There,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded.

“There what, cariadad?” Fenris asked before he took a chance and bit Zevran on the same spot.

The low, throaty groan that came from Zevran told him he’d been correct. Zevran pressed his head back into the pillow, arching his neck and turning his face away from Fenris a little to bare more of his throat enticingly.

“Please,” he whispered.

“So I just need to sink my teeth in to get you more interested?” Fenris asked as he rolled over and tugged Zevran’s hair so he could leave more bite marks on his lover’s long neck. “Mine?” he asked between each bite, pressing a little harder each time.

“Yours,” agreed Zevran, then after the next, bite, “Yours!” His cries grew a little louder and more frantic until Fenris’ last bite, deep into the flesh between his neck and his shoulder, drew blood and Zevran screamed “ _Yours!!_ ” His fingers were clawed into the sheets beneath him, his golden eyes wide and staring.

Fenris licked his lips at the taste of blood. “Easy my heart, easy. Is it alright I bit so hard?” he asked as he turned Zevran’s face towards him.

Zevran could only reply with a faint whimper, his pupils large and dark as he focused on Fenris with an effort. He was panting lightly; after a moment he managed to nod. “More?” he whispered.

The elven fighter gave him a slight smile as he straddled Zevran’s hips and tugged his tunic off before he leaned in to kiss the other elf for a while. He pulled back enough to tilt Zev’s head to the side and find another spot to bite him. “Never took you for a _sangrese, mi amor_ ” he whispered before he took another deep bite higher up on his lover’s neck. He felt Zevran buck slightly beneath him as the Antivan gasped with the pain, before moaning, long and low. After a moment, Zevran chuckled breathlessly.

“Rarely... rarely had a bedfellow I trusted with blade, _carissimi_ ,” he confessed. “At least, not in that sense.”

“Is that what you wish? To play like that? I have had such play done to me, but never with my consent, I admit I would like it with you, if you wished it.” Fenris said before he leaned in to lap at Zevran’s wounds.

“Never...thought I’d like this but seeing you so wanton, tasting your blood...carissimi, you bring out such things in me.” Fenris whispered before he leaned in again to kiss Zevran, while he reached down to untie the string holding his sleep pants closed.

“The feeling of my life in your hands.... _carissimi_ , you have no idea what that does to me,” Zevran groaned. “The sight of my blood on your lips... let me taste it!” he pleaded.

Fenris did as he was asked, sure to let Zevran taste himself as he stroked the other elf slow and steady. “What do you want? To have me at your mercy love? To whimper for me as I take you hard and fast?”

“Yes... that,” whispered Zevran, rolling his hips against Fenris as he ran his tongue across his lips, tasting traces of his blood there from the kiss they’d shared.

“Talk to me, tell me exactly what you want Zev, in Antivan.” Fenris said as he watched his lover react to his touch.

“ _Your teeth.. your touch... **ah**! Yes, there!_ ” Zevran moaned as Fenris’ fingers dragged slowly across his skin. As Fenris sank his teeth into Zevran’s shoulder, the Antivan groaned louder, rolling his hips against Fenris. The white-haired warrior could feel Zevran growing hard against him.

Fenris grinned as he watched Zevran, and got an idea. He slipped behind his lover and resumed stroking him as he found new places to sink his teeth into. “ _You trust me so much, it’s heady to know a man who can easily take my life allows me to hold his in my hands. You know that I feel the same, when I feel your hands around my neck, and your cock deep in me. I could die happy like that, knowing you love me so much._ ” Fenris told him in Tevene, his teeth grazing his lover’s ear as he finished.

“Fuck...can’t decide if I want to fuck you, or have you take your blade to me.” he moaned.

“Blade... yes,” whispered Zevran, his eyes glazed and their gaze unfocused. As Fenris sank his teeth in again, the Antivan shuddered slightly. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice slurring a little.

“Mi cariadad, amatus.” Fenris said as he reluctantly let Zev go and nudged him towards his weapons. “Pick one and have at it.”

Zevran turned his head slowly and stared at Fenris, his eyes still glazed and unfocused, as though he couldn’t quite follow; and suddenly Fenris realised just why Zevran had been so wary as to not entrust his life to anyone in quite that way. The Antivan wasn’t fully with him. He’d seen Anders slip into this form of altered consciousness before, but he could never have dreamed that Zevran could be vulnerable to it. Perhaps it were some after-effect of his illness, the Antivan feeling more open and vulnerable in general? Fenris had no idea.

“Zevran, I need you to do as I tell you. Pick a blade, one you would use to play with someone else and come back to the bed. Do you understand carissimi?” Fenris asked as he waited for an answer, if it wasn’t forthcoming he was going to get someone to help him bring Zevran back to himself. The last thing he wanted was to harm his lover by doing the wrong thing while he was in so deep. Zevran was merely staring at him, a look of trust on his face, his eyes still glazed as he rested against Fenris, merely waiting for whatever Fenris chose to do to him.

Fenris caught himself from frowning, he didn’t want the other elf to think he’d displeased him. “Lie down and cross your wrists over your head for me carissimi.”

“Yes,” sighed Zevran quietly as he lay down, lifting his hands up above his head as he’d been told. He kept his eyes on Fenris, his golden gaze dreamy, as was the faint smile that curved his lips.

Fenris gave him a smile as he pulled his clothes off and crawled over his lover, worried for how deep Zev had gone but wanting to make it good for both of them. “Ask for me to bite you, I want to hear you say you want it my heart. Nod if you cannot find the words.” Fenris watched Zevran watching him, as he hoped he wasn’t doing things wrong. He was used to topping the others, not so much with his elven lover.

“Yes... bite... bite me... please,” Zevran managed, his eyes on Fenris as he watched him; the Antivan appeared to be trying to focus his gaze on Fenris’ eyes. “I... I want you to... bite me,” he whispered.

“Yes...I want you to enjoy this so much my heart.” Fenris said as he tilted Zevran’s head to the left so he could mark the other side of his neck. He sunk his teeth in deep, and continued to leave a mark that would darken easily on his lover’s skin. “Mine.” he purred before he moved on to another spot.

Zevran moaned, the sound going straight to Fenris’ groin. “Yours,” he managed to whisper; as Fenris’ teeth sank in again, Zevran’s body arched against him. The Antivan’s eyes rolled back as he moaned and rutted mindlessly against Fenris’ hip; his eyes slowly opened again as he fell back against the bed, panting.

“I want you to come from this, while I sink my teeth into you, make you bleed for me again.” Fenris moaned in his ear before he nibbled at his earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you Zev, or make you ride me till I come in you. Can’t ...oh, Zev.” Fenris bit back a moan as he felt the other elf rutting against him.

Zevran whimpered faintly, the sound needy and urgent as the Antivan closed his eyes again; his hands clenched into fists above his head before slowly uncurling. “Please,” he begged. “Please.”

Fenris curled his hand around Zevran's cock and began to pump him steadily as he bit hard enough to draw blood again, enough to lap up and kiss Zevran so the other elf could taste himself. Zevran's hips snapped up into Fenris' grasp mindlessly as Zevran whimpered half-articulate pleas for more; Fenris smiled and sped up his strokes. He pulled back with a dangerous look in his eyes, his hand still pumping at Zevran's cock as the Antivan writhed beneath him. “Come for me, don’t hold back,” he whispered as he dabbed at the other wound and rubbed his fingers over Zevran’s lips while he stroked him fast as he could.

Zevran’s breath was coming as frantic gasps now as his body jerked and twitched beneath Fenris; he whimpered as he felt Fenris’ fingers touching the bloodied wounds around his throat then lapped eagerly at his own blood as it dripped from the lyrium-marked fingers. His gasps became more and more frantic until he came hard, throwing his head back with a hoarse scream.

“So good, such a good boy.” Fenris moaned as he slowly pulled his hand free and slid two fingers into Zevran’s mouth. “Love seeing you so eager, so open for me.”

Zevran suckled his own seed from Fenris’ fingers, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy now, his cheeks flushed as he panted softly; he seemed to be drifting half-awake but still not truly aware, his expression still trusting, open and vulnerable.

Fenris leaned in and kissed Zevran again, his own expression loving even as he remained in control. “Rest for a moment, then I’m going to take you, slow and easy my heart. I want to see every moment of it in your eyes.” he slipped away to get a wash cloth and water for Zevran.

“Drink, easy alright?” Fenris said as he pulled Zevran up against his chest and handed him the glass. “Need help?”

“Please,” Zevran nodded, his voice still a little hoarse. He rested against Fenris, blinking slowly; as Fenris lifted the glass to his lips he drank slowly. It wasn’t until Fenris had set the glass aside that he realised Zevran still held his wrists crossed, though his hands were loosely curled and relaxed now.

“You can uncross your wrists love, take a moment to relax.” Fenris pressed kisses to Zevran’s face before he cleaned him up and laid him back on the bed. He got a bottle of oil and watched Zevran as he poured some on his fingers. “Once I’m in you, I want you to bite me as well, give me the same pleasure.”

Zevran was blinking a little more rapidly now, his eyes a little more focused as he stared at Fenris. “ _Carissimi?_ ” he murmured, questioning.

Fenris wiped his hand clean and turned to Zevran. “Yes love? are you alright, please tell me you remember all we just did?”

“Yes, I... I remember,” Zevran nodded. He swallowed, then winced slightly, feeling the ache of bitemarks around his throat, before slowly smiling. “That was... very nice,” he murmured.

“Good, good. I was worried for a moment. Do you wish to continue love?” Fenris asked as he passed Zevran another glass of water. Zevran sat up and took the glass, cradling it with both hands as they shook slightly; he sipped slowly. Fenris took the glass when Zevran lowered it, then lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, by all means,” nodded Zevran. Fenris smiled then leaned forward, pushing Zevran back down to the bed. He fisted his hand in Zevran’s hair then yanked hard until the Antivan was forced to bare his throat once more. He bent down and licked a broad, wet stripe up the front of Zevran’s throat as the Antivan groaned, then he licked back down again, feeling Zevran’s throat vibrate beneath his tongue as the other elf moaned again; then he sank his teeth into the bruised flesh, feeling blood spill across the skin as Zevran cried out, his breath hitching in his chest. When Fenris lifted his head, Zevran’s eyes were drawn to the sight of his own blood dripping from the white-haired warrior’s lips; and his gaze lost its focus once more.

“With me still?” Fenris asked as he leaned over Zevran, his lips brushing against the other elf’s before he pulled back slightly.

Zevran stared up at him then nodded slowly. “Still here,” he whispered softly. “Just.”

“Good.” Fenris kissed him again and stretched out on top of his lover so he could pin his hands over his head again. Fenris pulled back finally with a low purr. “Stretch yourself while I watch.”

Zevran held his eyes as the Antivan drew his knees up a little, sliding one hand down his taut stomach then dipping down between his legs to slip two fingers inside himself. He began to fuck himself slowly with his fingers, dipping deeper as he slipped a third finger inside, twisting and thrusting his digits inside himself then faster, never taking his eyes off Fenris as he steadily fucked himself. He bit his lip and then finally let his head drop back with a stifled moan, his hand still working, twisting, thrusting.

“Maker...you’re beautiful.” Fenris moaned as he got the oil again, and added more than he normally would since Zevran hadn’t used any. He finally pulled the other elf’s fingers free and slid two of his in to give him some lubrication. “I want you to scream but not like that.” he whispered.

Zevran groaned softly as he ground down onto Fenris’ fingers then lifted his head; a trickle of red wound its way down his chin from where he’d bitten his own lip hard enough to make it bleed. He ran his tongue across his lip, smearing it with crimson, then grinned.

“Dirty boy, you wanted it to burn a little.” Fenris straddled one of Zevran’s legs and pulled the other over his shoulder. He leaned in as he began to stroke slow and steady until he was flush against his lover. “Beg me.”

“Please, _carissimi_ ,” Zevran breathed. “Please... please move, I need....” He groaned, trying to roll his hips against Fenris.

“This?” Fenris asked as he slid back and then snapped his hips against Zevran. He laughed at the intake of breath from his lover before he nipped at Zevran’s leg, just enough to let the other elf feel his teeth, not break skin. He felt Zevran shiver beneath him before the Antivan lifted a hand to his bloodied lips and bit lightly on his knuckles to stifle a whimper.

“Please, _carissimi_ , it’s not nice to tease,” he moaned.

“You know I’m not nice.” Fenris said with a wicked chuckle. He stared at Zevran as he picked up the pace, each thrust nudging his lover towards the headboard. “Beg… more.” he moaned.

Zevran gasped with each thrust. He could feel himself still very close to that warm, safe space where he could just float again, but Fenris wasn’t giving him quite enough to push him back there again, and he couldn’t take himself there on his own.

“Please, _carissimi_ ,” he pleaded softly. “Please, I need it. I can’t... not on my own... it’s not enough, I... _please?_ ”

Fenris moved them so he had Zevran’s legs wrapped around his waist, and he was leaning over the other elf. He gave him a devious grin before he went for one of the darkening spots he’d already worried. He bit down just shy of drawing blood but he continued to fuck Zevran, hopeful he could give him what he needed.

He felt the other elf buck beneath him, shuddering as Zevran felt Fenris’ teeth fasten on the painful spot once more; Zevran keened quietly, the sound trailing off into a ragged sob. He began to faintly whimper; Fenris could only just make out that he was pleading in Antivan, the words so slurred and incoherent that they were only barely more than half-verbalised. His eyes were closed.

The Tevinter elf sped his thrusts so he could find his own pleasure, but also to take care of his lover. “love you.” he mumbled against Zevran’s throat as his thrusts stuttered and slowed.

Zevran’s heart was racing; Fenris could feel it beneath him, the Antivan’s breathing frantic gasps. Zevran had come utterly undone beneath him, his skin sheened with sweat and bloody, bruised. His eyes were closed, but as Fenris’ thrusts slowed, Zevran opened his eyes. They were unfocused, faintly confused as he stared around himself, and he made a faint sound of bewilderment, as if uncertain why it was over.

Fenris slid free gently, didn’t pull away, he gave the other elf brief kisses as he caught his breath. “Do you need more love, just nod if you can.”

Zevran glanced up at him, bewildered, then managed to fling his arms around Fenris’ neck and clung to him as he pressed his face against Fenris’ shoulder until his panting slowed and quietened. He knew Zevran was slowly coming back to himself when he felt him gently press light kisses to Fenris’ shoulder and then the side of his neck before finally releasing him.

“Love?” Fenris asked quietly when he felt Zevran’s touch. As Zevran finally let go, he glanced up at Fenris, his eyes clear again.

“Sorry, I... I was not quite... myself,” Zevran said softly. “Thank you, my love.” Though his eyes were no longer unfocused, there was still something trusting and open about his smile as he stared back at Fenris. “I have not done that in a very, very long time.”

“You’re welcome, I hope...I hope I treated you well. I admit I worried about it when you seemed to fall deep into that headspace.” Fenris gave him a shy grin as he stretched out and held his lover close. “ _Te amo, mi cariadad._ ” he whispered in Zevran’s ear.

Zevran tucked himself in against Fenris’ side, his head nestled against Fenris’ shoulder. Now it was over and he was no longer deep under, he could feel the aching throb of the bruising and contusions along his throat and across his shoulders, the burn of sweat in the bloodied bites. He knew he should go seek out Anders and have him tend to the bites, but right now his mind felt clear and calm as it hadn’t in so very long, and he could feel himself starting to slowly drift into sleep.

He heard Fenris call his name softly, but he was too far gone towards sleep to reply. Fenris got settled and curled up with Zevran, drifting off to sleep as well.

***

Anders felt rather out of sorts. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected a reunion with Maevaris to go, but that had most certainly not been it. It had been stilted, distant, tense; as though he had been complicit in his own kidnapping. He had retreated into bewilderment, then finally cold formality. When Dorian had arrived, anxious to see Maevaris, he had excused himself and then made straight for Fenris’ room, not trusting himself to his own company. He was in a dark mood and he knew if he spent too long alone he would fall to brooding. Perhaps a while in Fenris’ company would shake him out of it.

The door to Fenris’ room was open a crack; Anders brushed it open without thinking, pulling it closed behind him. His momentum carried him several feet into the room before the smell of blood hit him. He stared at the two elves curled up together on the bloodstained bed in horror.

“Maker, _no!_ ” he exclaimed as he hurried over; he stared down aghast at the dark, livid bruises and bite wounds that covered Zevran’s throat and wound across his shoulders. Even the unconscious Antivan’s lip was bloodied and bitten. There was blood on Fenris’ skin as well, though Anders couldn’t see sign of the wounds that had bled.

“No, no, how - no!” cried Anders as he threw his hands out towards them both, throwing healing magic into both still bodies.

Fenris sat up and grabbed Anders’ wrist with a snarl, his fingers digging in painfully. “Stop shouting! What is wrong with you?” he asked as he felt Zevran stir next to him. “We were sleeping.”

“Blood - where did all the blood come from?” Anders exclaimed. “Look - Zevran -” He laid a hand on the Antivan’s bare shoulder.

Fenris had a split second in which to realise what was happening, yet unable to warn Anders, as Zevran’s eyes snapped open to a dangerous blankness. The next moment, Anders was sent flying backwards as the Antivan assassin suddenly launched himself at the mage’s throat, Anders’ wrist wrenched from Fenris’ grasp. The blond mage hit the floor hard on his back; Zevran atop him, the assassin’s forearm pressed across the apostate’s throat. Anders made a brief choking noise then went limp; a second later, Zevran pushed himself away from the unconscious mage and began to swear in Antivan as he paced.

Fenris wrapped a sheet around himself as he rose and gathered Anders into his arms. He glanced at Zevran. “You know which pressure point will wake him, come over here.”

Zevran turned back towards him, looking uncertain. “You think that is wise? He should wake shortly of his own accord, I... do not think it would be well to wake him as quickly as he awakened me.”

“How soon is…” Fenris turned as he heard a rather pitiful moan from Anders. “I guess that would be now. Can you hear me love?” he asked.

“One day I will remember not to wake up Zevran by actually standing over him,” Anders groaned. “That... _was_ Zevran and not one of my own worst nightmares just randomly trying to kill me?”

“It was Zevran,” replied the assassin, staring at Anders from several feet away, his eyes remorseful as he bit at his thumb. “And I was not trying to kill you... fortunately.”

“Can you stand up?” Fenris asked quietly as he glanced back to his lover.

“I’d consider being able to _sit_ a good sign right now,” Anders said querulously as he tried to do just that, his movements somewhat unco-ordinated.

“Give yourself a few minutes,” suggested Zevran quietly.

“Alright, sit there I’ll get you some water.” Fenris got Anders sitting up against the wall and let the sheet drop, after all it wasn’t like Anders hadn’t seen him naked before. “Here you go love.”

“Thank you,” replied Anders, his voice rather colourless. “Will someone please tell me why your bed is full of blood and Zevran has bite marks and bruises all around his...” His voice trailed off, and then he groaned as he buried his face in his hands. “I really, really should have realised.”

“I’m guessing it looked like someone tried to murder us if you just came in, huh?” Fenris said apologetically, he sat on the sheet and rested a hand on Anders’ knee as he waited for the other man to speak.

“The reason why Zevran has bite marks all over his throat is because _you_ were biting him,” Anders guessed. “And you couldn’t have cleaned the blood up? Maker, I thought you’d both been attacked! I saw the blood everywhere and I didn’t think - I just went straight in and - ugh. Whatever it was you did to me, Zevran, I deserved it for being an idiot.”

“Just a simple chokehold,” said Zevran, shrugging apologetically. 

Fenris blushed as he looked at Zevran then back to Anders. “We...ah, wore each other out and fell asleep.”

“Must have been good, though I didn’t know Zevran was into bloodletting,” said Anders. “Well, not recreationally, anyway. That is - I mean -” He groaned and buried his face again. “An assassin. Into bloodplay for... ugh.”

“Love…” Fenris was cut off by Hawke’s loud swear.

“What in the Void happened? Are you hurt?” Vic asked as he shut the door.

“Great, now we just need Bull or Dorian to walk in on us. I’m fine Vic, Zev is fine...we just, we were ...playing?” Fenris finished and tried to give Vic a smile.

Zevran shrugged and smiled at Hawke. “The play was a little rough, no? But good. Unfortunately Anders got the wrong idea and... the result was... not good.”

“The word you are looking for, Zevran, is _embarassing_ ,” groaned Anders.

“Nearly _mortifying_ , yes?” Zevran suggested. Anders lifted his head and merely glared at him.

“It looks like someone tried to kill you both, no wonder he thought that. I didn’t know you went in for bloodplay Fen.” Vic said with a raised brow.

“Invictus Hawke,” said Anders quietly, his eyes on the floor again. “Look again. Which one is sporting bite marks.”

Vic looked at Zevran again and covered his mouth as he grinned. “Oops, sorry love.” He offered Anders a hand up if he wanted it.

“We..are you upset with me over this?” Fenris asked quietly.

Anders lifted his head and frowned at Fenris. “Me?” he asked quietly. “No, I - why should I be upset? It’s not like - no, I’m not,” he said, shaking his head firmly as he dropped his gaze again.

“I...just want to be sure you didn’t feel left out or thought I hurt Zevran.” Fenris said as he fiddled with the sheet.

“Love, bloodplay isn’t my thing, so I’m ok with this.” Vic said as he helped Anders to his feet. The blond mage kept his eyes on the floor as he leaned back against the wall, standing now but looking very much as though he would rather not be, as he swallowed hard.

“Could... could you... do something about all the blood, please?” he asked, slightly plaintively.

“Of course, Vic get him in a chair I’ll change the bed.” Fenris said as he shooed Zevran off to clean up. “Get washed up, and I’ll do the same in a moment.”

Vic frowned at Fenris though the elf couldn’t see it. He seemed more bothered by them finding them like that than he anticipated. He handed Anders more water as he watched his lover change the bed linens.

Anders sipped the water slowly, keeping his eyes on his hands. “I just... I don’t really understand,” he finally said quietly. “You... after Tevinter, after what happened to you... I don’t understand?”

“Not discussing that right now.” Fenris replied tightly as he realized the water in the basin was too filthy to use. “Pardon me a moment.” he escaped to the bathing chamber to calm himself before he lashed out at Anders. It was a reasonable question, he didn’t have a reasonable answer at that moment.

He could hear Anders’ voice through the door. “I shouldn’t have said anything... He’s angry, I should have kept quiet.”

Fenris washed up quickly and came out to find Anders and Invictus still arguing, albeit in lower voices. “I’m not angry.”

Anders jumped when Fenris spoke; water spilled from his cup over his fingers. He made a faint little sound of annoyance, shaking the droplets from his fingers.

Fenris came up to Anders, and held him close as he looked up at the mage. “I’m not angry with you alright? It’s...it took me by surprise.”

“Zev, let’s let them talk while we get something to eat sent to my room? I’m afraid of what people might think at those bruises.” Vic said with a wink at the other elf.

“You don’t need to go, we can’t keep splitting up every time something needs to be said.” Fenris said as he rested against Anders chest and closed his eyes. “I love you Anders, please don’t be upset.”

Anders was silent, wrestling with his own thoughts and reaction. He felt torn. He wasn’t angry that Fenris and Zevran had been playing together, but the nature of their play had him bothered - the healer in him was _very_ bothered; he knew only too well how prone human bites were to getting infected, and the sight of all that blood had had him in a panic. And the bites were on Zevran’s throat - it would have been far too easy for Fenris to have misjudged in the heat of the moment and bitten too deep....

But there was a deeper, darker part of him that was... almost envious. Even though he knew too well how badly he tended to react whenever Fenris or Hawke had gotten carried away and bitten him too hard; spilling a mage’s blood was dangerous, after all.

“Anders?” said Fenris, uncertain, and Anders realised he’d been silent too long.

“I was afraid for you both,” he whispered. That, at least, was the truth.

“I admit it was foolish to be so rough with Zevran still healing but there’s more to it isn’t there?” Fenris asked.

“If... if you’d gone too far... Fenris, far too many died during the siege; people I couldn’t save. Bad enough that I couldn’t reach them in time - but Zevran?” He lifted his head and stared at Fenris. “Games like that... that goes beyond anything we’ve ever done together, and I -” He broke off and glanced up at Zevran. The assassin was regarding him with a thoughtful look, and Anders felt his breath catch in his chest. _He knew._

“This isn’t just about how dangerous it was to play like that, is it?” Fenris asked softly.

Vic poured them all a glass of wine and sat with his, silent so he wouldn’t make it worse. He’d figured out what the problem was but he wasn’t going to make Anders admit it until he was ready.

“Fenris,” said Zevran very softly.

The elven warrior looked to Zevran in confusion, unsure what he’d missed. “What?”

Anders glanced from Zevran to Hawke, and as he took in Hawke’s expression he felt his heart sink. It felt like he had been cut wide open for anyone to read him... with Fenris the only one unable to read, jabbing him and digging to find the truth.

He reached for his glass of wine and took a hasty mouthful to stave off the need to say anything for a few moments more.

“Some things do not come so easily from a frightened heart, my love,” said Zevran gently. “Particularly when that heart is terrified to learn what it has concealed.”

“Very well, I will drop it. Apologies Anders if I have hurt you. I’m going to go take a bath, if you wish to stay I would like it. If you need to go, I will understand.” Fenris said as he let go and rummaged for his bathing supplies.

Hawke sighed but didn’t snap at Fenris to stop doing his best hangdog impression.

Anders waited until Fenris was in the bathing chamber and the sound of water pumping would mask his words before he turned to the other two.

“Am I really so obvious to everyone except him?” he said quietly. He stared at Hawke. “Zevran’s figured it out. I can tell from your face that you have too.”

“I wasn’t going to embarrass you love, I figure if you wished to admit it you would.” Vic said quietly.

“It’s not a matter of wishing to,” said Anders with a groan. “It’s...”

“It is a part of yourself that frightens you, no?” said Zevran gently. “You want it and yet the idea terrifies you.”

“Blood is dangerous,” said Anders firmly, his eyes on his glass. “Mage’s blood... it’s not safe. You both know how I feel about blood magic. About having my blood spilled like... like that. I - no. I -” He could feel his chest heaving; he was taking shallow breaths, far too fast. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself calm.

“It is only dangerous when there is intent to use it, my friend,” said Zevran. “I can assure you, Fenris was not going to use it, even if he had the ability.” He smiled. “And Hawke most certainly would not.”

“That’s not the point!” Anders shouted as he slammed the glass down on the table. It shattered, and Anders gave a cry as he stared at the blood welling up in his hand from the lacerations in his palm and fingers.

The pain and the sight of the blood snapped him out of his rising panic; it were as though it served to focus and clear his thoughts. _I don’t have to do this,_ he suddenly realised. He was aware of Hawke rising from his chair and swearing as he reached for Anders’ hand, Zevran casting him a worried look; the bathing chamber door opening as Fenris appeared, wet and dripping and alarmed. Anders rose from his chair as he stared at the blood.

He drew on his magic, applying a simple nerve block before he plucked a couple of long shards of glass from his palm then swiftly began healing himself.

“Anders, let me -” began Hawke, but Anders waved him off as he turned and walked a few paces away from the table, concentrating on stemming the bleeding then closing the cuts, the skin sealing and healing over even as he turned back towards Fenris, who was coming towards him with a worried look.

“Love, what happened?” the elf asked, reaching for Anders’ bloodied hand, even as the blue healing glow faded.

“I was clumsy,” replied Anders. “It’s alright, I’m fine now. I just need to wash my hands.”

“Are you? Are you truly alright?” asked Fenris in a low voice as he held Anders’ wrist loosely.

Anders smiled. “Truly,” he said, and it was true. He felt... fine. Whatever this dark desire was he felt down inside, he realised he could leave it there. He didn’t have to examine it, explore it; he could turn away from it, and he was fine with that. Fenris and Zevran could have that together. 

“I...worry for you love.” Fenris said quietly as he looked up at Anders.

“I’ll be fine,” said Anders softly. “What’s wrong? Look... what you and Zevran have... I can’t share in that. But... it’s OK. I’m OK with that. Honestly.”

“It’s not that, it’s… what you said about me being alright with it after my life in Tevinter. I’m...it’s just got me thinking.” Fenris said, unsure of himself as he stood there with naught but a towel.

Anders glanced at the others. “Hawke... could you go get something for us all to eat love?” He glanced back to Fenris. “I need to wash my hands - let’s go back into the bathing chamber, I can heat that bath water for you, and you can tell me what’s on your mind?” he suggested.

“Sure.” Fenris replied quietly.

“Of course love, Zev want to come with me?” Vic asked. The Antivan elf straightened from where he was leaning against the wall, watching them all with a worried expression; he nodded and turned to dress himself.

Fenris had pumped more water in and was waiting for Anders to heat it up. Anders followed him into the bathing chamber and lowered his unbloodied hand into the cold water, channelling heat in swiftly until the water steamed. After so long together, he knew almost instinctively just how hot the elf liked his bath. He lifted his hand from the water and smiled at Fenris before turning away to rinse the blood from his fingers. He dried his hands slowly on a towel as the elf got into the water, then stripped off his over-robe and rolled up his sleeves as he moved to the side of the tub and took up a bar of soap to start slowly washing the elf’s back.

“So... what changed?” asked Anders gently. 

“Me...I suppose. I, I don’t want to be defined by what I survived Anders. It made me who I am to a point. But I want, I need to move on. I didn’t realize that I’d ...I’d like that with Zevran. It surprised me as well, but I’m safe with him and it made a difference.” Fenris kept twisting a flannel between his hands as he tried to get his thoughts together. “I’m not good at speaking, I know what I want to say but it’s hard to find words for some reason.” 

Anders smiled lopsidedly, though the elf couldn’t see it as the blond apostate took a flannel and began to rinse the suds from Fenris’ back. “I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s hard not to let our pasts dictate who we are; they are what makes us, really - but they confine us as well. Sometimes you have to let the past go, to find out who you really are.” He wrung the flannel out in his hands as he wrestled with the right words. “It’s... something I’m slowly learning myself.”

“I’m afraid Anders, more than I think you all realize. I worry about this, being here in the Inquisition. There’s a lot I ...still cannot speak of out of fear for what might be thought of me. Or thinking too hard on my past will make me spiral out of control again. I hate being in one place for so long, but I know it’s safe here; for now.” Fenris closed his eyes and shuddered. 

“I shouldn’t be going on like this, I don’t know why I’m babbling about all this now. I guess things have come to mind that I was holding on to and I don’t know what to do with it. I’m sorry to be like this.” 

Anders moved around so he could kneel down beside the tub and face Fenris, slipping a hand into the water to take Fenris’ hand. “Fenris, we both need to stop running away,” he said quietly. “We both have much we can offer - we’ve earned the right to be here. We don’t need to flee. Though, Maker, I understand wanting to. Mostly I’m happy here but sometimes I look up and find myself thinking I’m trapped here, I’ve been here too long, I need to find a way out - it’s hard to remember that here, things are - well, not perfect, but this is where it’s starting. I see mages living here with the freedom I always wanted; I see mages dining alongside templars, and - and Fenris, some of the children? They aren’t afraid of the templars, and some of the younger templars - I’ve seen them playing with the young apprentices! It’s... it’s like everything I ever dreamed of or wanted.” The blond apostate’s eyes had misted with tears even as he smiled. “And I wonder, what’s wrong with me that I can’t just settle down, be happy; why is a part of me always trying to run away?”

“Same reason I probably am, I keep feeling like a magister is going to pop up and try to collar me and take me back to Tevinter. Or that I’ll do something so bad you all will send me away and I’ll be alone again. I used to like being alone, not worrying for anyone but myself. It’s all changed and I think that scares me when I think on it too much Anders. I’m...not used to being happy or free yet, even with all we have together. Maker I must sound so ungrateful, I’m sorry.” Fenris squeezed Anders hand before he went back to wringing at the flannel.

“I think I’m still half expecting Cullen to come drag me back to a cell, or that Cassandra will insist on that trial she went on about when Meneris pardoned me,” confessed Anders. “I dream of her putting a noose around my neck and sometimes when I see her walking down the hall I have to fight the urge to turn and run. D’you know, Cullen was better than any of the other templars at catching me and dragging me back to Kinloch? Him and Ser Rylock. He was the one who caught me that last time before they put me in solitary for a year. I think he still feels guilty about it sometimes. Other times I find myself wondering if he just wants to put me right back there again - but I know it’s only my own fears talking. If I asked him, I’m sure he’d be horrified at the very suggestion.”

“I understand. I half expect your Magistra to treat me as a slave once she is up and about again.” Fenris winced. “That was ill done of me love, my jealousy got the better of me, apologies.”

Anders’ face had fallen at mention of Maevaris; he glanced away, his eyes dark. “She’s not my Magistra. I think I’m possibly her least-favourite person after Dorian. She... blames me for what happened to her people. All her servants died in Haven, and she barely got herself and those few survivors out.” He toyed with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. 

“I’m sorry love, that was wrong of me to bring her up. Let’s get out of here and lie together for awhile? Please?” Fenris asked quietly. Anders was silent for a moment, then drew a deep breath and let it out in an almost silent sigh before nodding. He got to his feet and reached for a towel for Fenris.

“I shouldn’t let it bother me,” he said quietly. “After all, it’s not as though there was anything much between us, right? Just two weeks of travelling, with me brooding the whole way and my head splitting every moment I was awake. I can’t imagine I was good company,” he added self-deprecatingly with a shrug. “She was probably glad to be rid of me, apart from the whole bit where I caused a massive diplomatic incident and a mess that she then had to deal with. I should be glad she didn’t just decide to throw in with the Venatori so she’d have a chance to come and thank me for that personally, right?” His laugh was brittle.

Fenris stared at Anders, unsure of what to say. He dried off, wrapped a towel around himself then simply hugged Anders since he didn’t have the right words.

Anders let himself be hugged, squeezing Fenris back briefly before stepping away with a sad smile. “I’ll be alright,” he said tightly. “It’s just been a bit of a trying day.”

“Yeah, sorry to have added to it.” Fenris pulled Anders with him until they were back in bed with Fenris curled up close to his lover, eyes closed and deep in thought. Anders lay on his back, one arm around Fenris, the other tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He could feel his hand still itching where the shattered glass had cut it earlier; he rubbed his thumb over the healed skin absently, his own thoughts drifting.

“Love...you,” Fenris mumbled as he started to drift off. His only answer was the feeling of Anders’ hand tightening on his shoulder briefly; the blond apostate was halfway asleep already.

By the time Invictus and Zevran returned, they found their men cuddled up and sound asleep. Vic gently pulled the covers over them and quietly ate as he and Zevran chatted.

The Antivan elf cast frequent glances over at Fenris and Anders as he and the Champion made small talk, then finally the elf pushed his plate away and reached for his wine glass. He took a deep drink before he set the glass down firmly yet carefully and stared at Hawke.

“So. This... bonding. Tell me what it would entail for you, Fenris and Anders,” he said quietly.

“And you, don’t kick yourself out before we’ve made a decision Zevran.” Vic said as he reached for his own drink.

Zevran’s glance darted aside. “I... prefer to understand how things will happen regarding you three before considering for myself where I fit in, yes?” he said softly.

“Well, we hadn’t got much further than me proposing. Anders is rather devout, and sure we need the Chantry to do the ceremony. I’m afraid there’s no verse for a triad getting bonded.” Vic sighed and took another drink. 

“Look, I love them both so much and I want something permanent. I don’t think it would change things for you and Fenris. He loves you so deeply, I wouldn’t dare try to sunder that by saying well we’re bonded now, so you have to end things. I told him if he wanted to bond with you, I’d welcome it because it would make him happy.” Vic shrugged and took another drink.

“I... see,” said Zevran slowly, toying with the stem of his wineglass with a forefinger, not looking up. “Marriage... is not a thing I have ever considered to be something I am fit for. Well... perhaps once. But... I was a different man then, and I have been several different men since. I will have to think carefully on this.”

“I don’t know if I am fit for it truth be told. But… I have something I’d never thought I would with them. I know you don’t feel that way towards me, and you aren’t intimate with Anders often. I want them to be happy, and you make Fenris so happy it’s so gratifying to see it.” Vic said with a grin.

Zevran smirked in reply as he reached up to tug off the scarf he’d casually thrown about his neck earlier to hide the livid bruises and bite wounds around his throat; he fingered one thoughtfully then glanced at the blood on his finger. “Very happy, it would appear,” he smiled. “And he makes me very happy as well. If a little sore.” He winked at Hawke as he licked the drop of blood from his finger.

“Are you alright? It does look like someone got the drop on you Zevran though it was probably fun.” Vic’s eyes narrowed just a bit in jealousy, but he didn’t dwell on it. He did miss the rough play he used to engage in with Fenris.

“Ah, it is no worse than - well, it probably looks far worse than it feels,” the elf shrugged. “It is... not comfortable, but bearable, no? A reminder of a very pleasant experience, though perhaps I should have asked Anders to heal it before he fell asleep. He is correct regarding the dangers of bite wounds, and if they become infected then... well.” He shrugged again. “Hopefully he will awaken soon; the bruising will likely be far worse tomorrow.” He eyed the remaining food on his plate for a moment then reached for his wineglass instead.

“You should eat, I daresay you wore yourself out if you didn’t hear Anders come into the room. The man I first met would have knocked him out before he’d gotten close enough to touch you.” Vic said as he pulled his own plate back.

“And that would be precisely why the Master of Crows... died on a street in Val Royeaux,” replied Zevran quietly as he drew his own plate back towards himself. “I have grown... soft. I am fortunate that it was not as fatal a wound as my... murderers... believed, but nonetheless they should not have gotten so close to me. It was as well they believed me dead, and that they will not seek to hunt me any further. I spent too long here in comfort, and I have lost my edge, I fear. Not enough to make it safe to waken me incautiously,” he added, glancing up briefly. “But you are right. Anders should not have been able to take more than a step into this room without waking me. Perhaps I am not as recovered from my illness as I thought; I have not been that sick since I came to you in Kirkwall, poisoned and dying.” He poked his food briefly with his fork then took a mouthful; Hawke glanced up just in time to see him wince as he swallowed.

“I’m not as good as him, but I can soothe your wounds a bit, if you wish.” Vic offered. Zevran considered the offer for a minute, then laid down his fork.

“Please,” he said quietly. “It... is troublesome.” As the mage leaned forward, Zevran tilted his head back to bare his throat and closed his eyes.

The moment Hawke touched him with his magic, even without Anders’ skill he could feel how the bruising was causing the elf’s throat to swell closed inside; there was a touch of infection starting already in some of the bites, and Hawke realised that Zevran had been downplaying his pain.

‘Hmm, perhaps we should wake Anders. There’s an infection starting.” Vic frowned as he dropped his hand.

Zevran opened his eyes as he lowered his head. He swallowed hard and lifted a hand to his throat as he nodded. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” he agreed. “I am not feeling very good.”

Hawke went over and shook Anders gently while he called his name. “Love, I think you’re needed. Wake up so you can say I told you so.” 

Anders stirred slightly, sliding his hand out from behind his head to rub his eyes as he grimaced slightly before blinking up at Hawke. “Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Well, Zevran needs healing. There’s an infection starting and we know I can’t heal for shit.” Vic said.

Anders groaned. “Damn it, I _said_ -! Ugh. Hang on, Fenris has me pinned down here.” He nudged the elf carefully. “Wake up, love, I need to heal up the bites you gave Zevran.” He nudged Fenris again when he didn’t react. “Love?”

“Mmmmfphh” Fenris mumbled but did not move over.

“Fenris, the bites you gave Zevran are infected. I need you to move so I can actually go heal him. Preferably before his already weakened immune system gives up the ghost and the infection gets out of hand,” he added, an acid bite creeping into his voice. 

Fenris’ eyes opened and he moved away, his expression worried as he curled up in the blankets. “Sorry.” he whispered.

Anders didn’t answer; he rose from the bed and headed over to where Zevran sat watching. “May I?” he asked quietly, gesturing towards Zevran’s neck; the elf tilted his head back and closed his eyes again.

Anders’ hands glowed blue as he gently curled one about Zevran’s throat and laid the other over the elf’s shoulder as Zevran tugged his shirt down, baring his skin. Anders frowned as he closed his own eyes.

“Yes, there’s definitely an infection trying to take root there,” he said distantly. “Human mouths are filthy things - I’d sooner treat a hundred mabari bites than a human one, the mabari bite is less likely to get infected. And your body still hasn’t fully recovered from the fever so it’s more vulnerable to opportunistic infections.” His fingers traced over the bites gently as they slowly healed, the bruises fading as the blood pooled under the surface of the skin broke up and was dispersed by the healer’s magic. “It’s as well Hawke woke me when he did; some swelling inside your throat there. Another few hours and you’d likely have trouble breathing.” He opened his eyes. “Better?”

Zevran opened his own eyes and stared up at Anders. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You have my thanks, friend Anders.”

Anders nodded as he lowered his hand away from the elf’s throat. “You’ll likely have a slightly elevated temperature for a few hours as your body kills off the last of the infection; I’ve boosted your immune system a little, but you should eat as much as you can now and then sleep as much as possible over the next twenty-four hours or so whilst your body finishes healing - and then eat as heartily as you can for a day or two after that.”

Zevran nodded. “We will be more careful next time,” he promised the healer.

“Next time -!” exclaimed Anders, then stepped away from the elf and lifted his hands. “D’you know what, I’m not even going to go there. Just, Maker’s sakes, sterilise any knives you use before you do it and make sure you actually take care of the wounds afterwards, alright?” He turned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to regain his composure again; as he straightened, he saw the stricken, embarrassed look on Fenris’ face. “Maker. Fenris, he’s going to be alright. Just... _please_ be more careful? I’m... oh Maker’s balls, I’m just making this worse somehow. _How_ , I don’t know but oh Maker Anders just shut up,” he finished as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He took a deep breath then looked up again. “I’m sorry, Fenris.”

The elf didn’t answer, he just pulled the covers over his head and tried not to freak out over hurting Zevran.

Anders stared at him and then threw his hands up. “This is... right. Fine. You know what? I’m going to go eat in the hall, have a bath and go to bed - and try and forget today ever happened. Maybe I’ll be able to pretend it was just some unpleasant dream. Well, until Maevaris has another go at me; that would just really make my day perfect. Good evening gentlemen; try not to accidentally kill each other behind my back.” He strode to the bathing chamber to snatch up the robe he’d left there.

Fenris was too mortified to stick his head out and say anything. Invictus raised an eyebrow at Anders as the other mage made for the door. “Anders, would you please calm down before you go storming out of here?” 

Anders halted just in front of the door, one hand outstretched towards the door handle. After a moment, his hand slowly lowered. “Hawke, whatever you have to say had better be good, because I’ve just about had my fill of today. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I want a bath and I want to sleep. And I am trying very hard not to say ‘I told you so’ or scream at our boyfriend for endangering the life of _his_ boyfriend when I -” He broke off and turned to stare at Hawke. “... Go on,” he said quietly as he slumped against the door. “Say it.”

“I was simply going to ask you to calm down a bit before you went tearing down the hall. Go on, I’ll see you when you’re in a better mood.” Vic glanced at Zevran and the Fenris shaped lump under the covers. “I’ll go too, I can feel a headache starting. I’ll see you all later.” 

Anders nodded and turned to pull the door open; he tugged on his over-robe slowly as he headed back in the direction of his own rooms to change for dinner.

“Rest well Zev, and Fenris you can come out now. Just try to sleep as well ok?” Vic waved at them and pulled the door closed behind him with a sigh. “The ride to the Hissing Wastes is going to be so much fun.”

Zevran waited until they were alone, then reached for his glass of wine and finished it. Then he rose, put together a plate of food for Fenris before bringing it together with his own plate over to the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed. “ _Carissimi_?” he asked.

Fenris peeked his head out and glanced at Zevran. “I’m sorry Zev, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know, my heart,” said Zevran gently. He held the full plate out to Fenris. “You should eat.”

“Not hungry, you eat though. You heard what Anders said.” Fenris said as he laid back down and watched Zevran carefully.

Zevran lifted one eyebrow slightly at the white-haired elf, then shrugged and finished his own plate of food before glancing at Fenris again. 

“I’m...not tired, you can have the bed Zevran.” Fenris pulled on sleep pants and went to his desk, pulled out parchment and stared at it for a while. He actually felt compelled to write down his thoughts but felt self-conscious with the other elf there. 

Zevran put Fenris’ untouched plate back on the table, then strode back to the bed, stripping off nude before slipping into the bed. He stretched out on his back, tugging the covers up to his waist, then rested one hand on his stomach and the other behind his head. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then slowly his eyes fell closed as his breathing deepened into sleep.

Fenris relaxed once he realized Zevran was asleep, and finally wrote out his thoughts long into the night. It was the dead of night before he finally crawled into bed and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. For once he didn’t hide his writings, trusting Zevran with his heart.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well you know our crew couldn't be too happy for long. Soon the Hissing Wastes and a much needed break from Skyhold

Fenris was quiet as they prepared to leave for the Hissing Wastes, he was also glad not to be left behind this time. Vic tried to cajole him into at least a smile but couldn’t manage it. He left his elven lover to brood as they packed up for the long trek ahead.

Meneris was currently fighting the urge to tell Maevaris where to go and how to get there as her demands for compensation grew with each meeting. His only solace was that she was even more furious with Dorian and Anders combined - and that the majority of the diplomatic wrangling was being dealt with on his behalf by Josephine. The drawback of having the magister’s ire focused predominantly on the two mages however was the effect it had on Meneris’ lover.

Dorian had retreated back to his room after what was reportedly quite the blistering, vitriolic argument in the middle of the infirmary, and proceeded to drink heavily for several hours before adjourning to the tavern and drinking even more with Bull and the Chargers. The Iron Bull had returned the insensate Altus to Meneris in the early hours of the morning; Dorian had been floored by his hangover the following morning until well into the afternoon, and been uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn for a couple of days afterwards.

Anders had appeared in the Great Hall for dinner the evening of Maevaris’ arrival in reportedly quite the uncharacteristically foul temper, even snarling at Varric at one point. Unlike Dorian, he at least didn’t get drunk; Josephine had quietly remarked to Meneris that perhaps the blond healer’s temper might have improved if he had. Only Cullen seemed to be unaffected by Anders’ temper and continued to quietly try to draw Anders into conversation in spite of Anders’ evident desire to be left alone. Anders had left the Hall without a backwards glance once he’d finished eating. He absented himself from the infirmary over the next couple of days; Josephine quietly reported to Meneris that the blond apostate seemed to have disappeared from his rooms, though none of his possessions were missing. He seemed to have gone to ground somewhere in one of the unrenovated areas of the keep, and she could only trust he would reappear when he felt more sociable.

Fenris was ready to go and almost antsy for it, he felt the need to get out of the Keep almost as badly as when he’d wanted to flee a few months prior. He’d been staying to himself, despite Invictus’ attempts to draw him out to talk or even have a glass of wine with him. It hadn’t helped that he’d gotten snarly about being touched by any of them. 

Vic had given up and sought out Zevran about it, since Anders was in a nasty mood himself and nowhere to be found. Not that locating the former Crow was exactly an easy matter. He finally found him by chance, in the Chantry of all places. 

“Zev? May I speak with you?” Vic asked once the elf rose to his feet with the grace he’d been missing for a while. The elf lifted an eyebrow then nodded, gesturing towards the exit into the garden.

“You are troubled concerning Fenris, yes?” said the Antivan quietly as they emerged into the thin sunshine.

“Yes, and Anders. He never hides out like this and it’s got me really worried.” Vic admitted.

Zevran leaned against an old statue, tugging out a small dagger and absently cleaning his nails with it. “I think perhaps our healer is finding the confines of Skyhold and its people somewhat... claustrophobic at present. It has ever been his way to run away when things seem overwhelming.” He tilted his head a little on one side. “Something perhaps he and Fenris have in common. I think I understand how they feel; I too feel restless. Perhaps it is something in the wind; a change coming, yes?”

“Yes, but Fenris is prickly as a damn cactus since that night. He won’t talk to me and won’t even let me comfort him. I haven’t even tried to go to him since. You seem to have better luck drawing him out when he’s like this.” Vic said tiredly.

Zevran sighed. “He blames himself - for many things, amongst them that Anders is distressed, but also that he feels he endangered me. He blames himself for things beyond his control. There is a limit to how much he will listen even to me when he is in this mood. It is... not comfortable being around him when he is in such a state, hence why you found me here.” He gestured towards the Chantry. “Though in truth, if you had been seeking Anders and not me, then you would have done well to come here an hour ago. The Reverend Mother tells me he spent the whole morning in prayer, or certainly that was how it appeared to her. Strange, no?”

“Not really, he’s still quite devout. I don’t know what to do Zevran, he’s never withdrawn this badly before.” Vic said.

“Perhaps you should talk to Varric,” suggested Zevran as he wiped his blade on the hem of his ragged black cloak then sheathed it. “And perhaps also Cullen. Maybe the Reverend Mother, if you can stomach it.” He smirked slightly. “I know you are no fan of Chantry folk after all. But perhaps he may have confided something to one of them.”

“I’ll talk to Varric, then Cullen. I’d rather avoid Mother Giselle if possible. What of you? Have you had any luck with talking to Fenris?” Vic said as he fell into step with Zevran. They headed towards the stairs leading down into the lower courtyard.

“Regrettably, no,” confessed Zevran. “He spends much of his time either drilling alone, or else writing. Though... sometimes he talks to himself, if he thinks I am sleeping. I have taken to requiring naps in the afternoon,” he gave Hawke a sly smirk before going on. “It seems my recent illness seems to leave me quite exhausted about mid-afternoon; most strange. I just fall asleep and when he thinks himself safe he begins to talk. It seems he finds it easier to discuss some things with me when I am seemingly not awake to give answer. So. I give him a sleeping Zevran, and he shares his thoughts.” He shook his head. “I should not deceive him so, but what am I to do if he will not open his heart to me any other way? So. He feels guilty. He is afraid of hurting me again; that he will somehow give in to some nameless temptation and betray you and Anders. He is terribly worried that he has hurt Anders too much and that Anders will not wish to sleep with him after Anders’ reaction to what Fenris and I did together. He does not understand that Anders’ reaction is for Anders to deal with, that it may have nothing to do with him at all. And he is fighting this urge to run away. He is actually looking forward to this journey to the Hissing Wastes, it seems.” 

Zevran glanced up at the angle of the sun then smirked. “I should return for my afternoon nap. Perhaps you should come with me; maybe we can find some way to conceal you nearby, so you might learn what he would say to me as I sleep this time?”

“Let’s go, I’m getting desperate here.” Vic said as they entered the Keep.

Fenris wasn’t yet returned from the practice rings when Zevran let them into the elves’ shared quarters - as much Zevran’s rooms as Fenris’ now. Zevran gestured to the long drapes by the window.

“Here; there’s a small nook just by the window - I sit and read here sometimes. Fenris considers it my little spot - he never looks behind there. If you are quiet, he will not notice you.” He sat in an armchair nearby and settled himself there, pouring himself a glass of wine and drinking half before setting the glass on the floor by his feet. He arranged an open book upon his knee and rested his head against the chair back; as Hawke concealed himself in the nook, he heard Zevran’s breathing slow until he could have sworn the elf were deep asleep.

Hawke remained quiet and still as he heard the door open and close, the soft thunk as Fenris dropped his weapon and scabbard to its slot in the stand and his voice as he lamented finding Zevran asleep already. From where Hawke was hidden, he could see Zevran fairly clearly although he himself was hidden in the darkness. As he watched, Fenris patted Zevran’s cheek lightly; if the Antivan were merely feigning sleep then it was a good enough act to fool Fenris. The blond elf looked deeply unconscious, his head lolling to one side, his face half-hidden by his hair.

Fenris stood silently for a moment, carding a hand through the pale blond hair.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “Always so tired. Have I done this to you? _Mi amatus_ , was this my doing?” He laughed bitterly to himself. “Of course it was. If I hadn’t been such a selfish bastard, you would never have left. And then you would not have been hurt - you would not have been dying in the snow. I might have lost you and Anders both in the snow and never have been the wiser until it was too late.” He turned away.

Hawke caught himself before he ran out to hug Fenris and tell him he was wrong. Instead he held himself still as he could be as he listened on.

The white-haired warrior was slowly stripping off his armour as he quietly talked to the seemingly-sleeping Zevran. “I don’t know how to talk to them, love,” he said slowly as he set his cuirass upon the armour stand. “I don’t know how to share what is in my heart. And I am afraid for them, for you - for all of us. Varric tried to talk to me. He is afraid for Anders. He says that he has only seen Anders withdraw like this once before - hide away on his own. You weren’t there with us at the time; you don’t know what it was like, those last months before the Chantry was destroyed. But Varric’s right. We didn’t see it then, but I’m seeing it now. I’m afraid for what it means, but I don’t know how to talk to him. I’m afraid of what Anders may be planning to do.”

The white-haired elf rubbed his eyes with a low groan. “And I don’t know if this is something I have driven him to, or if it’s that witch Solona again.”

It was only because Hawke was watching Zevran and knew he were not really sleeping that he noticed the way the Antivan elf’s breathing subtly hitched and his body slightly jerked.

Hawke wanted to run out but knew Fenris would go ballistic if he knew he’d been overheard. Instead he kept silent and hoped Zevran suddenly “woke up”. Fenris was still pacing, oblivious to the effect his words were having on his “sleeping” lover.

“She did this to him before. And I wouldn’t put it past her to do it again,” Fenris was growling. “She’s got them all bewitched - she’s slowly killing Belann. I thought I’d gotten him out of there but he’s been sleeping in the dungeons again. I bet that’s where Anders has been. I know he’s been missing; you’ve told me yourself love - you were trying to tell me, weren’t you? He’s been down there with _her_. Maybe she’s bewitched him again. I should go to the Inquisitor - but what if I’m wrong? _Venhedis_ , he would lock Anders away in a cell and that could kill him. What should I do?”

He turned back towards Zevran, who had somehow brought his breathing back under control, though there was a small frown upon his brow. 

“Love, what would you do?” Fenris asked softly. “And yet... I cannot ask you this except here, like this. Because awake, I would not dare speak to you of her.”

Hawke bit his lip so the anguished sob wouldn’t escape. He noticed the way Zevran’s breath hitched slightly as he watched the elf move slightly as if he was slowly coming around. The Antivan shifted his head slightly and gave a faint sigh; Fenris turned and stared at him.

“Love?” said Fenris quietly. “Are you awake?”

Zevran’s eyelids fluttered as the other elf crouched near his feet. Hawke had to hand it to Zevran; the former Crow’s performance looked very natural. Hawke wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t been asleep all along. Zevran blinked slowly.

“ _Carissimi_?” he said slowly, his voice thick as though he had been deep asleep. 

“Hi, did you get a good nap? Can I get you anything?” Fenris asked with a nervous smile.

Zevran slowly stretched, then straightened slightly as he rubbed one eye. “I must have drifted off again; I did not hear you come in, my heart,” he murmured. “Water, please?”

“OF course my heart.” Fenris scowled as he found the pitcher dry. “I’ll return in a bit, seems we’ve gone through the last of the water.” 

Zevran waited until Fenris had gone, then glanced to Hawke. “I cannot deal with this alone,” he said softly. “His mention of Solona - Hawke, I do not know what to make of this. I... Solona is a dying woman, I do not believe she could be behind Anders’ behaviour - and if Fenris goes to any of the inner circle with his concern, they will lock Anders up. Swiftly, slip out of the window - he will hear if you leave by the door. Come round and knock - I cannot deal with him alone in this state of mind.”

He rose and opened the window; Hawke had barely managed to slip out of sight when Fenris returned to find Zevran leaning against the window frame as he took a breath of cool air.

“Here you go carissimi, do you need anything else? Do you need food, other drink?” Fenris asked as he poured them water.

“Perhaps food,” nodded Zevran. “I think I was dreaming. A nightmare, rather.”

“Of course love…” Fenris was cut off by a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

“Hawke, can I come in?” Vic called out, hopeful he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

Zevran glanced round. “Company would be good,” he said innocently. “I feel a little unnerved by my dream.”

Fenris let him in and waved at the table. “I’ll be back shortly, Zevran was hungry should I bring something for you as well?” 

“If you wish love, I don’t want to be a bother.” Vic replied.

Zevran watched as Fenris departed in search of food, then turned to Hawke. “This is a nightmare indeed,” he said softly. “We cannot allow him to take his fears to any in the inner circle. But is what he says true? Is this how Anders was before he destroyed the Chantry?”

“A bit yeah, well more than a bit. I’m afraid Zevran.” Vic admitted. “Perhaps we should just ask him directly, you know he hates dancing around things.” 

“Then I am very worried as to why he spent so long in the Chantry today,” confessed Zevran. “Perhaps we should try and find Anders before he can put any plans into action?”

“Yes, but if you’re gone when Fenris comes back it will be a thing. Let’s wait for him at least.” Vic said as he heard footsteps outside the door.

Fenris had returned with food; he nudged the door open with his shoulder and nodded to Hawke and Zevran as he entered with a large tray, hooking the door closed behind him with his foot before setting the tray down on the table. 

Zevran glanced at Hawke, then took up his glass of wine and took a sip as he strode over to the table.

“Anders was in the Chantry this morning,” he said quietly, not looking at Fenris. “An odd place for him to go, would you think?”

“Very, but he is still a devout Andrastian, maybe he takes comfort in prayer but doesn’t talk about it with us?” Vic offered.

Fenris looked up sharply. “And we thought that back in Kirkwall,” he replied tersely. 

“Perhaps we can try to find him? Our concerns are valid considering the past.” Vic added as he picked up a plate. “We know this isn’t normal for him to retreat so entirely.”

Fenris frowned. “It is not,” he agreed. “But Skyhold is a large fortress, and there are many parts of the keep not yet renovated where he could hide from us. Has he returned to his rooms yet, do you know?”

“Not that I know of, he snapped at me last time I dropped by so I’ve let him be.” Vic said.

Zevran worried at his thumbnail with his teeth as he glanced to Fenris. “I do not think it wise to hunt him down,” he said quietly. “He is used to being hunted, is he not?”

“True, perhaps I will seek out Cullen, he’d know best how to reach him when he’s like this.” Vic said.

“We should not approach the inner circle I think - I do not think the Inquisitor would react well.” Zevran poured another glass of wine for himself.

“Then what do we do!” Fenris asked in frustration.

“Fenris, if you go to the inner circle, the Inquisitor will most likely imprison Anders, will he not? The Inquisition departs for the Hissing Wastes very soon. He would not dare risk that Anders has placed a device or laid some spell somewhere that will wreak havoc the moment his back is turned, nor could he afford to go gentle upon him.” Zevran regarded Fenris sombrely. “And do not think that in his desperation he would not scruple against handing him over to Leliana’s tender mercies - or that she would not perform her dark practices upon him, even after the kindnesses she has shown him.”

“Fuck, this is my fault!” Fenris snarled before he got up to pace. “I need to find him and make it right.”

Invictus jumped at the sound of glass shattering as the bottle Fenris slapped off the table hit the ground. Zevran jerked, his eyes upon Fenris.

“I shall fetch Cullen,” he said, turning away to the window.

Fenris remained silent as he took up the seat at his desk. Hawke tried to comfort him but gave up when the elf snarled at him. 

“Leave me...leave me alone Hawke.” Fenris said weakly.

They waited in silence for some time, until there was a sound from the hallway outside and then Zevran entered, followed by the Commander. Cullen glanced round, his expression grave, as Zevran closed the door behind them.

“I understand there is reason to be concerned for Anders?” he said.

“Yes, he’s holed himself up and we can’t find him. Trying to hunt him down would be a bad idea. Zevran last saw him in the Chantry praying.” Vic said as he sat forward.

Cullen frowned. “In the Chantry?” He glanced at Zevran, who nodded. Cullen’s frown deepened. “You fear a repeat of Kirkwall.”

“Yes, Cullen help us please?” Fenris asked.

“Of course,” agreed the Commander at once. “You think this is Solona’s blood magic at work? I thought that had broken when the wardens were freed from Corypheus’ power at Adamant? It was my understanding that Solona herself is at death’s door. I’ve had her moved to a small room within the keep itself; Hal tells me she cannot last much more than days now. Cole has taken to waiting outside her room; I’m not entirely sure what to make of that.”

“I don’t know Commander, I just...I need to see him and fix this.” Fenris said.

“Love this is not your fault! Something else has him so rattled, don’t blame yourself alright?” Vic replied but stayed where he was. Zevran was staring at Cullen; a stricken look had come across his face at mention that Solona had perhaps only days to live. The former Crow fumbled for the wine and hastily splashed some into a glass, downing it swiftly.

“Zevran tells me you haven’t mentioned your concerns to anyone else,” said Cullen. 

“Leliana would lock him up if Cassandra didn’t. I don’t think he’s going to do anything terrible but this is worrisome Cullen. He’s not a man that likes to be alone, and now he’s hidden from us all.” Vic said as he got his own drink.

“I suspect the Inquisitor would certainly order him imprisoned as a matter of urgency,” sighed Cullen. “I assume the reason you’ve asked for me is because you’re hoping to avoid that.”

“Yes, and you’ve known him longer so we hoped you would have some ideas on how to reach him when he’s like this?” Vic asked.

Fenris sat there, his expression closed off as he listened.

“I probably know Skyhold better than almost anyone,” said Cullen, pondering. “And though I don’t know Anders quite as well as I should, given how long we’ve known each other... a few places to spring to mind. I’ll have to talk to Mother Giselle to see what she can tell me about his visits to the Chantry, and I’ll order a quiet search made of the Chantry itself - can’t afford to take any chances, I’m afraid.” He shrugged ruefully. “Depending on his state of mind, I may not be able to send for you in time; I may have to take him into custody myself, and if that happens then I may have to Smite him. Obviously I’d rather not, but I should warn you that he may not be in the best state of health afterwards. I don’t _want_ to hurt him, but if he panics - which he may do when he realises I’m hunting him - then a Smite will be the quickest, safest way to take him down.” 

He glanced at Hawke. “You probably have some idea of how uncomfortable that’s likely to be for him, given how long I was a templar for.”

“Yes, and if we can avoid it I’d prefer that.” Hawke said. 

“Please don’t hurt him Cullen.” Fenris asked.

“Fenris, believe me, I’d prefer not to myself,” said Cullen wryly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I do actually _like_ Anders; and many here at Skyhold owe him their lives. At the same time, I cannot afford to lose sight of the fact he is a very powerful mage and if he lashes out at me, my options are limited. A Smite will strip away his magic temporarily and weaken him to the point I can capture him safely, but there’s no escaping that it will be unpleasant, even for a mage of his level of power. But at the same time, if Anders lashes out at me or anyone else from fear or anger - well, you saw what happened when you were hurt by the renegade templars, Fenris. I won’t let him put anyone’s lives at risk. But I felt I should warn you.”

“I… understand, I’m sorry.” Fenris said quietly.

“When Cullen leaves we are going to talk about you blaming yourself for this.” Vic said.

“Yes, well, the sooner I get started, the sooner I’ll find him,” said Cullen, shuffling uncomfortably as he glanced around at the other men. “I’ll try and be as fast as I can; it wouldn’t do for questions to be asked about my absence.” He glanced at Zevran, who had dropped into a chair, looking drawn and pale.

“Zev, do you need anything?” Vic asked quietly. He had a feeling he was upset by the news of Solona’s impending end. 

Zevran shook his head wordlessly, then dropped his head into his hands as he drew a shuddering breath.

“I, I’ll make a start then,” said Cullen as he opened the door. He glanced at each man in turn, nodded, then turned away, closing the door behind him.

Fenris poured himself some wine and waited for Invictus to rail at him. When an argument wasn’t incoming he looked up to find him before Zevran, a hand on his knee.

“Zev, you're not alright talk to me.” 

“I-” Zevran gulped, his breath hiccupping. “I... I cannot, I... have not the words....”

“Carissimi...do you need to?” Fenris faltered as he realized what bothered the other elf. “Go to her.”

Zevran got to his feet, staring at Fenris. “My heart, forgive me, I...” He closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I need to - I _must_. Please, forgive me!”

“No forgiveness needed, even I am not that cold hearted. I will be here when you return.” Fenris opened the door and watched Zevran go. The Antivan paused in the doorway to look back at Fenris, a conflicted look in his eyes, before he turned and sprinted towards the stairs that led down into the bowels of the keep.

“I can wait, you look bad enough right now as it is.” Vic said as he rose to go as well.

“Stay,” said Fenris hoarsely, then dropped his eyes to the floor as he added, quieter, “Please.”

“As you wish, do you want to talk or want me to just stay with you for a while?” Vic asked as he let the door close and he leaned against it.

“I don’t know... Vic, this is a nightmare. What if I’m wrong... worse yet, what if I am right? You remember how he was just before the Chantry explosion. Am I misreading this?” He began to pace, frowning. “What have I driven him to? What have I done?”

“Nothing, that’s what you’ve done. This is not your fault Fenris. What will make you see that?” Vic said.

Fenris dropped into a chair and groaned. “Then why has this happened immediately after I was so foolish?” He sighed. “Even if I am innocent of this, I cannot feel that my reaction has helped any. And I have endangered both Anders and Zevran by my impetuousness.” 

Vic knelt before him. “Love, you are doing that thing again. You are beating yourself up when it’s not your fault. Please stop and think, please!” Vic begged.

Fenris bowed his head and rubbed his forehead slowly. “If Anders comes to harm....”

“Fenris Hawke, stop this. You are not to blame for how he reacted! Maker man, you’ve been so deep in a hole of your own making you can’t see the truth. Anders didn’t want to see it, that desire he has and when you reacted to his anger it just… went badly. You are not at fault Fenris. Please stop beating yourself up!” Vic begged as he made the elf look at him.

“...what did you just call me?” said Fenris softly.

“Fenris Hawke, got a nice ring to it yeah?” Vic said. Fenris was staring at him with a stunned look on his face, blinking slowly.

“Figured it didn’t matter if we had rings or not love, but maybe you’d take my name? Anders too once we get him to see logic eh?” Vic said with a water smile.

Fenris blinked again. “Is the taking of names... a Ferelden tradition?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sort of, I mean mother didn’t take Malcolm’s because he was an apostate, but it would honor me if you would do that. I want you to see this isn’t your fault Fenris. We need to find him and talk sense into him. Are you alright love?” Vic asked, concerned over the look on Fenris’ face.

“Only the free people have family names in Tevinter,” said Fenris quietly. “Slaves... have only one name. I have only ever been Fenris - and before that, Leto. I have never had another name. And... Anders only has one name.” He frowned slightly. “Or is Anders his family name? Is he Anders, the way you are Hawke? Or is he like me - did the Circle take his name from him? Is he... just... Anders?” 

“Just Anders, the Circle took his name I believe. I don’t know if he even remembers it or would tell if he did. Why?” Vic asked.

“I... I have never had any other name,” said Fenris quietly. “I wondered if he had. If perhaps he’d had one and not told me.”

“Love, I think that’s one secret he’ll take to his end. Why are you ...what is it Fenris? Look at me and tell me what’s got you so distracted by a name?” Vic asked as he tugged the elf into his arms and held him. “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” said Fenris in a small voice. “Hawke... Vic. Did we - did we do the right thing by calling in Cullen? What did he mean, about you knowing what it would mean, him having been a templar so long?”

“It’s the best we could do without taking this to Meneris. Cullen will do right by him. Just talk to us, ok?” Vic said.

“You’re not answering me,” said Fenris quietly. “Hawke, please. What will happen if Cullen uses Smite on him? Will it be as bad as when one of the templars that attacked Dorian used Shatter on him?”

“I doubt it, Cullen hasn’t been on lyrium for a while. He might not even be able to use Smite. Trust me it won’t be that bad.” Vic assured him.

“I trust you are correct then,” replied Fenris quietly. “That Shatter took him to his knees. He told me afterwards Dorian shouldn’t have been able to still stand after so many templars using it on him at the same time - and that if they’d used Smite, he’d likely be dead.”

“Fenris, Anders is very strong he’ll be alright. Let’s not assume they’d even have to smite him alright?” Vic said quietly. “Now talk to me love, what’s got you so low, the truth.”

“I don’t know,” Fenris whispered quietly. “I’m afraid that whatever Anders did to my brands is breaking down already. My mood is... volatile again, and I do not trust my reactions. I cannot escape this feeling that I have been here too long. I am... restless. I have been dreaming of Danarius again.” He stared at the ground. “Zevran has been hurt because of me, and Anders is upset. I knew he had had a trying day, and yet I made it worse. I... keep hurting him, though I do not mean to.” He lifted his head and stared at Hawke.

“Danarius died years ago, and yet I still struggle to be myself and not the creature he made me! And we are surrounded by so many mages; magic is in the very air itself here, and it pains me, love. Anders is the only mage whose magic does not hurt when he wields it near - and there are so many mages here that my skin burns, daily. I have to fight constantly the desire to run. When will I be at rest? When will I no longer feel this need to flee? Love, when will I cease to be Danarius’ slave and begin living as the free man you and Anders deserve?”

“Oh love, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of how this place could affect you with so many mages about. I think the trip away will do us all good. What can I do to soothe your heart?” Vic kissed him on the temple softly and whispered assurances of how much he was free and loved.

“I do not know,” answered Fenris, leaning into Hawke’s embrace. “It is strange; I hated the Western Approach, yet here I am, looking forward to returning to the desert once more - simply because I yearn for an emptiness I cannot find here. Yet what do we seek?” His voice became heavy with bitterness. “Venatori mages. Magisters. What is that saying Varric is fond of? ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire’?”

“Yeah but it will be good for us to get out of here.” Vic said tiredly.

Fenris nodded.

They sat in silence for a while, neither sure what to say. After a while, it became clear that neither Zevran nor Cullen would be returning soon.

“How long do you suppose it will take Cullen to find him?” asked Fenris quietly.

“Not sure, maybe we should get some rest while we can or you should actually eat something? I know you’ve been avoiding the dining hall.” Vic said softly. Fenris shook his head.

“I am not hungry,” he answered. “Perhaps we should sleep.” He made no move however.

“Fenris are you going to sleep like this? Cradled in my arms on the floor?” Vic asked.

“Forgive me,” said the elf. “I should -”

The door was suddenly shouldered open, and Zevran staggered in, one hand to his face as he stumbled to the nearest seat and he fell into it rather than sat. His shoulders shook as he curled in upon himself and drew a ragged breath.

“Dying - she’s _dying_ ,” he managed, before he began to sob softly. 

Fenris crawled over to Zevran and cautiously put his arms around the other elf. “Zev...I’m sorry.”

“She was my second love, my Warden; my heart, my fire; and even after everything it still... it _hurts_ to know that she is dying, that there is nothing that can be done,” Zevran sobbed, gasping for breath. “Corypheus has taken her mind, her spirit, everything and now he has taken her life too. Anders brought her back to herself but he cannot undo the dying of her body and... and _carissimi_ , it’s too late, too late!” He collapsed into Fenris’ arms, his body shuddering with every sob wrenched from his body, his eyes wide and distraught as tears ran down his face. “Maker, I could almost wish you would take me too!” he cried.

“No, please don’t say that my heart.” Fenris begged him as he glanced to Invictus. 

“I’ll get something stronger than wine and return, unless you’d like to be alone with him.” Vic said sadly.

“First Rinna, and now Solona,” Zevran moaned. “Why? Why? Better she had died before she ever regained her mind. Better that I had died before ever this day came to pass!” He tore at his hair and cried out.

“Hurry with that drink, and maybe a sedative if you don’t want to sleep here later.” Fenris said as he tried to get Vic to circle around them. The former Crow was rambling brokenly to himself in Antivan now as he clutched at his blond tresses then raked his nails down his face, weeping bitterly.

Invictus circled past on the pretense of getting his staff but knelt down to cast Sleep on the distraught man. “Get him to bed, I’ll be back in a bit love.” Vic kissed Fenris on his cheek before he slipped away.

Zevran had slumped in Fenris’ arms, dropping swiftly under the influence of Hawke’s spell. Fenris carefully lifted the sleeping man and laid him in the bed before he swiftly undressed him. He fetched a bowl of water and a clean cloth to gently bathe the ragged scratches down Zevran’s face before lightly applying salve to them, then he sat and watched Zevran’s face as the unconscious former Crow lay there, unaware of the scrutiny. 

“I wish I could heal your hurts love.” Fenris said as he stretched out next to Zevran, hand over the other man’s heart and closed his eyes. Zevran didn’t stir, oblivious to his touch, too deeply asleep even for dreams to touch him.

Hawke came back, poured them both a drink and waited in silence. It was morning when there was finally a knock on the door before it opened with Cullen and Anders in tow. Hawke jumped up from where he’d fallen asleep in the chair, and Fenris sat up bleary eyed at the noise. Cullen had Anders’ arm slung across his shoulders, the mage stumbling as Hawke helped him in. Anders looked exhausted and slightly shell-shocked, the Commander not much better with a cut on his cheek and sporting a black eye. 

Cullen kicked the door closed behind him as he and Anders staggered into the room. “Brandy and lyrium,” Cullen barked out as he managed to get Anders over to a chair. “Quickly!”

Vic hopped up to get the brandy but since they were in Fenris’ room there was no lyrium to be had. The elf simply lit his brands before taking Anders hands in his. The mage’s hands felt like ice and he was slumping in the chair, his eyes drifting closed.

“He can’t draw on it - he needs a lyrium potion,” said Cullen tersely. “I had to hit him with Smite - rather hard, I’m afraid. As it was, he nearly brought half the roof down on us. He shouldn’t even be capable of walking after what he just did. He shouldn’t even be _conscious_.”  
“I’ll go get some potions from your room Hawke, it’s closer.” Fenris said before he dashed off. 

“How is he this strong Cullen?” Vic asked. The Commander smiled mirthlessly.

“Anders has probably been on the receiving end of more Smites than any other mage I know,” he replied. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s simply developed a resistance to them - even one as strong as I let loose. I swear, any of the other mages would have been felled on the spot with a nosebleed and likely a nasty hangover come morning, but not him. Anders figured out a long time ago how to withstand most of the tricks in a templar’s arsenal. Shatter or Purge will still break a spell, and Silence still drains his mana - but I think he just pumps more mana into his spells to try to overpower it. And I think that’s what he did with the Smite; he was trying to cast a spirit blast I think - or maybe lightning; I’m not sure. He’d barely gotten off one lightning bolt at me that brought nearly half the room down around our ears so I figured I’d Smite him before he got another off. Except the canny bastard just kept pumping more mana into the spell so the Smite was burning _that_ off and he was still coming. I don’t think he even realised it was me at first.” He shook his head. “But I think he overextended himself, and started drawing on his body’s own energy once the mana was gone - like he does sometimes when healing. If I’d realised what he was doing....” The Commander sighed and shook his head, then reached out to take Anders’ wrist and check his pulse.

“I didn’t think that was possible Cullen.” Invictus said as he passed the blond a glass of brandy for himself and another for Anders. Fenris returned quickly with a few vials of lyrium that he passed off to Cullen. The former templar recoiled with an expression of alarm and gestured for Fenris to give them to Anders, who was slumped in the chair, his eyes closed as his head drooped.

“Anders open your mouth, let me give you this vial.” Fenris said and when he got no answer he pulled the mage’s mouth open and poured it slowly into his lover's mouth. Anders coughed then gagged on the glowing blue liquid; his eyes drifted half open, and then he swallowed the lyrium down, licking the traces from his lips with a faint groan. When Fenris placed a second vial to his lips, he swallowed it down without choking, a little of the colour returning to his cheeks; Fenris followed up the lyrium with the brandy, coaxing Anders to take small sips as he slowly revived. 

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Cullen concurred. “But then most mages haven’t escaped from the Circle seven times.”

“Love...you with us?” Vic asked from where he sat and sipped his own strong drink. 

Anders managed to open his eyes, though he still seemed to be having trouble focusing them. “Sorry to worry you,” he managed. “Haven’t had to do that in a long while.”

“I’m sorry you had to do it at all,” remarked Cullen. 

“Thank you for finding him Cullen.” Vic said as Fenris poured himself a large helping and sat at Anders’ feet with one hand wrapped around the apostate’s leg.

“Wasn’t lost,” Anders protested tiredly.

“Alright, as you say love. Just glad you’re back here.” Vic answered before he took a long sip. “I’ll get food sent to us.”

Fenris just held on to Anders as if the mage was going to run off any second.

“You were wrong,” Anders murmured as he let his eyes fall closed again. “You thought I was possessed, didn’t you? Can’t a man find a little peace and quiet anywhere here?”

“I apologised,” said Cullen quietly.

“You could have left me alone,” groaned Anders. “I just needed time. Just time and space to think.”

“No, I couldn’t,” argued Cullen. “People were growing worried for you, Anders. The last time you did anything like this, you started a war. Things like that make people nervous.”

Anders’ eyes snapped open. “What??”

“When you got like this before you wound up blowing the Chantry love. You’re not possessed but you have been upset recently.” Vic said quietly.

Anders struggled to sit up straighter. “And so you thought I was going to - Andraste’s flaming arse!” His eyes widened. “So you sent a templar after me?” He stared at Hawke in disbelief. “You seriously think I would be _capable_ of doing that ever again? Andraste’s ashes - you _saw_ what clearing the bridge of Venatori did to me - and _they_ at least were our enemies! To do - _that_ -”

“No dammit, we asked Cullen to look for you because we were scared!” Fenris said finally. He could feel Anders shaking.

“I just needed time alone to _think!_ ” cried Anders. 

Fenris got up and stared at Anders so he could see the fear and hurt in his eyes. “Fine, then do you wish me to not worry for you? Is my heart supposed to just stop caring for you because...because …” he stopped and calmed himself. “We were worried Anders.”

Anders slumped in the chair. “So instead of try to talk to me yourselves, you sent a templar after me. Did it not occur to you how that would make me feel?” he said miserably. “I was lost in thought and distracted. When I heard armoured boots come after me, I just... reacted. And then I felt Cullen try to purge my spell, but I didn’t realise it was him.”

“You panicked,” nodded Cullen. “I should have called out to you first, but I was worried I’d startle you.”

“Oh, you certainly did that,” nodded Anders, resting his cheek against his hand as he stared at the floor. “The moment I felt my magic dispelled, I just panicked. All I knew was that there was a templar after me, and I could lose my mana at any point. I just wanted to get away, to be _safe_.” He closed his eyes. “Maker. I can’t leave it behind me. I’m always going to be just one step away from it.”

“Dammit, we didn’t send a templar after you, we asked our friend to look for you!” Fenris slammed his glass down and started to pace. Anders jumped at the loud noise; mana suddenly sparking and dancing as lightning over his fingers as he jerked, his eyes wide as he made a faint, panicked sound.

“Easy, Anders!” said Cullen, lifting his hands up. “You’re safe now!”

Invictus looked at Anders then went to get Fenris calmed. “Love, go sit with Zevran, he should be waking soon and you don’t want him to wake to a bunch of shouting do you?” Vic said

Fenris pulled away and sat next to Zevran, back to the room as he tried to settle his nerves.

Anders was shaking the lightning from his fingers, his movements jerky and stiff as he tried to calm himself, his heart racing. His breathing was fast and shallow and he was staring at the floor, his eyes still wild and alarmed.

Cullen began to unbuckle his armour as quietly as possible, his eyes on the jittery mage as he set the pieces down on the floor as gently as he could. Once he was down to the simple red tunic he customarily wore beneath his armour, he crouched down in front of Anders.

“It’s alright, Anders,” he said gently. “It’s going to be OK. You’re safe. No templars, see? No armour. I’m not going to hurt you, no-one’s going to drag you off anywhere. You don’t need to run away. Alright?”

“No, dammit, it’s _not_ alright,” said Anders shakily. “ _I’m_ not alright. I thought you were coming to drag me off and lock me away, and I _hadn’t done anything!_ ”

“I know you hadn’t,” said Cullen soothingly. “We were all just worried about you is all.”

“But why couldn’t you trust me?” cried Anders. “Just... just have trusted me?”

“Anders, it wasn’t about not trusting you. We did this out of concern, we love you and Maker we were scared alright? You are usually the last person who hides out when you’re upset so we got scared. We didn’t sic Cullen on you for fun, it was the least offensive alternative. Imagine if we’d told our very wrong fears to the Inquisitor, or Maker forbid Leliana or Cassandra? Please Anders, please know we weren’t trying to hurt you.” Vic took Fenris’ abandoned drink as he sat at the table. 

“What... what fears? What would the Inquisitor have done?” said Anders, looking to Fenris then back to Hawke. “Leliana wouldn’t hurt me, we’re, we’re friends, I _trust_ her, she... she wouldn’t have, she....” He glanced to Cullen. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Shh, Anders, we know,” said Cullen softly; Anders’ voice was rising as he frantically repeated it again.

“I didn’t _do anything!!_ ”

“We know Anders, and we’re sorry we jumped to the wrong conclusion. Please, just...sit down and have a drink so we can talk. Please?” Vic said as he refreshed his lover’s drink and considered giving Fenris another one but decided against it.

Anders had risen to his feet and taken a hesitant step backwards towards the window, his breath coming in shallow, rapid pants.

They were distracted as Zevran made a faint noise and stirred suddenly; as Fenris and Hawke turned to glance at the Antivan elf, Anders suddenly flung himself towards the window, only to find himself suddenly caught by Cullen, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Anders once.

“Easy, easy there,” he said as Anders made a panicked sound and struggled against the strong arms that were pinning his arms to his sides. “Hawke, a hand please?”

Invictus closed the window and locked it before he turned to them. “Sleep so our friend stops trying to fly?” his voice was shaky as he let the spell pool between his fingers. Cullen nodded, still making soothing sounds to the struggling mage who was too far gone to even hear them.

Hawke made as if he was going to brush some of the hair from Anders face but sent him to sleep before he caught the mage. “I’ll take him to his room, and stay until he wakes up. Hopefully calmer.” 

Cullen nodded. “Maker, but I’d forgotten how strong he gets when he panics.” He touched his black eye briefly. “With all the times I had to track him down, not to mention that year in solitary, you’d think I’d have remembered.”

“Fear does that to a man.” Vic kissed Anders on the forehead as he got him in his arms. “I might need a hand with the doors though.”

He turned back to see Fenris hadn’t moved even with Anders’ attempt at flight. “Love you going to be alright?”

“No.” was the elf’s answer as he stayed turned away so neither man could see how bad off he was.

Cullen had gathered up his armour; he glanced at Fenris, then back at Hawke. “I’ll get the doors,” he said. “I’ll sit with Anders if you like. I think maybe you’ll be needed here.” He headed to the door and held it open for the Champion.

“Considering he tried to do a header out the window, I don’t think waking to see you will help. No offence Cullen.” Vic sighed and headed to Anders’ room, hopeful that when the other mage woke he wouldn’t be hysterical.

They were halfway to Anders’ rooms when they ran into Dorian, looking hungover but otherwise recovered. He stared at Anders in Hawke’s arms with a look of worry.

“What’s happened? Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“There’s your answer, Hawke,” said Cullen. “Dorian, would you sit with Anders? He’s had a bit of a turn,” he explained. “A case of misunderstanding; he... had an unpleasant fright. Best not to let him wake alone or to anyone looking anything like a templar.” He grimaced ruefully.

“My word. Of course,” nodded Dorian.

Hawke was silent as they got Anders settled under the covers, just enough for him to be warm but not wake up and feel as if he were being strangled. He kissed the blond on the forehead, whispered how much he loved him before he set off for Fenris’ room and a long day ahead.

Cullen lingered in the hallway, looking ill at ease and tired. Dorian frowned at him then made a shooing motion with his hands. "Run along, Mother Hen," said the Altus dismissively. "Anders is in safe hands now. I'll send word when he wakes. "

"Yes, well," said Cullen awkwardly. "I'll, ah, be in my office then." He nodded then turned away. 

Dorian browsed the blond healer's bookshelf before selecting a book and settling himself into a chair to wait as Anders slept. 


	59. Chapter 59

Somehow word got around Skyhold that the Inquisition’s senior healer had been hit by a Smite from the Commander - and that he’d not only withstood it, but that the blond healer had been capable of walking afterwards. How the story got started, Cullen was never able to uncover - but when he went out to attend the morning practices, he was aware of nervous whispers around him, and he couldn’t ignore the way the mages on their way to their studies in the mages’ tower skirted nervously past him. Nor could he ignore the frightened looks the younger templars were exchanging as they eyed some of the battlemages training under one of Hawke’s more senior people. He knew his black eye and the cut on his cheek was occasioning a lot of whispering behind his back as he walked.

Cullen wasn’t sure which was going to be the more detrimental to morale - the thought that he’d laid a Smite on Anders, or the knowledge that Holy Smite was not as all-powerful as was commonly believed. He suspected the former however. It was useful for the mages to know that a Smite from a red templar would not necessarily put them out of action, and Dorian had already cautioned him that it was not beyond the realms of possibility that the mental conditioning and resistance of Northern mages to spiritual damage might render Smite a rather less valuable tool in their arsenal against the Venatori than they’d assumed - it was perhaps as well to have had their complacency shaken on that score. But knowledge that no less a person than the Commander himself had attacked the healer could cause untold damage. They’d worked hard to overcome the antipathies between the mages and the rest of the Inquisition army, but now the mages were nervous and paranoid. The work of months had been set back in less than a day by one rumour flying and taking root. And of course there would be some who would take advantage of that.

Really, he could not have done Corypheus’ work better for him. They had successfully withstood the assault of the Venatori forces from without; but it was unnerving how effectively they could be torn apart from within.

Cassandra had stormed into his office after the morning practice to demand to know if it was true. Cullen had been attempting to go through the stack of reports on his desk - orders for troop movements both in the Hissing Wastes and elsewhere throughout Orlais, reinforcements for the outposts, intelligence reports from their agents, a worrying report about demons near Crestwood and a rift that the Inquisitor still needed to deal with - and trying to fight off a threatening headache - the result of a lack of sleep as much as anything else.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” she hissed at him. “And why were you hunting the apostate anyway?”

“He’s not an apostate,” Cullen growled back. “He’s a member of the Inquisition, the same as you and I.”

“Then why attack him?” she exclaimed. “Have you any idea of the consequences of this? He is held in high regard by many of the troops who respect him, and by attacking him you have attacked all the mages!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” exclaimed Cullen, slamming his hand down hard on his desk as he rose from his seat. “It was a mistake, a miscalculation!”

“But why did it even happen?” she demanded. “When the Inquisitor finds out, he will be furious! We cannot afford for this to happen now!”

“You think I don’t know that?” retorted Cullen.

“The Inquisitor already knows,” said Leliana from the doorway. They both turned to stare at her, and then Cullen groaned. “What he does not know,” she went on, “Is why.”

Cullen stared at her, wondering just how much _she_ knew. He had the feeling she undoubtedly would already know he’d ordered a quiet search made of the Chantry; even though it seemed unlikely now that they were facing a possibility of a repeat of Kirkwall, it was best to be certain and he preferred to be able to definitively set the Inquisitor’s mind at ease on that score, at least.

“Come,” went on the spymaster. “We should discuss this in the war room. The Inquisitor is waiting.”

***

One look at Meneris’ face and the headache that had been threatening suddenly spiked through the Commander’s head.

“So...do I have to yell at you too or will you just tell me what in the Void made you lay a Smite on our Senior Enchanter?” Meneris asked as he glared at Cullen.

Cullen sighed inwardly. “It wasn’t planned, Inquisitor,” he replied. “I startled him, and he reacted badly. We were in one of the unrenovated areas, and he accidentally nearly brought half the ceiling down on our heads; I needed to disarm him before he could injure us both. I reached for the Smite without really thinking about it.”

“Why was he in some unrenovated area of the Keep when he has a perfectly good room?” Meneris asked. 

Dorian had come in to find the Inquisitor and regretted the scene he’d found. He tried to exit but managed to be heard anyway.

“You, you had to babysit him after so don’t go anywhere Dorian.” Meneris said before he made a get on with it motion at Cullen. 

Dorian grimaced. “Yes, well - as to that, Anders is awake now,” the Altus ventured, and immediately regretted it as Meneris turned and fixed him with a stare. “I really wouldn’t recommend interrogating him just yet, Meneris,” he added hastily. “He’s really not in a good frame of mind right now.”

Cullen sighed. “I should go apologise to him,” he said.

“Once you tell me why he was in some unfinished part of the Keep? Do I need to have a word with Invictus, and Fenris, again?” Meneris asked.

“Mother Giselle believes Anders is suffering a ... crisis of faith,” interjected Leliana quietly. “Something has disturbed his composure. Possibly the Clearing during the siege has... unsettled him more than we anticipated.”

“He’s not a threat,” said Cullen hastily yet firmly. 

“Fine, but if he’s not ready for the Hissing Wastes he can stay here, under watch. We’ve already delayed leaving for a whole host of other reasons, and the Venatori could be doing anything out there while we sit on our hands.” Meneris said as he glanced down at the map and sighed. It was going to be a haul and the last thing he needed was for more strife as they traveled. 

“I shall keep my eye on him,” said Cassandra stiffly. “He will not endanger our mission.”

Cullen stifled a groan as he rubbed the back of his neck. His head was pounding, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Don’t make it worse Seeker, we leave in three days for the Hissing Wastes, and we won’t delay further. I’ll be in my rooms, Dorian if you’d come with me please.” Meneris headed for the door and didn’t check to see if his lover followed.

“The Warden is dying,” said Leliana quietly. “She cannot last much more than perhaps a day or two at most.”

“Fine, make it a week then we absolutely must go.” Meneris conceded. “I’m not that much of a bastard.” 

Cullen couldn’t help the “could have fooled me” that he let slip as Meneris turned away, though he managed to keep it mostly under his breath.

Mostly.

Dorian gave him a sympathetic look as he followed Meneris; he was under no illusion that the Inquisitor’s request had been an order. He dropped into step just a couple of paces behind the elf.

“ _Amatus_?” he said softly as they climbed the stairs up towards the Inquisitor’s rooms.

Meneris didn’t answer until they were safely behind closed and locked doors. He poured himself some wine in an effort to calm himself. “What’s wrong with them Dorian? The truth? As much help as they have been to the Inquisition, I can’t have them here if they will keep disrupting things or if any of them are a danger to us.” 

“Anders is not a danger - love, if you had seen the man I just left, you would see that at a glance,” the Altus replied as he helped himself to a glass of wine. “Having been on the receiving end of a Shatter, I can honestly say I have every sympathy for him right now, at least from a physical point of view. From what he and Hawke had told me of this Smite your southern templars use, I understand it’s practically unheard of for an apostate to still be standing afterwards. Mentally though... Meneris, he’s badly shaken. I gather that whenever he escaped the Circle, Cullen was often the templar sent to fetch him back. He’s very upset. Apparently it was Fenris and Hawke who sent Cullen after him, and he’s not handling that well.”

“They didn’t want me to know I take it?” Meneris asked, his tone far too quiet for the anger he had simmering in his heart. “I’m not a tyrant Dorian, I don’t want people fearing to come to me.” 

“Apparently he’d been feeling the need to just get away by himself,” said Dorian, his gaze on the glass of wine in his hand. “From what little he told me, apparently they got the impression he was behaving the way he had before the destruction of the Chantry in Kirkwall. Perhaps they thought if they’d told you, you may have decided to imprison him for fear he’d do the same again here.” He glanced up. “He kept insisting he’d done nothing. He seems terrified you might lock him up. I suspect this has more to do with his own personal demons than anything you’ve done, but whatever they said to him seems to have really thrown him badly. He also seems oddly terrified of Leliana all of a sudden as well - I was under the impression she and he were old friends though?”

“Probably something they said when Cullen recovered him from wherever he was hiding. Fuck, what do I do? It seems like nothing is stable, he was happy for a while and now this down turn. I never wanted to be in charge, I don’t want this. I just wanted to do as my Clan asked and go home. How am I in charge of the fate of the world? Why can’t people just...why?” Meneris faltered as he realized he was ranting about other things.

“I’m sorry love, seems I’m not in the best shape either. Maybe I should lay off the wine, and just take a lie in or something. What was I talking about before I ...went on that tear?” the elven warrior sat on his bed and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

“Anders, and how he’s afraid you’re going to lock him up - and that he’s terrified of Leliana,” prompted Dorian. “I think you may need to talk to him, love. The other mages are angry over what Cullen did to him; Vivienne may be the First Enchanter of Val Royeaux, but many of the students in the college seem to view Anders as _their_ First Enchanter. They have taken this as an attack on the mages, and they’re afraid for what this means for them. They also know now that a templar’s Smite can be withstood, and they’re less afraid of the templars than they were already.” Dorian turned and paced slowly. “If you have Anders brought here, he’ll likely panic. But if _you_ go to _him_ , it might just send the right signal - that you will listen to the mages and they do not need to fear the Inquisition.”

“Haven’t we done enough to show there is no need for fear here! The college, taking Anders in and pardoning him? Mages are equals here, not like out there. Dorian...I’m lost here, I’m so lost, I feel like things are out of my control and it’s a matter of time before I break and lose this war.” Meneris got up to pace and talk, his words half in Trade, half in Dalish as he continued to think out loud until Dorian got in his way.

“What? Why are you blocking my path?” he asked quietly.

“Love, I can barely understand half of what you are saying,” said Dorian gently. “My elvhen is not that good, and you are talking too fast.” He smiled sadly. “You have done much indeed, but it could all fall apart too easily. You cannot overturn centuries of fear in a few short months, and the Commanders is - _was_ \- a templar. He is a living example of what was once their imprisonment. Trust is hard-won and all too easily lost. But it _can_ be regained. You are not alone here, love; I am with you, and you have the rest of the inner circle. Come with me; talk to Anders. We will take Vivienne and Solas with us. If the rest of the Inquisition see you go to him in the presence of the rest of our most high-ranking mages, it will do much to set minds at ease. We can save this, love.”

“Didn’t you say not to interrogate him? Would he even want to see me or think I’m coming to lock him up?” Meneris said tiredly.

“Not interrogate, love - _talk_ ,” said Dorian as he rested a hand upon the Inquisitor’s shoulder. “If we go with Solas and Vivienne, then he will be less likely to panic.”

“Was he even well enough for visitors? You said he wasn’t doing alright emotionally. The last thing I want to do is startle a powerful mage who’s on edge.” Meneris leaned against Dorian’s chest and sighed. “I hate being Inquisitor, that’s it. I just fucking hate it.”

“He is still tired, physically,” said Dorian as he wrapped his arms around his elven lover. “It’s a wonder he’s even awake at all though. Solas and Vivienne will doubtless be fascinated to know how he withstood the Smite - as, I must confess, am I; I didn’t have much chance to ask him about it, but perhaps explaining that would serve as a good distraction. We can but try.” He shrugged.

“Fine, we’ll go around dinner time then and not just show up randomly.” Meneris closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry for being a difficult asshole today love. I just wish I was better at ...all of this.” 

“It’s not as though you were raised and trained to be Inquisitor,” scoffed Dorian with a teasing smile. It slipped as he glanced towards the balcony. “I think everyone was badly shaken by the Venatori attack. We never expected them to bring the war right to our very doorstep. Skyhold seems less safe these days; I think we took our lofty mountain sanctuary rather for granted. Everyone’s on edge. Maybe by taking the fight back to them in the Hissing Wastes and ousting them there, it will help boost everyone’s mood again - and we won’t feel we’re just sitting around waiting for the other boot to drop.” He glanced down at the elf. “Though you’ll forgive me if I prefer not to have to perform another Clearing any time soon. That was an experience I prefer not to repeat, exhilarating though it was - briefly - to feel that much power at once.”

“That will not happen ever, ever again. I should have kicked Solas out for that fool stunt.” Meneris growled. “He deserved more than a black eye for endangering all of you. I’m surprised Fenris didn’t finish the job for nearly ending Anders.” Meneris looked up at Dorian, mindful of how things had changed between the fighter and his lover.

“Speaking of him, you two seem to be getting on like two nugs in a pot lately how did that happen?” he asked.

“I’m somewhat surprised myself, though it does make life easier and altogether more pleasant,” replied Dorian. “I think we just slowly thawed as he learned to trust me; the turning point was when I helped him bring Anders back though.”

“Hmm, I heard you calling him Amicus, what does that mean? I notice Hawke giving you a dirty look anytime you use it.” Meneris stared up at Dorian curiously, wondering how on earth his lover got Fenris to stop hating him so deeply.

“Friend, trusted companion, something of that nature,” replied Dorian. “It seems my debonair charm, good looks and sparkling wit have worn tarnished on Hawke but finally won over Fenris. And I didn’t even need to let him bed me to do it! Maybe that was my mistake; I let Hawke shag me too soon,” he mused, then gave Meneris a wink. “Maker knows it took _you_ long enough to do it,” he added. “And then look where it got us, love.”

“I doubt he’ll be hopping in your bed anytime soon. I’ve told you if you must dally be discrete about it. Considering the look on his face the few times I’ve seen Fenris around the Keep, he’s not doing much of anything besides practice and keeping off to himself. I don’t think he cares for me.” Meneris reached up on his toes to kiss Dorian before he retrieved his glass of wine.

“Maker knows I ribbed him enough when we first met. I’m honestly surprised he’s stayed here, I know he’s not happy.” the elf finished his wine and held the empty glass for a refill.

Dorian topped up his glass then refilled his own. “For the answer to that, look to Anders and that Antivan elf, Zevran,” replied the Altus. “Fenris goes where Anders goes, and he’s very enamoured of Zevran. And Zevran seems to have his own reasons for staying - though one fewer soon, I fear.”

“That’s going to be hard on him, though isn’t Hawke related to her?” Meneris asked quietly.

“A cousin, I believe,” nodded Dorian. “Though there seems little love lost between them. Belann will be devastated; poor fellow’s been practically camped out beside her cell for months. Everyone assumes he and she are brother and sister, and I think he’ll mourn her like a sibling when she dies. Anders won’t take it well either; I believe he owes his life to her or something.”

“I’ll bet Fenris won’t care, but it seemed Zevran will be destroyed by her end.” Meneris set his wine aside and beckoned Dorian to him. “I need you love.” 

There was a sudden pounding at the door. Dorian rolled his eyes goodnaturedly.

“I gave at the Chantry, tell them to go away.” Meneris put his arm over his face and groaned.

Dorian set his glass aside and kissed Meneris on his nose then headed towards the door. He unlocked it and spoke briefly to the messenger, then glanced back to the Inquisitor, all mirth gone from his expression.

“The Warden is dying,” he said sombrely. “Hal sends word that he thinks she will pass within the hour and asks that you come immediately.”

Meneris bit the retort he had ready about being bothered and got up. “Alright, where should we go?”

“She’s been moved to one of the guest rooms, Inquisitor,” replied the messenger. “I can show you the way.”

“Lead on,” Meneris was all business again, the veneer of the Inquisitor was in place as they went to Solona’s side. 

They found others had gathered there already. Belann stood beside her bed, his head bowed, one hand resting upon her shoulder. Zevran was sitting on the edge of the bed, one of her hands cradled in his own as he hunched over. Anders sat in a chair pulled over to the other side of the bed, her other hand resting in his as he stared at her sadly. Hal stood nearby; he glanced to the Inquisitor and Dorian as they arrived, then came over to the doorway.

“She is fading fast,” he said quietly, without preamble. “She has been drifting in and out of consciousness all morning, and the end is very near now. Her body is shutting down, and there is nothing more I or anyone else can do for her.”

Behind him, Solona was talking quietly to Anders. Her face was drawn, her cheeks hollow, her eyes dull. It was plain she was not long for this world.

“Has anyone told Hawke, he is her cousin after all.” Meneris asked quietly as he considered the poor woman before him. He felt pity more than anything for a hero to meet such an end. 

“He has been sent for,” nodded Hal.

Solona was smiling wistfully at Anders. “I am so sorry for all that has happened to you,” she whispered softly. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I wish I could take it all back. I should never have left you like that.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Anders gently. “I forgive you. I forgive you everything.” He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss across the fingers. She smiled sadly and turned to glance towards the door as Hawke suddenly appeared, brushing past the Inquisitor to come to a halt at the foot of her bed.

“Cousin Invictus,” she said softly. “I am so sorry for everything I put you through. I wish we had more time so I could make amends.”

Invictus came around and sat next to Anders with a sad smile for her. He wasn’t usually given to forgiveness, but even he had limits. “It’s alright Solona, be at peace and know I forgive you.” 

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she answered. “I was too weak when I should have been stronger. I should have been the hero Ferelden deserved, not the traitor I was.” She blinked, a tear rolling slowly down her cheek. “Where is Fenris? Please tell him - tell him how sorry I am that I hurt him. He only ever sought to protect you and Anders.”

“I...don’t know if he will come Solona.” Vic said softly as he felt her hand brush his fingertips. He was surprised as any of them when the door opened and he appeared, almost as if summoned. 

Fenris was uncomfortable with everyone staring at him, so he merely dipped his head in her direction and tried to make blend into the nearest wall.

“I am glad you came,” she told him quietly. “I do not expect your forgiveness; I haven’t earned it. I have only one request of you, Fenris.” Her voice shook slightly. “Take care of my Zevran. Don’t let him mourn too long or lose the brightness in his eyes. Teach him to love living for life’s sake, and not for that of anyone else.”

Zevran’s shoulders had begun to shake, and her fingers tightened upon his a little. “Show him there is beauty in the world. That there is still love, and life, and it is to be lived day to day and not in the past.”  
Fenris glanced at her and Zevran before he replied. “I will do my best.” 

Vic rested a hand on Anders leg as they sat vigil with Solona, his heart hurting for the shell of a woman he’d once worshipped from afar.

Solona turned to Zevran and smiled at him. “ _Carissimi_ ,” she said gently. “ _Mi amore_.”

Zevran clung to her hand, openly weeping. “Don’t,” he begged her. “Don’t tell me not to weep, not to mourn. How can I not, when you go where I cannot? _Carissimi.... carissimi!_ ”

“We should have had far longer, my love,” she whispered. “I don’t want to die; and yet, this is perhaps for the best. I have lived a good life, save for my downfall. I do not think I can regret anything save that - except for the pain I have caused you; and for that, I can never atone. I gave into despair and through me, Corypheus has destroyed the Wardens. But that darkness cannot compare to the evil I have done you, my heart.”

“No, no,” whispered Zevran brokenly. “We broke the Blight. You saved Ferelden.”

“And I gave into my fear and lost all,” she replied sadly. “And now I must cause more pain, but soon I won’t be able to hurt you any more.”

“No!” the Antivan cried out. Anders winced and bowed his head, unable to watch as the blond elf broke down before them.

“Shh, shh my love,” Solona said gently. “It’s OK. I’m very tired, my love. I just wish I could have had a little longer to tell you all that’s in my heart. But it’s alright. I love you, Zevran.”

“I love you, Solona,” he sobbed, lifting his head to stare into her eyes.

She smiled at him. “So tired,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

Zevran clung to her hand, weeping as her breathing deepened and slowed. 

Time passed, the silence of the room disturbed only by the sounds of Zevran crying. It took them some time to realise that the dying woman’s breathing had slowly ceased. After almost an hour, Anders rose hesitantly to his feet and touched a finger to the pulse point on the side of her throat; his gaze became distant for a moment, and then he bowed his head.

“She’s gone,” he said, very softly.

Belann drew a shuddering breath, and then began to cry, very quietly; the sound was almost lost as Zevran gave a heartrending cry and fell forward over Solona’s body.

Fenris came over and hesitantly touched Zevran as he called his name. “Zev?”

Hawke gave a quiet prayer for her and rose so he could be out of the way. “I’ll help with building a pyre if you wish Anders.” 

Anders drew a shaking hand over his face and gestured for Hawke to give him a moment as he visibly fought to control his own grief. He pressed his hand over his mouth and blinked swiftly for a few moments, then nodded.

“Take all the time you need love, I’ll be outside so you have space.” Vic gave him a kiss on the cheek and scooted past everyone, his grief held in as he waited for the others.

Meneris gave Anders a brief squeeze on the shoulder and offered condolences to Belann as well as Zevran before he moved out of the room. Dorian was waiting outside, his expression sombre as he glanced through the door; Anders had dropped back into his chair and buried his face against the bed, his own shoulders shaking as he gave into tears. Hal had moved to Belann’s side and drawn the Warden into a hug.

Fenris knelt besides Zevran to offer what comfort he could unsure what the other elf might need in his grief. “I’m here, if you need me.” 

Zevran’s face was buried against Solona’s still, unmoving chest as he wept. “Gone... she’s gone,” he choked. “I love her. I _love her!_ ” He lifted his head and stared unseeing at the ceiling. “Maker, _take me too!_ ” he screamed.

Fenris didn’t know what to do with his lover’s grief except wrap his arms around him and try to soothe him. “No, you cannot go too my heart.”

“Why?” begged Zevran. “ _Why??_ First Rinna, now her - why should I live when they do not? I cannot bear this!” He doubled over, head bowed as he howled in anguish. “ _WHY??_ ”

“We need you love, I need you please do not take yourself from us.” Fenris begged.

Zevran hugged himself as he cried, rocking slowly as he keened his grief. On the other side of the bed, Anders slid his fingers into his hair and whimpered, his face buried against the blankets as he wept. Belann had sagged against Hal, his face streaked with tears as he gasped for breath. Hal lifted his head to exchange a look of misery with Fenris.

Fenris frowned as he held Zevran, unsure what to do for him, and worried for saying the wrong thing as he grieved. 

Invictus peeked in and went to Anders as he saw how the mage had fallen to his own keening. He pulled the warden into his arms so he could cry freely. “I’m sorry for your loss love. I know she was important to you.”

“She saved my life,” Anders managed to gasp out. “Templars were going to hang me. She conscripted me. Saved me.” He drew a shuddering breath. “She meant so much to me, and then she abandoned me. But even after that... she was like you. Charismatic. Drew people to her. Couldn’t help but adore her. And now she’s gone. She came back to herself but now she’s gone.”

“She was my sister,” said Belann dully. “The only one I’ve ever known.”

Zevran lifted his head and reached a trembling hand for Solona’s hand that still lay limply upon the bed beside her. He carefully slipped a gold ring from her hand.

“I gave her this ring,” he said brokenly. “I wear its twin. Her heart to mine, my heart to hers. I had thought my mourning for her long done, and now I must grieve again. What god is so cruel as to wreak this pain on any man twice in a lifetime?” He slipped the ring slowly onto his little finger. “I cannot bear this,” he whispered. “Not again.”

Fenris winced as he watched Zevran pull the ring free but he didn’t say a word about it and didn’t plan to. “I’ll help in whatever way you wish Zevran.” he offered instead.

Zevran closed his eyes. “I wish I could beg you to kill me and lay me upon the pyre beside her, but I cannot,” he whispered. “I must live, no? I must find a way to go on again. I could not will myself to death the first time, nor when I had buried Rinna; I must live again.”

“I would not do that, do not ask it of me Zevran.” Fenris said hoarsely. 

Zevran shook his head. “I will not,” he whispered. He opened his eyes to stare down at Solona again. Gently he laid her hands upon her still breast, then bent to kiss her upon her lips. Then he took a step back from the bed and drew a slow breath. He pressed his hand over his heart and bowed to the dead woman, then blew her another kiss before he backed slowly from the room.

Fenris waited for a moment before he followed his lover down the hall, unsure where he was headed. He realized that the other elf was headed for his rooms, and not his own. They were nearly there before Zevran faltered and slid to the floor, sobbing. His weeping this time was less histrionic, more a dejected and exhausted crying as he slumped against the wall, almost silent. The initial shock was giving way to a deeper weariness and regret. He pressed one hand against the wall, the tears rolling down his face as he rested his head against the rough stone.

Fenris helped him to his feet and carried him to his room, he let him go once he had Zevran on the bed and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The second flood of tears had eased, and Zevran regarded the drink dully, his eyes red and sore.

“ _Car - cari-_ ” Zevran broke off, unable to say the word; he closed his eyes for a moment. “This hurts. My heart hurts, Fenris. I knew this moment was coming; why does it hurt so much?”

“You love her, that’s why. Can I do anything for you besides ply you with drink and dry your tears?” Fenris said as he filled his own glass.

Zevran tossed back the whiskey in one, ignoring the way it burned his throat on the way down, and held out his glass for a refill. “I do not know,” he said hoarsely. “This is my second time of mourning her. You would think it would come easier the second time, yes?”

“Last time you had no chance to say goodbye, and seeing her again was a shock if you recall. I am sorry Zevran, truly though I was not kind to her as she lived.” Fenris finished his own drink before he refilled his and Zevran’s.

Zevran nodded his thanks as Fenris refilled his glass, and downed half of it in one swallow. “Yes, I recall,” he rasped. “Anders fainted, and I think I was not far off it myself.” He laughed humourlessly. “Would that I could pass out now. Maybe this will help.” He raised the glass and took another swallow.

“You are welcome to rest here, I admit I don’t even know where your rooms are.” Fenris was hesitant to call him any of the pet names they shared, not when his grief was so raw. 

“I have none,” confessed Zevran. “I sleep where I fall. Customarily here, it is true.” He downed the rest of the whiskey and held the empty glass out mutely for a refill. “The world believes Zevran Arainai to be dead, and dead men do not have rooms. Therefore I have no room.”

“My room is yours, if you wish it Zevran.” Fenris sipped his drink quietly and sat across from his lover. “Should I get Hawke to put you to sleep?”

“No,” Zevran shook his head. “I prefer to drink myself to oblivion. Or perhaps, if you would indulge me, then there is a vial in my satchel - black glass, dark blue thread.”

“It’s not poison is it?” Fenris said as he rooted around and held the vial in his hand just in case. Zevran shook his head.

“No, merely a sedative,” he replied. “Fairly swift-acting if applied to an open wound, less so if drunk. Apply it to a blade, or pour it into my glass.”

“Give me your glass, I ...do not wish to raise a blade against you again.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran regarded him silently for a moment, then sighed wordlessly. “I would sooner the blade,” he murmured, but he held out his glass so that Fenris could refill it and dose it with the drug.

“I will do as you wish Zevran, give me a blade then.” Fenris held his hand out even though his fingers trembled.

The Antivan drew one of the small, sharp blades from his wrist sheath and held it out to Fenris, then bared his forearm. “The neck would be swiftest but I shall not ask you to touch blade to me there,” he said quietly. “Coat the blade both sides.”

Fenris did as he was told and looked up to Zevran. “Where then?” 

Zevran turned his arm so his wrist was uppermost. “Draw across in one smooth cut. Not too deep, but enough that the drug will enter the wound,” he said quietly. “Bind the wound afterwards; I shall likely be far too drowsy to do so myself.”

“Al...alright.” Fenris said as he glanced at the other elf then to his night stand where he kept some supplies. “I’m sorry Zev” he whispered as he cut just enough to make the drug take his lover out.

Zevran held still as blood welled up in the cut, and then his breath caught in his throat as the drug began to take effect swiftly. “Nothing to forgive,” he murmured, then blinked, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the blood trickling across his arm. “ _Carissimi...._ I....” He slumped slightly, his gaze becoming distant as his breathing grew slow and heavy, and then his head drooped as his eyes closed, deeply unconscious within a minute or two of the drug entering his bloodstream.

Fenris bandaged his arm quickly, sure to wipe any extra blood that had spilled before he took to his desk and wept while he could. It wasn’t for Zevran’s loss but his, sure that the other elf’s pain meant he would never bond with him. He felt terrible and selfish but he would never speak on it to him, and remain satisfied with what he was given. 

***

Solona Amell was given her final send-off that evening as the sun set. 

The pyre had been built upon the bridge, between the two upright stones that were all that remained of the final keephouse before the gates. Her body was shrouded in a royal blue cloth atop the pyre. The whole keep turned out for the funeral; though she had spent the last months of her life a prisoner, she was still the Hero of Ferelden.

The inner circle of the Inquisition had lined up a short distance from the gates, but all eyes were on the figures standing closest to the pyre. Zevran stood between Anders and Hawke; the light of the setting sun illuminated the white bandage about his wrist as he stood between the two mages, swaying slightly. Belann stood to Hawke’s right. Both Anders and Belann wore their Warden uniforms.

There were no words; Meneris had not known the woman personally, and felt he had no right to speak. At the end, none of the four men whose lives she had touched found they had anything left to say. At some unseen signal, Anders, Hawke and Belann raised their right hands, and then in a flash of fire the pyre was alight, its flames roaring softly in the chill evening air.

The inner circle watched for perhaps ten minutes before they turned and filed slowly back inside towards the Great Hall; the rest of the crowd slowly dispersed afterwards. Only Fenris remained behind to watch and wait with the four men.

It took an hour until all that was left was a black stain upon the stones, almost indistinguishable against the fire stains left from the Clearing. As one, the four men turned to head back inside. Zevran leaned into Fenris’ embrace as the warrior walked over to him, and then he stumbled back inside like one still half asleep. Hawke slung an arm around Anders’ waist; just inside the gate, Hal stepped out from the shadows to take Belann’s hand and lead him away towards the tavern where the Chargers were waiting.

Meneris approached from the other side of Hawke and offered his arm. “If you wish help?” 

“Yes please, we need to get some food and drink into him.” Hawke replied, grateful for the help.

“I need to write to Nathaniel,” said Anders hollowly. “The First Warden should be informed as well.”

“I’ll bring you parchment once we settle in to have food.” Vic said softly. “Do you mind sitting with him while I do that Inquisitor?” 

Anders glanced at the elf. “Are you going to lock me up?” he asked dully, too tired and sick with grief to be afraid any more.

“No, I never was Anders. I would not do that to you earlier and certainly not now while you are grieving.” Meneris replied.

“Oh,” the blond healer replied. “That’s... that’s good to know.” He stared at his feet as they headed towards his rooms; once inside, he began to strip off his Warden uniform until he was clad only in his white shirt and faded grey pants.

Meneris waved Hawke off as he got hot spiced cider for himself and a spiked one for Anders. “Here, you need something hot in you.”

The healer glanced at the mug, then took it with a nod of thanks. He moved over to the window and stared out into the courtyard as he sipped it slowly.

“At least she seemed to go easily at the end,” he said softly. “Hal was able to relieve her pain enough to give her a few minutes with us. Andraste guide her,” he added softly.

“I’m sure she’s at the Maker’s side. How are you holding up?” Meneris asked. 

“Still in shock I think,” Anders admitted. “She went downhill so fast. The end came sooner than any of us expected. But I’m glad she’s at peace now.” He glanced back at the Inquisitor; there was a sad, wistful look upon his face. “If I’d known how little time she had left, I would have spent more time at her side and less hiding to wallow in my own misery,” he confessed.

“You couldn’t have known Anders. I’m sure she appreciated the time you did spend with her.” Meneris said as Hawke joined them and passed Anders a sheaf of parchment, pot of ink and a couple quills after he set his own mug down.

Anders sat down at his desk with the writing supplies and tugged the hair-tie from his hair slowly as he stared at the blank sheet. He ran a hand through his hair slowly, then reached for a quill and sharpened it with a couple of strokes from the small, sharp knife on his desk. he dipped the quill in the ink then stared at the sheet, trying to think what to write. He drew a sharp breath, then his hand began to write.

“I’m... I apologise if I... I’ll probably be a bit of a mess by the time I’ve written these,” he said as he stared at his first sentence.

 

“No worries love, I’m going to get out of your hair and check on Fenris, then I’ll be back. Do you need food?” Hawke asked.

“I’ll remain here if you need time with them.” Meneris offered.

“I’m not hungry,” said Anders. He swallowed hard as he continued to write. “Maker, this is....” He sniffed hard and carried on writing, reaching for his mug with his free hand.

“As you wish, I’ll be back in a bit.” Hawke tipped his head to Meneris before he slipped off to see Fenris and Zevran. 

Once Hawke was out of earshot, he turned to Anders. “If...you wish a distraction I am here Anders, or if you wish to talk of what happened with Cullen.”

Anders glanced up. His eyes were misted with tears, though his cheeks were dry. “What did you want to know?” he asked quietly.

“Just what happened, and why he felt the need to hit you with a Smite, I worry for you.” Meneris said gently.

Anders dropped his glance back to the letter he was writing. For a few long minutes there was silence, broken only by the scratching of Anders’ quill, and then he sighed quietly.

“I needed space to think,” he said softly. “For such a large fortress, at times it can feel very... claustrophobic. I just needed to get away somewhere by myself. I guess the others, they... worried about me. I suppose it made sense to them to ask Cullen to find me - he knows the keep better than almost anyone else, and he was always rather good at finding me - even when I didn’t want to be found.” He laughed hollowly. “Figures.” He shook his head, swallowing hard. 

“There’s a whole load of rooms on the south side of the keep, near the undercroft. I think some of them link up to the dungeons, though I didn’t go that far. I found what might have been a library once - I’m not sure. There are shelves, though no books, and half of the floor has fallen away down the side of the mountain at some point. It was quiet, and it... it felt safe. I wasn’t expecting anyone to find me there.”

He stared at the words he’d written, and frowned, crossing out a couple of words and writing something else instead. “Maker, this is hard to write. How does Cullen stand it? The letters to the families?”

“I have no idea, I can’t manage it.” Meneris said softly.

Anders set the quill down and sniffed hard, wiping at his eyes with one hand. “I have to do this; I can’t leave this to Josie or Cullen,” he said. “It’s my duty.” He dropped his forehead to his hands and stared at the words for a moment, then drew a deep breath and picked up the quill again. “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”

“You were talking about needing space. That’s where you were.” Meneris answered.

“Oh. Yes,” said Anders, frowning slightly. “It was the siege you see. The fire. After Kirkwall... I hate it. I swore I’d never kill like that again, but... we had no choice. They were just going to come on, and on, and on, and they’d have killed us all. We had no choice. But... the noise, the, the _smell_....” Anders laid the quill down again, shuddering. “We had no choice,” he repeated, almost whispering. “I just... and then Zevran and Fenris - the blood - but I didn’t have to, you see?” He looked up at the Inquisitor. “I didn’t have to do that. I could walk away. So I did, I - I walked away, to think, clear my head. But I guess there was more I needed to clear than I thought.”

Meneris made a sympathetic noise as he patted Anders on the shoulder. “You’re babbling.” 

Anders jerked, startled. “I- I am? Maker... I’m sorry, I, this isn’t easy for me. You see why I needed to get away by myself, to think?” He ran a hand through his hair distractedly and reached for the mug then blinked when he realised it was empty, setting it down again.

“I don’t know how long I was down there by myself. I remember I spent the morning in the Chantry. I thought... maybe if I prayed... the Maker’s never answered me thus far, but I thought maybe it would bring me clarity, or at least comfort. It did neither. I just, I couldn’t find any answers. So I went there instead and I just. I wanted peace. And I couldn’t find it.” He leaned his forehead against his hands, his eyes closed this time. “I couldn’t. I know we had to, but... I can’t forgive myself for what we did. And I didn’t know what to do, and I just felt _so damned guilty_. And then I heard templar boots behind me.”

“Ah I see now. Well you’re safe Anders, no one will let you come to harm here. I dare say you giving the Commander a black eye did more for your reputation than you could have imagined.” Meneris got him a refill and sat down again.

“I didn’t mean to,” said Anders remorsefully. “I didn’t know it was him. I felt him Smite me, and I wasn’t going to go down easy. Instinct, after so long, I suppose. Smite’s just a spiritual attack you see - if you can channel spirit magic against it, it feeds on that instead. You can make the two attacks burn off against each other, if you have enough mana to burn. Most mages don’t realise; they don’t go up against a Smite all that often. They get hit with one once and it scares them. But I was hit with them a lot. I started to realise how they worked - and that it depends on the experience of the templar you’re up against. The trick to escaping is to throw in enough mana so you’re still standing afterwards. Hadn’t had to do it for years though. Not since Kirkwall.” He smiled wanly. “Still got it though,” he said with a ghost of his old self.

“That you do, people are impressed. You know they view you as our Senior Enchanter.” Meneris said with a smile.

Anders blinked, surprised. “Me?” He reached for the mug as he sat back. “Can’t think why.” He frowned, and Meneris realised the blond apostate was speaking the truth. 

“You are a natural teacher Anders, don’t tell me you have missed that? Fenris has told me how you helped him learn to read when Invictus couldn’t do so.” Meneris said.

“That was just patience,” said Anders with a wave, dismissively. “Most teaching comes down to letting people realise for themselves how smart they actually are and then helping them find their own pace. Some encouragement, certainly. But it takes more than that to be a senior enchanter. What would I know about that? I’ve spent my life running away.” 

“You my friend don’t realize your worth do you?” Meneris said as he turned to face Anders. “You are a smart man, and a powerful mage. We’re lucky to have you here and I want you to know that. Vivienne is already a Senior Enchanter, Dorian as well, or maybe an Enchanter, I don’t really know. But if you wish, I would give you a proper title here if you wish to remain with us once all is said and done.” Meneris tapped his mug against Anders’, and enjoyed the gobsmacked look on his face.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” said Anders quietly. “I’m... thank you. I respect both Vivienne and Dorian’s skills and talents; they’re exceptionally smart and gifted at what they do. Dorian’s grasp of the theoretical is far beyond that which I’ve ever encountered anywhere; I’ve learned a great deal from him.”

He stared down at the half-written letter. “Forgive me, I must get these letters finished before my nerve fails me,” he said quietly. He took up the quill and dipped it in the ink, then bent over the parchment once more.

His quill scratched at the parchment; as he worked, he rubbed at his eyes from time to time, his breath hitching in his chest as certain points proved painful. After a while, he drew a second sheet to himself and began the second letter. 

He finally raised his head as he set the quill aside, both letters done, and he rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes before scrubbing at the tears that stained his face.

“It’s done,” he said, as he reached for his mug.

“Do you want company? If not me, then I’m sure that Dorian or perhaps Belann could use the company.” Meneris waited for the other man’s response, not wanting to push too hard.

“Please stay,” said Anders softly. “I don’t think I want to be alone just now.”

“Of course, if you don’t mind I’ll get something to eat and be right back.” Meneris gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he stood. 

Anders nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Welcome.” Meneris returned with a plate for himself and for Anders, despite the mage’s protest that he wasn’t hungry. “It’s here if you change your mind.” was all he said before he dug in. 

Anders rested his elbow on the desk and rested his head against his fist, his eyes still red-rimmed. “We’ve all been a headache to you, haven’t we?” he said quietly. “Hawke, and Fenris, and me I mean. And Zevran too. Your job would have been so much easier if we’d never landed on you like this. You must have wished you were rid of us.”

Meneris laid his fork aside and looked at Anders as he admitted some of that being true. “Yes, you three, four have been a pain at times. I do not regret having found you however. For all the hassle, the Inquisition is stronger for your presence. We would have lost many if not for your healing. Invictus is one of the best fighting mages I’ve seen and when Fenris isn’t an emotional mess, he’s a beauty to behold on the battlefield.”

Anders nodded, his eyes on the wooden grain of his desk. “Fenris will be more stable when I’ve fixed the issue with his brands.” 

“What is the issue with his brands? Is he...is he..?” Meneris didn’t want to ask if the other elf was dying, especially on the heels of the Warden’s passing.

Anders drew a deep breath and straightened. “What do you know of Fenris’ past?” he asked.

“That he was a slave in Tevinter, Dorian told me what he knew of seeing Fenris around with Da..Danarius I believe it is. I’ve seen his teleportation trick on the field. He killed Danarius in Kirkwall, that’s… about it, why?” Meneris asked.

“The brands upon his body - and yes, before you ask, they cover his whole body - front and back, even the soles of his feet - are pure lyrium, carved into his flesh,” said Anders. “There is only one other like him - he has a brother, though Danarius ripped half his lyrium back out to make Fenris. Fenris was... the perfected version.” Anders winced. “Danarius sought to recreate the lyrium warriors of old Arlathan. The problem is, his work needs maintaining, and after Danarius died, there was no-one to perform the blood magic needed. Without it, the brands and the enchantments slowly break down, leaking lyrium into his body. It slowly destroys his mind and kills him from the inside out. I can... slow it, and every so often I work healing on him to try and reverse the damage. I know I’ll need to do it again soon; his mood becoming volatile is one of the outward symptoms. Dorian and I have been researching a way to bind the lyrium permanently without the need for blood magic.”

“Is he in danger? What if you can’t fix this?” Meneris asked though he was sure the answer wouldn’t be one anyone wanted.

“I’ll fix this,” said Anders, holding Meneris’ gaze steadily. “I won’t let Fenris die.”

“I can see that. If I can be of use, please let me know.” Meneris looked away and at his plate, uncomfortable with where the conversation had gone.

“I’ll need to work on Fenris again soon, strengthen the binding on the brands,” Anders said thoughtfully. “If I’d been in my right mind myself I would have seen it sooner, but after Adamant I was... not myself.” He grimaced slightly. 

“It was understandable, don’t blame yourself too much.” Meneris replied. Anders gave him a faint smile.

“Why not? Saves time, I find,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s usually my fault anyway.” He reached for his mug and took a long drink then leaned back in his chair with a low sigh. “I’m sorry. Hawke would shout at me if he heard me say that.”

“As would Fenris and I daresay Zevran. I won’t because you don’t need anyone else shouting at you either.” Meneris said.

“Please don’t,” Anders gave him a weak smile. “I don’t actually cope too well with being shouted at these days. Not like that, anyway.” He frowned. “I wonder how Zevran is handling things.”

“Not well from what we saw earlier. Did you want to check on him?” Meneris asked.

Anders pondered for a moment, then nodded. “If you don’t mind?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble, and you’ve been... very patient with me.” He looked wistful. “Not many would have been.”

“It’s nothing Anders, the least I can do is be kind in your moment of grief. Come on I’ll walk with you.” Meneris nodded towards the door and waited for Anders to lead.

Anders grabbed a long black woolen robe from his wardrobe and pulled it on, tying the long dark blue sash belt as he made his way to the door, tugging his long dark gold hair free from the collar with one hand as he pulled the door open. He held it for the Inquisitor, then headed off up the hall towards Fenris’ rooms, his feet silent on the cold flagstone floor.

He knocked at the elf’s door and waited, glancing to Meneris a little nervously.

Fenris opened the door and let them in. “I was on my way to Hawke’s room, he’ll be asleep for a while.” 

“May I just check on him?” asked Anders, twisting his fingers together as he stared down at the white-haired elf. “I just... I’m worried.”

“Of course, I will be in Hawke’s room for a bit. He should be asleep until dawn at the least, pardon me.” Fenris said quietly as he waited for them to pass by so he could go. He didn’t want them to see his red-rimmed eyes.

Anders frowned, but slipped past Fenris to move towards the bed where Zevran was sprawled unconscious. Being so much taller, Anders wasn’t able to see Fenris’ face clearly beneath his unruly white hair, but Meneris could see the warrior’s expression easily.

Anders knelt cautiously on the edge of the bed and carefully reached out to lay his hand lightly on Zevran’s ankle. The Antivan elf didn’t stir, and Anders’ frown deepened. He sent his senses out into the former Crow’s body, and then he realised why Fenris was so confident Zevran would sleep. He could feel the drug that flowed through the sleeping elf’s body, keeping him deep under; feel, too, the cuts upon his wrist. Now he understood the bandage. He checked that the cuts would heal cleanly, adding a slight touch of magic to speed up the healing as he checked Zevran’s breathing and heartbeat. 

Satisfied that the elf was in no physical danger from the sedative, Anders gathered his robes about him and rose to his feet.

“He will be fine physically. As to mentally....” He sighed. “We shall see.” He leaned against the door frame. “Inquisitor, thank you for your understanding and patience and... and for listening.” He smiled sadly. “If you will both excuse me, I think I’ll return to my room and try to sleep. It’s been an exhausting day and I think perhaps I need to be alone for a little while.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Fenris said before he turned to go and saw the mage had a hand up as if to touch him. “Did you need something?”

“A kiss?” asked Anders, a little plaintively.

Fenris wiped his face dry before he tugged Anders down for a long, slow kiss before he pulled back for air. “Like that?” 

Anders whimpered as he gasped for air. “Yes... yes, I....” He clung to Fenris, burying his face against his lover’s shoulder, and his shoulders began to shake as he wept again, open-mouthed as the tears came stinging, hot and furious once more, his hands clutching at Fenris’ tunic as he finally allowed himself to cry.

Fenris held him close and let him sob on his shoulder, and nodded at Meneris as he heard the door shut. Anders was slowly crumpling to his knees, one hand pressed against his mouth as he sobbed, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, his nose reddening. He could barely catch his breath, the gasps coming hard as the sobs shook his body. He tried to say something but it was lost amid the torrent of tears.

Fenris held him, unsure if he could do anything for his lover besides hold him close and let him cry it out. Anders had collapsed into the kind of messy, open-mouthed crying that only came after much exhaustion and far too much extreme of emotion, his nose running slightly as he fell to the ground, a ragged mess, one hand shoved against his mouth in a futile effort to stem the fit of sobbing, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.

“Stretch out on my bed, I’ll get you some water.” Fenris took off Anders boots and let him lie next to Zevran. He offered the mage a glass of cold water, and a kerchief to wipe his face. The mage scrubbed at his face a little clumsily, his breath still shuddering and hitching in his chest with the occasional hiccup between sips of water.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, wiping his nose and glancing up at Fenris with watery eyes, his cheeks blotchy.

“You’re grieving, don’t apologize.” Fenris said softly. “Relax here with Zevran, I suggest you take a potion before you fall asleep.”

“Head’s splitting,” Anders mumbled, then hiccupped again as he curled up upon the bed. A few tears still clung to his eyelashes, running down his face when he blinked.

“Heal yourself, or I will give you a potion, whichever you prefer Anders.” Fenris said.

“Sorry, I can’t think straight,” mumbled Anders, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “Potion - please?” He watched as Fenris fetched it for him and he downed it swiftly, then lay back against the pillow. “Sorry, ‘m sorry - I’m a mess, and now I’m taking your bed and - sorry,” he finished lamely.

“It’s alright, just sleep Anders. I’ll be nearby.” Fenris said as he pulled the covers over the warden. The blond apostate was still murmuring incoherent apologies punctuated by hiccups as Fenris straightened; as the elf stepped back around the bed, Anders’ voice slowly tailed off as his breathing calmed and slowed save for the occasional hitch as the exhausted man finally drifted towards sleep.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promotion for Anders, Zevran and he are in mourning, and Anders takes up the Iron Bull on his offer and gets more than he was expecting. Off to the Hissing Wastes at last.

Three days after Solona’s passing, some members of the Inquisition still grieved, albeit quietly. Zevran had taken to wearing all black, while Fenris split his time between the three men, with more spent with Zevran when he wished company. He was careful not to bring up his want of bonding again as they readied themselves to depart for the Hissing Wastes.

Hawke wanted to do the bonding before they went but knew it wasn’t a good time. Instead he tried to help Anders through his grief and left Zevran to Fenris.

Anders wore black robes all the time now. It reminded Hawke and Fenris a little too much of those days before the destruction of the Chantry, when Anders had worn black then; but like Zevran, the blond healer was in mourning. He'd increasingly taken to wearing more traditional mage's robes lately, the more he worked with the fledgeling mages' college - much to Vivienne's evident approval. She'd gifted him a set of robes she'd had specially commissioned in Orlais. A delegation of mages had come to Anders the day following the funeral; they had brought the condolences of the entire college, and a letter signed by all the most senior mages requesting he formally take up the position of First Enchanter. Anders had smiled sadly, told them he would think on it, and then locked himself away in his room for the rest of the day.

The letters to Nathaniel in Vigil’s Keep and to the First Warden in Weisshaupt were dispatched by two of Leliana’s fastest agents. Leliana could have sent the word by raven, but uncharacteristically she decided to let Anders’ words be the first to proclaim the death of the Hero of Ferelden. The agent that rode for Vigil’s Keep had orders to ride thereafter for King Alistair.

Belann was reportedly still in the Herald’s Rest. He hadn’t been seen outside the tavern since the funeral.

Fenris wore Inquisition armor since it was warmer than the Spirit hide he’d worn for years. He fretted over his lovers but didn’t make a thing of it. Hawke seemed to the only one of them not too deeply affected by Solona’s passing. Honestly he was more worried for Anders than himself. Anders had taken only the first day after the funeral for himself and immediately thrown himself back into his work with the college and in the infirmary thereafter. Mornings were given to healing, the afternoons to teaching - and Anders had leapt straight back into the routine once more, almost as though nothing had happened.

The white-haired warrior had noticed that all the most senior mages in the Inquisition had been taking it in turns to call upon Anders - even Solas, which was surprising. The bald elf had never shown much sign of genuine compassion or interest in the blond healer before, apart from when he wished to discuss Anders’ years of sharing mind and body with Justice or wanting to discuss some obscure theoretical matter of magic with him, but now he had begun calling upon Anders once a day. Only for perhaps a quarter of an hour each time, but for three days he had done it now, at the same time each day, with every sign of it likely to continue.

Fenris didn’t like Solas, especially as the elf always seemed to be there when he came by to visit Anders whilst on his way to the practice rings. He didn’t say a word though out of respect for Anders’ grief. He had just returned from another abortive attempt to visit Anders, whom he’d found sat at his desk in the infirmary, his light grey healer’s robe worn over the customary black that was all he wore now, drinking tea as Solas held forth about some obscure tidbit of knowledge regarding healing spirits. The blond mage had been welcoming of Fenris but the white-haired elf had made his excuses and left.

He sat now with Zevran, simply carding his fingers through the other elf’s hair as they relaxed. Zevran was sat at his feet, one arm draped over Fenris’ knee as Fenris went through some of his notes and writings. Fenris frowned as he read over another passage in the journal, annoyed that he couldn’t make out part of it.

Zevran sat silently, rubbing his thumb over the small gold ring on his little finger. He said nothing, but he tilted his head a little to one side as he caught sight of Fenris’ expression in the mirror across the room.

Fenris noted him rubbing the ring but said nothing. His frown deepened instead and he closed the book and set it aside. “Seems my reading isn’t as good as I thought.” 

Zevran noted the way the other elf’s eyes flicked to his hand then away and the way Fenris’ eyes seemed to close off a little. He tilted his head back to stare up at Fenris.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “It has only been three days. I do not mean to hurt you, my heart.”

Fenris shrugged and reached for his wine. “Your love was years in the making, I do not expect your grief to be for less. It is clear she meant ...much to you.” 

Zevran closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I have never spoken to you of Rinna, have I, my heart?” he said quietly.

“No and I would not cause you even deeper pain while you are in such mourning Zevran.” Fenris made to refill his glass. The Antivan shrugged.

“It is an old pain; it is true I have never spoken of it but to very few, but the time is long past now,” he answered. “She and I were young Crows together in House Arainai - she, I, and Taliesen. He, too, is dead by the way. I was sold to the Crows and so was she - I from the brothel, she as just one more illegitimate brat spawned by a dissolute king who had many bastards both inside Antiva and outside. We three grew up together and fought well together. We were inseparable - or so we thought. But even bastards have enemies, it seems, and I was still so young and foolish as to believe what the elders told me. They told Taliesen and I that Rinna had betrayed us and that she must die. And I, fool that I am, believed them.”

He rubbed his forehead, a frown wrinkling his brow. “She said she loved me, I did not believe her, even though I loved her truly. She died protesting her innocence and love - with my blade in her heart.” He opened his eyes and held Fenris’ gaze in the mirror. “I killed the first woman I loved. The first _person_ to whom I had given my heart.”

“I am sorry love, I did not mean to make you remember such pain. Forgive me.” Fenris refilled his glass and offered Zevran one as well.

Zevran accepted it. “I should have told you this before,” he said quietly. He sipped the wine slowly, then went on.

“After I had buried her, I volunteered for the contract to kill Alistair and Solona. They were the only Wardens in Ferelden. Many in the Crows thought I was trying to accrue glory to myself, to become Master. But I took the contract because I thought the Warden would kill me. I was too much of a coward to do the job myself, you see. Of course, my ambush failed - but so did my attempt to die at her hands. I was wounded, but not fatally. And Solona spared my life.”

He smiled sadly. “I wanted to die; instead, I found new reason to live. I left the Crows and followed the Warden. And... I fell in love with her. I gave my body to any who wished it but my heart only to her. I did not know what love was. I only knew that with her, this terrible emptiness inside - it was not so terrible, yes? I could endure it. And in time... it was no longer there.”

“I see.” Fenris understood but he didn’t want to burden Zevran with his own problems.

“The Blight ended. When Solona asked me to go with her, I agreed, gladly. And when she asked me to marry her, I thought I would die of happiness. We exchanged rings beside that place in the road where I had ambushed her, so many years before. I did not always wear my ring on the same finger - I did not wish to be that easily recognised, because an incautious man hunted by the Crows is soon a dead man, and a band upon a finger leaves a mark. But I always wore it on one of my fingers. And then I had to travel to Antiva to deal with the Crows for once and for all. By the time I returned... she was dead. Or so I thought.” Zevran stared at the small gold ring upon his little finger.

“And the rest you know,” he finished softly. “And now she is truly gone. And I realise that the empty place inside... it will always be there, Fenris. It is a part of me. Solona did not fill it - she merely made me happy enough to forget it was there. That place is cold and lonely now, and I am aware of it all the time. But... sometimes... I can forget, for a little while.” He glanced up to stare at Fenris. “Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “I know you have your own empty place, my heart. And I cannot fill it. No-one can; it is a part of you.” 

Fenris nodded and turned away so Zevran wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes, how he had to blink to keep tears from falling. He refilled his wine glass and went to the window, anything to keep all the words he wanted to scream inside. He finally turned and returned to his lover. “Apologies, I am being selfish, what do you need Zevran?” 

Zevran rose to his feet and glanced down at the journal Fenris had left open on the desk. “Merely time, my love,” he said softly. “Time and... a little understanding.”

Fenris followed his gaze, and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.. I should have burned the pages after I got it out of my system. That ...I’m, I’m sorry Zevran” he pulled away and flipped through the journal to tear the pages free.

Zevran leaned forward and pressed his hand flat over the journal, halting him. “No,” he said softly. “It was in your heart. Things left too long inside fester, my love; I know that too well myself.” He lifted his eyes and met Fenris’ gaze reluctantly. “I, too, am sorry,” he said softly.

“No, I don’t deserve an apology for this. It is unkind especially in the face of your mourning. Just...let me help you however you need Zevran. May I hold you?” Fenris asked quietly. 

Zevran straightened, his head bowed, and nodded, once.

Fenris pulled the other elf into his arms and rested his head on Zevran’s shoulder. “I wish I could do more than this for you but whatever I can do, is yours.” He fell quiet as he felt wetness against his chest and the shuddering of his lover’s shoulders.

Zevran let his fingers curl into Fenris’ tunic as he let the tears come. He was unashamed of them; he wished Fenris could see there was nothing to be ashamed of in his own emotions either.

“Why can you not talk to me, my love?” he whispered. “Must I read it in your journal or hear it only in your voice when you think I am sleeping?”

Fenris stiffened and didn’t speak. His lover had heard all he’d said, when he thought Zevran had been asleep. The realization of it made him freeze, tense in the other elf’s embrace. “I fear what you all will think of me. I am but a child Zevran, when it comes to those I love. I fear myself, the darkness in my mind and worse, that the terrible things that go unsaid, unwritten will show just how unworthy I am of you.” Although he wanted to pull away he didn’t; instead he remained still as he waited for the other elf’s reply.

Zevran turned his head a little, blinking away his tears as he willed his heart to calm, his breathing to settle. “I would sooner know what is in your heart than fear what it is you do not say, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “The unknown is always far more terrifying than the known, no? How can I set your mind, your heart at ease, when I do not know what it is you fear? How can I feel anything other than fear myself, when you hold yourself apart from me?”

He lifted his head and lifted a hand to lightly trail the backs of his fingers down Fenris’ cheek before leaning in to brush a light kiss to the other elf’s lips. “You have been shown and given so much love, and yet I fear it may never be enough - that _I_ can never be enough. You are so envious even now of a woman who is only ashes and a memory. How can I compete with that fear in your heart, love?”

“I am not jealous of her.” Fenris said. “It is I who fears I am not enough for you Zevran. This is not a competition, just stop. I do not wish to fight or make your hurts worse. Just let me hold you and be still for a while, and later, we can speak if you wish.” He was proud of the fact his voice did not waver or crack as he looked to the Antivan.

Zevran pulled back a little, a slightly lost expression on his face as he studied Fenris’ eyes. After a moment, he hesitantly nodded, then lowered his gaze, all certainty gone from his eyes, his self-confidence fled. He reminded Fenris a little of Anders in that moment.

Fenris pulled him back into his arms and just held Zevran, eventually letting his own tears fall as he comforted his grieving his lover.

Zevran leaned into Fenris’ embrace, his eyes still holding that lost expression. “I don’t know... what comes next,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t know what I am supposed to do, _carissimi_. The Crows do not teach for what comes after death; we are the ones who send others to their deaths. We do not mourn; we are the _cause_ of mourning. And now I am no longer a Crow, I still do not know how it is that one is supposed to live like this. I have done this before, but I do not remember it hurting quite like this before. With Rinna, I could blame myself. When first I mourned Solona, I thought only to embrace death. This time... I do not wish to die so very much as I did at first, but... I do not know, yet, how to live.”

“One day at a time Zevran. It’s all you can do sometimes. You counseled me on this many times, you reminded me that there are reasons for me to get out of bed, continue to put one foot in front of the other each day though I did not want to.” Fenris tightened his hold on the other elf and reached up to cradle the back of his head so he could stroke the soft golden strands. “I am sorry if I contributed to your pain, I am here for you no matter what.” he said quietly.

“I did not understand,” answered Zevran quietly. “You wrote of this... bonding, I thought you were upset that I did not tell you that Solona and I had married. I was trying to understand what you wanted of me. I thought perhaps it was time I told you the truth, the whole story. I did not understand what you were truly asking me. I am... not used to others caring more for me than just what use I could be to them, or for the use of my body.”

“Zevran if I’d wanted you just for pleasure we would not be here now. Do you understand that?” Fenris asked roughly.

Zevran looked up into his eyes, his own still a little bewildered. “I... I think so, _carissimi_ ,” he said slowly. “But... I _do_ give you pleasure also... yes?”

“Of course you do, that is never a doubt.” Fenris gave him a smile as he wiped the other elf’s tears away.

“I love you, Fenris,” said Zevran quietly. “If I did not, then what we did - it would have meant nothing to me. It would not have hurt so that you seemed to think at first that was the case, indeed. It was that pain that told me that there was more than merely a sharing of pleasure.” He frowned a little. “I think that was what I found so unutterably unbearable when you rejected me so in Hawke’s house. But I did not know how to show you this. I... I still do not know. I am - I have always been - a man of action; of deeds, rather than words. But the actions of others... I still cannot read them so easily, my heart.”

“You are here, still in my arms and allowing me to comfort you in your grief. You have had a side of me that none other has, even Invictus. You know me better than I know myself in many ways Zevran. I know you love me, otherwise I would never, ever trust you as I have with my heart, my words or my body. You show me in so many ways, do not fear that at all. I love you and I know you are hurting, my pain doesn’t matter right now, especially when it is so petty. Let me be here for you, or if you need space tell me as well. I just want to do what is best to help you heal, and I know it will take time.” Fenris said before he dipped his head to brush his lips against the shorter elf’s. 

“I trust you with my life, _carissimi_ ,” murmured Zevran. 

“As do I, it is a privilege Zev.” Fenris said as he finally pulled away but held the other elf’s hand as he headed for the bed. “Let’s lie down, if you want?”

Zevran followed willingly, stretching out upon the bed and watching Fenris, his golden eyes roaming slowly over the warrior’s body before returning to Fenris’ face.

Fenris closed his eyes and let out the breath he didn’t think he was holding. He felt Zevran cuddle next to him. “Is this better?”

Zevran trailed a hand slowly up Fenris’ arm, somehow instinctively avoiding the lines of lyrium even through the shirt he wore. He hummed softly in agreement as he nestled his head against Fenris’ shoulder, closing his eyes even as his hand still trailed up over Fenris’ other shoulder.

“Are you warm enough, do you need anything else?” Fenris asked as he felt Zevran’s touch against his skin. Zevran trailed his fingers across Fenris’ chest, then opened his eyes to stare up into Fenris’ green gaze.

“Perhaps I feel a little... _too_ warm,” breathed the elf as he tugged at the neck of his own shirt briefly.

Fenris wasn’t sure what Zevran was up to, but he put his hands on the hem of the other elf’s shirt and raised a brow. “May I?”

Zevran lifted his arms up so that the other elf could tug off his shirt, then lay back upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he rested his hands either side of his head. He sighed faintly.

“Do you need a cold drink? Something else?” Fenris asked as he raised up on one elbow.

“To feel alive... or forget myself for a while,” answered Zevran softly.

Fenris got up and locked the door before he came back to the bed and urged Zevran to straddle him. “Tell me if I’m reading you wrong before I make this awkward for us.” he said as he rubbed his thumb over the dark lines that trailed down the other elf’s torso and disappeared beyond his pants.

“No, not wrong, love,” said Zevran quietly. “This... this is all I know, to help myself forget for a little while.”

“Then do as you wish with me, I am at your command.” Fenris said before he sat up and tugged his own shirt off and flung it across the room. “I’m yours.” 

Zevran bent down and kissed Fenris slowly, gently, as his hands ran slowly down over the other elf’s torso, strong firm fingers tracing the unmarked skin between lines of lyrium before he shifted back a little. Then he deliberately ran his tongue along a single line of lyrium as it descended Fenris’ throat. He drew his breath with a faint hiss.

“Strange,” he murmured. “It burns, upon my tongue.” He pressed a light kiss to the hollow of Fenris’ throat.

“It’s toxic, be careful.” Fenris murmured as he tilted his head aside, eyes closed as he awaited instruction.

“But it is bound in your skin, no?” murmured Zevran as he kissed lower. “Touch me... I need to feel your hands upon me, love,” he begged.

“For others...and for me.” Fenris said before he reached up and trailed his nails up Zevran’s back, and back down, pressing in a little harder as he went. Zevran gasped lightly.

“Harder,” he breathed faintly as he hunched over Fenris, closing his eyes. “I need to _feel_.”

“Very...well. Know that I do not wish to hurt you again.” Fenris breathed as he raked his nails over the assassin’s skin once more, careful not to break skin but leave marks. He rested one hand on Zevran’s throat as he laid there, staring up at his lover, worried but wanting to give him what he wanted.

Zevran suddenly tightened his legs about Fenris then threw himself to the side; with a flip, suddenly their positions were reversed and Fenris found he was leaning his weight against the hand pressed to Zevran’s throat as he steadied himself. Zevran gasped for breath, his hands tracing back up Fenris’ chest as he wrapped his legs around the warrior’s waist. He let his eyes flutter half-shut as he groaned breathlessly.

The warrior had to keep himself from snatching his hand away at Zevran’s sudden move. He pressed slowly, experimentally as he watched the other elf for signs to stop. 

At the increase in pressure, Zevran’s eyes opened wider as he stared up into Fenris’ eyes. The Antivan was straining to draw breath, his gasps coming faster and more shallow. He licked his lips and ground his hips against Fenris in wordless encouragement.

Fenris relaxed his grip so the rogue could draw breath before he pressed on his throat again, careful not to put too much pressure on him. Zevran’s eyes fluttered closed and his hands fell away from Fenris’ chest, the pressure of his legs about Fenris slackening off slightly as his breath rasped faintly in his throat.

The elven warrior eased up and tried not to let his worry show as he shook his hands to get some feeling in them. He leaned down to kiss Zevran softly before he wrapped both hands around the elf’s throat. 

“I want to feel you inside me, my love,” Zevran managed quietly. “Please....”

“As you wish, let me get the oil.” Fenris pulled his hands away as fast as he dared so he could crawl over Zevran to fetch oil from the nightstand. He realized his hands were shaking just a bit as he uncorked the bottle and slicked some of his fingers.

Zevran reached down to unlace his pants, then kicked them down together with his smallclothes before rolling over onto his stomach and spreading his legs. He glanced over his shoulder at Fenris as the other elf readied himself.

“Up on your knees.” Fenris requested and once Zev had done as he asked, he worked two fingers into his lover, his other hand on the other elf’s shoulder as he curled his fingers on the downstroke until he heard his name moaned along with please and more. Zevran shuddered as Fenris twisted his fingers inside him.

“Fenris... _car....carissimi_ ,” the Antivan panted. He pressed his face into the pillow as he rocked back onto Fenris’ hand, sinking his teeth into the soft cloth as his fingers curled into the mattress and he whimpered.

The warrior slipped another finger in and pumped faster for a while as he let his fingers tug some of Zevran’s hair as he made the other elf pant and moan for him. 

Zevran writhed beneath him, his breath coming faster with ragged pants, his body sheened with sweat beneath Fenris. “Please... please, love, _now_ ,” he begged then cursed softly in Antivan as he bit his lip. “ _Please!_ ”

Fenris pulled his fingers free and urged Zevran to hold still as he slid into him. He reached down to stroke his lover slowly, in counter to his strokes. “Love… you.” he whispered before he pulled back until he was nearly out and slammed back in. Zevran jerked and cried out loudly as his body was shifted forwards; he dug his fingers into the mattress then deliberately rocked back into Fenris’ next stroke.

“H-harder,” he begged. “I want to forget everything - even my own name.”

“Spread your legs and hold on then.” Fenris rasped in his ear as he leaned back and settled in for a hard ride. He tried to find a way to press the other elf’s face down but couldn’t do so without keeping him from breathing so he settled for wrapping blond hair around his fist and tugging as he continued to thrust hard as he could into his lover.

Zevran braced himself against the headboard; at first he merely gasped each time Fenris slammed into him, but after a while he began to cry out, his cries getting louder as his hips rocked back into Fenris. His back arched under the strain of Fenris’ fist in his hair, forcing his head back; the Antivan’s eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as he shivered and jerked beneath Fenris.

The Tevinter elf let his grip ease, mostly so he could use both hands to steady Zevran as he put all he had into making the other elf scream himself hoarse. “Come...for me.” he gasped finally.

Zevran’s head fell forward as he panted, his body quivering, keeping up a litany of swears in Antivan and Tevene until finally he screamed his release, throwing his head back with an almost inhuman howl.

Fenris called his lover’s name as he finally found release, resting his forehead against Zevran’s shoulders as he panted. Zevran rested his forehead against the headboard, his eyes closed as he fought for breath. His arms had begun to tremble as he still held himself up.

As Fenris slowly withdrew, Zevran made a faint whimpering noise, then slumped over sideways as the other elf rose from the bed to fetch water and a cloth to clean them both with. When he returned to the bed, he found Zevran curled upon the side of the bed, his arms wrapped around his torso and his knees drawn up a little towards his chest, his eyes closed, his breathing still coming as little shuddering gasps.

“Turn over for me, just so I can clean you off.” Fenris said, glad that Zevran did as asked and once he’d taken care of his lover he washed off and threw the flannel at the basin, barely making it. By the time he’d turned around Zevran had resumed his curled up position.

He wrapped around the other elf, pulled the covers over them and pressed gentle kisses to his back and neck. “Still with me?”

Zevran made a faint, inarticulate sound, hugging himself a little tighter, though he uncurled slightly.

“Use words if you can, or just wrap closer around me if you need it.” Fenris said then found himself with a rather clingy Antivan around his neck. Zevran made the wordless sound again as he pressed his face against Fenris’ chest, and then he pressed a gentle kiss to Fenris’ skin, just over the warrior’s heart. 

Fenris cuddled close as he could and let Zevran do as he pleased with him, unsure if the other elf wished to speak or just be held for the moment. After a little while however it became clear the smaller elf was content to be held close as he silently pressed light kisses across Fenris’ chest, interspersed with occasional sweeps of his tongue between lines of lyrium and, sometimes, along one; shivering slightly as the silvery lines burned his tongue. 

Fenris’ grip in Zevran’s hair loosened as he started to doze off, warm and sated in the other elf’s embrace. Soon he was snoring softly, unaware of how Zevran had taken to tracing his markings with fingers and tongue.

Zevran leaned over Fenris as he felt the other elf slowly relaxing into sleep. He let his fingers trace delicately along the shell of Fenris’ ear, then bent to run his tongue very slowly all the way down Fenris’ arm, deftly tracing one line of lyrium all the way from just behind Fenris’ ear down to the tip of his forefinger before he shuddered. He could taste the metal in his mouth; sharp, like copper, with a bitter aftertaste that reminded him of the scent of petrichor after a storm.

He lay down next to Fenris, lightly brushing aside the loose feathery hair from the sleeping elf’s face, and lightly touched a forefinger to the trio of dots in the centre of his forehead, then lay there, watching Fenris breathe, until he closed his own eyes and slipped into sleep.

**

There was a feast the night before they were to leave for the Hissing Wastes, Fenris and Zevran were off to themselves while Invictus and Anders had taken up a spot by one of the firepits of the dining hall. Invictus had withdrawn a bit in the time since Solona breathed her last. While he wasn’t too broken up, she was his last relative besides Carver and it had hit him a few days later. He had donned his Champion armour for the occasion; it suited his mood - dour, sombre, unsociable. He was tolerating the enforced sociability as much for Anders' sake as anything else. 

Anders was hitting the wine fairly heavily, though not as much as he had when they were at Halamshiral. He picked at his meal half-heartedly.

“Love you’ll have a terrible headache if you don’t ease up on the drink.” Vic said gently.

“I know,” said the blond healer quietly. “But I have no appetite for food, and to be honest, I need it to sleep at the moment. It’s... probably safer than resorting to a sleeping potion, given how early we’ll be setting off.”

“As you will then, just don’t throw up on me later.” Vic said with no heat. 

“I’ll be sure to avoid your boots,” remarked Anders with a slight flash of amusement.

“I am worried for Zevran, and to a degree about Fenris. They have been withdrawn from us since Solona’s death.” Vic admitted as he wrapped his arms around the blond.

“It’s only been a week, love,” said Anders quietly. “And Zevran doesn’t have work to throw himself into as I have.” He brushed a flake of ash from the fire pit from the skirt of his outer robe with a small frown. He was wearing the set of robes Vivienne had gifted him; the under robe a dark steel-blue-grey heavy brocade, the outer robe a deep black velvet; though the look was sombre and more formal than anything Hawke had seen him in save the formal Tevinter robes he'd worn in Halamshiral, he had to admit the robes suited the blond mage. “He also loved her, and now he’s lost her twice," continued Anders. "Grief isn’t something you can just get over like that, Hawke; it takes each of us different ways. No doubt Fenris is just trying to be as comforting as he can, being there for him, and looking after him whilst Zevran gets his feet back under him again.”

“That is not what I meant Anders, I just… I worry alright. Things were not great before she died, and now it seems like we’re splitting up again. That was all, believe me I know grief is not a fast process.” Vic closed his eyes and let the warmth of the fire seep into him as they enjoyed a moment of quiet.

“He was worried for Zevran. Then Zevran reappears, barely outracing an army, nearly freezing to death and injured. Cullen’s still tallying the list of dead from the siege. None of us are recovered from that. I think it’s only natural that Fenris is being perhaps a little... overprotective of Zevran,” replied Anders with a careful shrug. “I still think you just need to give him time.”

Invictus simply hummed agreement and fell silent. It would do no good to argue the point, and anything else he brought up made Anders go quiet or leave him to think. He was content to sit there and be quiet until it was time for bed.

“Anders?”

Anders glanced up as Dorian’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“Anders, I’m glad to see you rejoining us again. Meneris and I have been worried for you,” said the Tevinter Altus. 

Anders smiled lopsidedly. “It seems almost everyone turned out for the feasting,” replied Anders. “It would have occasioned a lot of gossip if we hadn’t.”

“I didn’t tell you this,” said Dorian, dropping his voice slightly as he glanced round in conspiratorial fashion. “But Cullen is going to make something of a public apology I believe. I thought you’d prefer not to have it sprung on you unexpectedly.”

“I appreciate the warning,” said Anders, glancing to Hawke.

Hawke just shrugged and let Anders up so he wouldn't have to wriggle away from him whenever Cullen made his gesture.

Anders gathered the skirts of his robes and rose, reaching for the wine bottle to refill his wine glass before offering it to Dorian. The Altus glanced over towards where Meneris sat, talking quietly to Cullen, Josie and Leliana.

“Bad business in Vyrantium,” said Dorian heavily. “Magister Eridus was found dead two days ago in his bathchamber.”

“Assassinated?” asked Anders quietly.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” winced Dorian. “Second within the fortnight, alas. Which means others will withdraw their support, and even fewer will be willing to speak out against the Venatori.”

Anders closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, then opened them again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Did you know him?”

“No, but Maevaris did,” replied Dorian. “I don’t envy Josie the negotiations.”

“Love I’m going in, I’m tired but if you want to rest in my room later, you’re welcome to do so.” Vic said as he gave the taller mage a kiss on the cheek. Fenris noted them moving about but didn't’ move to join them. 

Anders turned to stare at Hawke as he straightened, his eyes widening a little. Behind them, he could hear a ripple of sudden whispers spreading out into the hall towards them.

“Heads up,” said Dorian quietly. “Cullen’s coming this way.”

“Hawke, don’t leave me now!” exclaimed Anders quietly.

Invictus barely kept his eyeroll in check but remained at Anders side as requested. He stared down Cullen as the former templar strode up to them.

Cullen cleared his throat rather a little more loudly than required, given that conversation nearby had fallen almost silent and many eyes had turned to watch what was going on. Anders closed his eyes briefly; when he turned to the Commander, his face was composed, with a faint, polite smile.

“Anders, I understand congratulations are in order,” said Cullen. “First Enchanter of Skyhold, hey? And very much earned too.”

“Thank you, Commander,” replied Anders, his voice carrying clearly. He was well aware of the eyes upon him as he lifted his glass slightly. “Here’s to a long and amicable working relationship.”

“Indeed. I look forward to working together, First Enchanter. My, ah, apologies for that little spot of, uh, _unpleasantness_ a week ago.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a slight blush spreading up his neck from beneath his collar.

“I see the black eye is healing up nicely,” replied Anders with a small smile; a wave of titters spread out amongst the mages present. A rather unladylike snigger came from the direction of the Iron Lady - which of course would have been impossible, as Vivienne de Fer would never have been so uncouth in such a gathering. Quite a few of the younger templars dotted here and there were also smirking.

“Yes, well, thank you,” replied Cullen. “To the future then, and the continued good relations between the mages and the templars.”

“To peace,” agreed Anders, raising his glass; the toast was taken up by nearly the whole hall. 

When it became clear no further entertainment was forthcoming, people’s attention returned to their private conversations and the noise in the the hall rose noticeably once more.

“Sorry about that,” said Cullen quietly. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but it seemed best to settle the matter before you all head off to the Hissing Wastes tomorrow.”

“I hope it actually helps out Cullen, thank you for doing that.” Vic said quietly with a glance to Anders before he gave the commander a bow of his head. “I was just leaving if you want to walk with me?”

“Ah, certainly,” replied Cullen. He nodded to Anders, who inclined his head in acknowledgement. As the former Champion and former templar headed towards the doors, Dorian slung an arm around Anders’ shoulders as he leaned in to murmur something in the blond mage’s ear; Anders’ laughter followed them towards the doors. It suddenly occurred to Hawke that it was the first time he’d heard Anders laugh since before the siege.

***

Anders was far less cheerful the following morning as he nursed a hangover. 

Fenris was quiet as they rode out the gate, swathed in a black cloak, boots and winter wear. He rode close to Zevran, while Invictus kept pace with Anders as they went on. He didn’t say one word about the other mage’s misery, after all he’d warned him.

Meneris and Dorian led the way, both of them chatting quietly as they rode on. It was going to be a long couple of weeks before they got close to the Hissing Wastes, and warmer weather. Meneris was braced for his lover’s griping about the weather.

Anders was riding with one hand on the reins, the other pressed against his stomach; he felt queasy, his head aching. The elfroot he’d taken that morning for the headache had done nothing for his nausea. He was quietly grateful that Hawke said nothing.

The Iron Bull was striding alongside Anders’ black mare, casting sidelong glances at the mage from time to time.

“I know a great hangover cure; maybe you’d like to give it a try when we stop?” the Qunari suggested. Anders groaned.

“Do I even want to know?” he murmured. “Do you have to be so loud at such a Maker-forsaken early hour of the morning?” 

“I bet I know what your cure entails Bull.” Fenris said as he cantered by.

“It’s an open invitation!” shrugged the Qunari. “All I’m saying, maybe don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Try anything twice, just to be sure you didn’t like it the first time,” muttered Anders, not really fully paying attention to the glances the Iron Bull and Fenris were exchanging. He was too intent on trying to keep his rebellious stomach under control.

“I’ve tried it, several times in Seheron, and I know I like it. Can’t say the same for Anders though.” Fenris gave him a wink and a smile before he rode to catch up with Zevran.

“Maybe I _should_ try it then,” said Anders gloomily.

“Drop by the Chargers when we stop,” suggested the Iron Bull, patting him on the knee as he strode forward.

“Just don’t scream too loudly if we’re napping.” Vic said as they rode on. 

“Screaming? Who said anything about screaming?” said Anders, frowning slightly.

“Screaming only happens if you’re doing it wrong - or very, very right,” replied the Bull. He glanced at Hawke and gave him a wink, then nodded to Anders as he headed over to talk to Krem.

Fenris didn’t let the smile from his face drop as they traveled, even when they camped for the night, and Anders did stop by the Chargers tent. The blond mage was stumbling a bit, rubbing his forehead distractedly; Krem held open the door-flap to the large tent where the Iron Bull had retired a short while previously, and waved Anders in with a grin.

Dorian stared at the Charger’s tent as Anders disappeared inside. “My word. I do believe our healer has actually taken the Bull up on his offer,” he remarked to Meneris.

“Good, maybe it will help him out.” Vic said as he passed by. Fenris was already off in a tent with Zevran for the night, socializing be damned.

There was a quiet hush, and Hawke suddenly realised everyone was being deliberately quiet. Then -

“Oh holy sweet Andraste’s flaming _tits_!” Anders’ shocked voice carried clearly across the camp from the direction of the Chargers’ tent. “You want to put that _where??_ ”

“I see our dear Senior Enchanter didn’t quite get the gist of what was on offer earlier. I daresay he does now.” Invictus laughed as he tended the fire and snorted when he heard Anders’ exclamation.

Though several people found themselves subconsciously straining for any further sound from the direction of the tent, there was nothing to be heard, and as various members of the Chargers came and went from their area of the camp, none of them made mention of their leaders’ guest.

Anders finally emerged from the tent the following morning. He walked over to the cook fire, the Iron Bull walking slowly by his side; they were talking quietly together. The Iron Bull glanced up as Hawke walked over towards them.

“Remember, it’s a standing invitation, any time you want,” said the Qunari. Anders glanced up at him and smiled.

“I’ll remember,” he nodded. “And, Bull? Thank you.”

“Any time,” nodded the Qunari.

Fenris and Invictus were together having breakfast nearby and both stared at Anders in surprise. 

“Well did that help your hangover?” Fenris asked as he kept looking at Anders as if he expected the man to be different somehow. Then he noticed the slight hitch in the mage’s walk. 

“You look satisfied at least, hopefully Bull gave you what you needed?” Vic said without bitterness. He knew he wasn’t in a place for those games and neither was Fenris.

Anders nodded as he helped himself to a serving of porridge from the large kettle, stirring in a spoonful of honey before he came over to join them. He seemed much more relaxed as he stirred the hot cereal slowly; there was even a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “It was... therapeutic,” he said quietly. “If not what I was expecting.” The smile strengthened into a lopsided smirk. 

“I see...well at least you look ready to smile again.” Fenris said quietly.

Anders glanced down then nodded slightly. “A little,” he said, his voice soft. “There’s something about Bull - he seems to have this uncanny knack of picking up on what you need, and though I would never have thought to ask for anything like that, it was...” He glanced up again. “It was what I needed, even if I didn’t know it. I’m not... _fixed_ , as such, but... I feel a little less broken,” he finally finished with a half shrug.

Invictus nodded, disappointed in himself for not being able to help his lover but glad Anders got what he needed. “Sorry I couldn’t …no, I’m glad you could go to Bull then.” he amended.

Fenris had fallen silent as he poked at his meal. He wasn’t as sanguine about it as he was trying to act. He glanced towards the tent flap where Zevran was still dozing, and suddenly he wanted to be back with him.

Anders glanced at Fenris, and felt a pang of guilt. “Love?” he said, his voice low and uncertain.

“Hmm?” Fenris asked as he glanced at the mage.

“You seem... unhappy,” said Anders, still keeping his voice low. “From the way you and Hawke were commenting yesterday, I... I assumed you knew what Bull was offering me even though I didn't. You seemed to be encouraging me... did I read it wrong?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just… it’s me, not you. I knew good and well what he was offering you. I’m glad it helped, annoyed at myself for not being able to give you that.” Fenris passed him his half-empty plate. “Eat it, you need it with your metabolism.” 

Anders looked up from his empty bowl and gave him a lopsided grin before accepting it. “Yes, I’m rather feeling the results of not having eaten at the feast now,” he admitted.

Fenris shrugged and rose to take a plate to Zevran. “I’ll return shortly.” 

Vic watched him go and sighed, before he got a second helping. 

Anders stared after Fenris. “Maker. Did I just make things worse again?” he said a little plaintively.

“No, he’s been in a bad way for a while. The news that Zevran and Solona had been married all this time really threw him. You know he proposed to Zevran as well?” Vic said quietly.

“Oh Maker,” Anders groaned. “No, I didn’t. Now everything comes clear. Andraste’s tits, no wonder he’s a mess.”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving him space but we spoke briefly before we set out. It’s broken his heart and he’s trying not to be a selfish prick about it while Zev is so deep in his own grief over her. I’m not even going to mention bonding until we’ve dealt with the Hissing Wastes, or Maker knows ever again.” Vic gave him an apologetic look. “I want it badly but it seems to be a terrible time to do this.”

Anders nodded sombrely. “I’m sorry, love. With everything that’s happened recently, I don’t think it would be a good idea. Particularly given the state of Zevran right now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maker, I had no idea he’d married Solona. That must have been after I left the wardens. That explains the way he reacted when we ran into her in Tevinter.”

“I think it was before you knew him, before she knew you. Regardless, it’s all gone south and I wish I could help him but he’s determined to be there for Zevran which they both need right now.” Vic sighed tiredly and scraped his bowl into the fire. 

“Come on, they’ll be striking camp soon and we will be on our way soon.” Vic said as he rose and stretched.

Anders nodded, handing his bowl to one of the Inquisition soldiers who were cleaning up the mess area before stretching and arching backwards until his spine popped in a couple of places, grimacing faintly. 

“Not particularly looking forward to riding this morning,” he confessed ruefully.

“Regretting that other ride you took?” Vic asked. Anders’ answer was a laugh.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran should have known better, maybe Fenris too but it's too late now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of addiction to lyrium

The trek there went quickly enough with moods improving as the weather changed. Even Fenris seemed to come out of his dark mood as they finally saw the Inquisition camp marker in the distance. “About damned time we found a marker in this forsaken desert.”

“Love you were in a good mood, what happened?” Vic asked.

“Sand happened, lots of sand in uncomfortable places and heat.” Fenris mumbled.

Even Dorian seemed to have wilted in the heat, the Tevinter Altus looking decidedly uncomfortable. The only member of the party who seemed unconcerned by the heat was the Iron Bull.

Anders had changed his woolen robes for the lighter Tevinter-style silk ones he’d worn during the journey to Halamshiral, but that didn’t seem to have helped much; the blond mage wasn’t used to high temperatures, and the Hissing Wastes were hotter than the Western Approach near Adamant had been. Light cantrips with ice magic only did so much to help and never seemed to last long enough.

Fenris had managed to hold his temper when he saw the robes Anders was in, barely. He had chosen not to mention them; it made sense that Anders would have packed the lightest travel robes that he possessed. 

As they arrived at the campsite, Fenris went off to find a space for the mages to make a small oasis with ice that would cool them off.

Invictus had finally given up and went shirtless along with stripping to his breeches in the heat once his tent had been put up.

Anders and Dorian conferred briefly before Hawke joined them to create the ice oasis; Dorian broke off to eye Hawke’s bare torso with open admiration, one eyebrow arching up as he stroked his moustache thoughtfully, though he said nothing. Anders merely leaned in to brush a kiss to Hawke’s cheek and murmur, “That’s a good look for you love - but just make sure you don’t burn, hmm?” before he pulled away with a grin.

“I’ll be fine, let’s make this oasis so I can cool off.” Vic said as he gave Anders a kiss in return.

Fenris had tugged off his own tunic and shirt, and had dumped water over his head in a feeble attempt to cool off until they were done.

Zevran seemed to be unbothered by the heat as he laid out his weapons for inspection, cleaning and in a few cases, sharpening. To the Antivan, no doubt the desert felt not that dissimilar to his native country.

Dorian and Anders began to draw upon their mana, focusing it into ice magic as Hawke joined them. They all three began casting cones of ice that fanned across and crisscrossed each other, steadily building up and compacting until they’d created a large mound of ice that steamed in the warm air and cooled the air around itself.

“Interesting opposite to what we did on our way to Skyhold after the first destruction of Haven,” mused Dorian. “We mages used fire magic to help keep everyone warm. Maker, I thought I would never be warm again, all through that long trek in the snow, all of us trusting that Meneris knew where in the Void he was taking us.”

Fenris came over cautiously, unsure what to do with the mound of ice. “How long will it last?” he asked as he walked up to it.

“Hard to say, but at least until evening,” replied Anders. “It’ll be gone by morning though, I’m afraid.”

“Is it safe to touch it?” Fenris asked as he walked around it.

“No, keep your hands out of that thing.” Vic said as he watched Fenris take measure of it before backpedaling away from it. 

“Indeed,” added Dorian. “It would be about as safe as sticking your hand in the way whilst one of us casts Cone of Cold.”

“And you’ve seen what that does to the red templars or darkspawn when we use it on them, love,” said Anders. “You’d be lucky if you escaped with just frostbite!”

“Damn, I was hoping to cool off in there.” Fenris said before he gave it a last hopeful look and turned to head into a tent.

Dorian smirked. A moment later, something whizzed through the air and then a snowball hit Fenris square between the shoulderblades before sliding down his back, wet and cold.

The elven warrior yelped in shock at the sudden cold before he turned around to stare at the mages. “Who...did it?” he hissed.

Invictus pointed at Dorian as he kept eye contact with his lover. He wasn’t going to take the blame for it. Anders had turned away, one hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook, trying to stifle his laughter. Dorian merely smiled and tossed a second ball of snow in his hand.

“Testing the strength of our newfound friendship, eh _amicus_?” Fenris asked as he felt the cold wetness seeping into his skin.

Anders turned, his eyes widening slightly.

“I thought you wanted to cool off?” inquired the Tevinter Altus.

“Oh you are in fine spirits today Pavus.” Fenris replied as he watched the ball of cold and snow in Dorian’s hand.

“I’ll be in even better spirits once I’ve had a nice chilled bottle of wine,” Dorian shrugged. “Until then...”

His hand suddenly snapped forward, and then there was a bellow of surprise as the Iron Bull ducked his head out of the Chargers’ tent to get a faceful of snow.

“It’s been nice knowing you!” Fenris said before he fell over laughing.

“Oi, _Vint!_ ” exclaimed the Bull.

“Do excuse me, I hear that bottle of wine calling,” said Dorian as he ducked behind Anders.

Invictus joined his lover as he ducked out of the way when Bull stalked over to them. “Oh well, it was nice knowing you Dorian. I’ll tell Meneris you went out bravely.”

Anders stared at the Qunari, his eyes widening slightly as the mercenary loomed over him. 

“I’d step aside if I were you, Blondie,” he said. “Fair warning. Cos the Vint’s overdue a lesson in humility. I promise I won’t break him too badly - the Boss won’t like it, for a start.” He grinned.

“How can you want to fight, it’s so damned hot here.” Fenris said as he got himself together. 

“Come on Bull, let’s not have a brawl in the desert yeah?” Vic asked warily.

“I won’t like it if you run over Anders.” Fenris said finally.

“Anders won’t like it at all!” said mage agreed as he held his hands up as though to ward off the Qunari who towered over him.

“Who said anything about brawling?” grinned the Iron Bull. “Come here, Dorian.”

The Tevinter Altus straightened and warily stepped out from behind Anders.

“You and I need to talk, Dorian,” said the mercenary, the humour in his face now replaced by a thoughtful look. He gestured then turned back towards his tent. Wordlessly, Dorian followed. Anders watched them go with a worried look.

Fenris blinked, utterly confused by the change in the other man’s demeanor. “Well, that was odd.”

“Very,” agreed Anders. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dorian quite like that before. Reminds me of an apprentice summoned to see the First Enchanter and not knowing what punishment he’s got in store.” He shivered a little in remembrance of far too many such summonses in his time at Kinloch.

“Ah, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran as he emerged from the tent he and Fenris had shared, and made his way over towards them.

Fenris gave him an easy smile and a kiss on the cheek as the other elf joined them. “How are you not miserable in this heat?”

“Oh, it is not so bad, _carissimi_ ,” replied the other elf. “It reminds me of my native Antiva.” He returned Fenris’ kiss with a small smile. “I am almost homesick - strange, no? That this desolate wasteland should remind me of beautiful Antiva.” He sighed.

“Associations are odd when they happen _amatus_ ” Fenris said as he felt Zevran’s hand tighten on his hip. “What finally got you out of the tent?” 

“Hopefully a cold drink now that we have a bit of reprieve from this damned heat.” Vic said as he gave Fenris a kiss on his way past to the mess tent.

“I was... lonely,” replied Zevran quietly after a moment’s thought. “It does not do to dwell on one’s thoughts alone for too long, I think.”

“Do you need me to keep you company?” Fenris asked when he felt Zevran’s other hand brush his. “In the tent, or...?” he trailed off as they stood around.

“No, I will be fine, I will stay out here with you and friends Hawke and Anders,” said Zevran. “I have hidden away long enough, hmm?”

“It’s good to see you out and about, Zevran,” said Anders. He was about to say something else then stopped as he saw Meneris coming towards them.

“No need to stop talking on my account.” Meneris said when he saw Anders’ expression change.

“Ah... I was just remarking that Zevran was looking more himself,” the blond mage replied, darting a glance towards Hawke before returning the Inquisitor’s gaze. “Any news from the scouts?”

“Not yet, we’ll probably find more out as we travel tomorrow. Good job on that...cooling thing over there.” Meneris said, curious about the glances exchanged between the men.

Fenris remained silent as he watched them, not quite sure what was going on between Dorian and the elven leader.

“Just a normal Cone of Cold, but cast three ways so they intersect and build up into a block of ice,” Anders shrugged. “Simple but effective. And when it melts, it’ll provide a pool of drinking water. Well, until that evaporates,” he added with a grimace. 

“Don’t touch it though, if you like keeping your fingers anyway.” Hawke cautioned as he claimed a spot to stretch out in.

“Ah I get it now.” Meneris noted how stand offish the other elves were being but didn’t bring it up. Instead he looked around for his lover and frowned. “Have any of you seen Dorian since he helped with the cooling station?” 

Zevran looked nonchalant, Hawke managing to look quite unconcerned, but Anders couldn’t help the guilty look that came across his face, though he tried to school his expression into neutrality. “Dorian? Ah, I’m not sure where he is.” He glanced to Hawke.

Fenris rolled his eyes and pointed at Bull’s tent. “You all make me tired, he’s off chatting with Bull. Looked ready to run off like a child sent to the headmaster.” 

“They’re probably only talking!” said Anders a little too quickly. “Bull just said he wanted a word with Dorian is all.”

“I’m not worried about that, we had a very long chat after his roll in the hay with Hawke. When you see him, let him know I’ll be in our tent or where food is if I’m not there.” Meneris laughed as he left them to their own devices.

Anders blinked; Meneris’ response was not what he’d been expecting. “Huh. I can’t figure those two out,” he remarked.

“Leave it be, better that than him ready to explode at all of us.” Fenris replied. He felt a squeeze to his side and heard Zevran’s request to go back to their tent after they ate for some alone time. The Antivan elf was looking a little pale as he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“Perhaps I have grown unused to this heat after all,” he murmured quietly.

“Are you alright, Zevran?” asked Anders, worried. “Let me -”

“No, no,” said Zevran, ducking away from Anders’ outstretched hand. “It is merely a slight headache. I shall rest and it will be fine.” He smiled at them in reassurance.

“I’ll take you back to the tent, come on carissimi.” Fenris said as he led them back inside the dark, coolness of their space. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It is as I said; only a headache, my love,” replied Zevran as he lay down upon the bedroll, shivering slightly. 

“Liar, what is wrong with you Zevran? You’ve been acting oddly since we set out on this trip.” Fenris said without heat.

“Perhaps I have taken a chill,” replied Zevran, biting his lip as another shiver ran through him. “Lie beside me, _carissimi_? Please?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes but did as he was asked, curling around the other elf. “Better?”

Zevran shifted in Fenris’ arms until he was facing the white-haired elf. “Much,” he said, and began kissing softly along Fenris’ jaw, trailing his tongue up the central line of lyrium that ran up Fenris’ throat, following it to the point it forked over his chin before claiming Fenris’ mouth hungrily with a faint plaintive sound.

The Tevinter elf rolled them until he was on his back, his gaze concerned as he looked up to Zevran and licked his lips. “If you wanted to bed me, you could have just said so Zev. What’s going on?” 

Zevran crouched over Fenris and caught Fenris’ fingers in his own, taking each one into his mouth one after the other with a little shiver and a moan as his eyes fluttered shut.

The other elf stared at his lover, worried that somehow the Antivan was after more than his body. “Zevran, why did you want to come to bed, right now?” he asked quietly. Zevran said nothing, merely reaching for Fenris’ other hand with a soft whimper.

The warrior flipped them so he was on top, and held Zevran’s hands pinned to their bedroll. “Answer me, this is scaring me Zev.”

Zevran cried out briefly then let his head fall back onto the bedroll, his eyes glistening wetly. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I- I need... it _burns_ so....”

“You’re hooked on the lyrium, aren’t you?” Fenris said in horror. “No...no, no!” 

Zevran stared up at Fenris, a tear escaping his eye and slowly rolling down the side of his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The other elf hung his head for a while, shaking as he considered what to do about Zevran. He finally released the other elf’s hands and stood. “I’ll be back with Anders, stay put.”

Zevran rolled over onto his side, wrapping his arms around his torso as he drew his legs up and shivered, closing his eyes. “Please... _carissimi_... don’t. Not... not yet.”

“No, do not do this to me or yourself. You’re not even a mage, you don’t know what it’s done to you. Either I get Anders or I fucking drag you out there in front of everyone. Your choice.” Fenris snarled.

“No!” cried Zevran. “Please - not that! Please, I just - _carissimi_....” He curled up tighter and muttered a curse in Antivan as he shuddered. “Help me,” he whispered. “I _need_ you.”

“Help you what? Addle yourself in some attempt to sink further into your grief? Make me an instrument of your self-destruction? What do you need, this accursed metal in my skin for your craving or me?” Fenris asked roughly as he fought the urge to scream at Zevran for being so thoughtless.

“It hurts, _carissimi_!” Zevran pleaded softly. “Please - you have no idea - just hold me, I beg you....” 

Fenris pulled on a linen, long sleeved tunic and laid there, his expression closed off as he closed his eyes when he felt the other elf curl up next to him. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t. He felt Zevran’s fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic as the Antivan buried his face against his shoulder. He could feel every shudder that wracked Zevran’s body, hear the very faint whimpers that escaped the slender elf even though Zevran fought to stifle them. And he couldn’t help but feel the tears that slowly soaked through the linen, hot and wet, as Zevran shuddered and twitched in his arms until finally, exhausted, the Antivan slipped into a restless sleep, the occasional groan escaping his lips even in sleep.

Fenris wanted to scream at both of them for letting it happen but instead he finally wrapped an arm around and Zevran and tried to rest. The other elf was already asleep, else he would have felt the wetness that seeped into his skin as the Tevinter elf shed tears of his own.

There was the sound of footsteps in the sand near the entrance to their tent, then the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Fenris? There’s food at the cook fire. Do... do you want me to fetch something for you and Zevran?” called Anders. Fenris could hear the unspoken question: _is everything alright?_

“No, come in please.” Fenris replied softly.

There was silence for a moment, then Anders ducked into the tent. He halted as he took in the sight of Fenris’ face, and then he dropped to his knees next to the bedroll and looked at him, worried. “Something’s wrong.” It was a statement, not a question.

“He’s...he’s hooked on my lyrium. It’s why he wanted me to come back with him.” Fenris replied.

Anders looked at him horrified. “But... but _how_?” he finally managed to gasp.

“How do you think?” Fenris said as he pulled himself free from Zevran’s hold. “I’m sorry, I just…” he broke off as he wiped at his face. 

“Oh Maker,” Anders breathed as he stared down at the sleeping Zevran. Slowly he stretched out a hand and hesitantly laid it on the sleeping elf’s leg. The former Crow did not stir as Anders closed his eyes and slowly extended his healer’s senses into Zevran’s body. He was quiet and unmoving for a while as Fenris looked on anxiously; after long, worrying minutes, Anders’ forehead creased in a frown and blue healing energy glowed around his hand as the healer directed it into Zevran’s body.

Finally Anders sat back, visibly tired as he opened his eyes and looked at Fenris again. “It’s been slowly and steadily poisoning him for a while. If it had been anyone else but a Crow, they would have been dead within a few days - but he’s so habituated his body to tolerating small doses of poison that his body was able to tolerate it - a little _too_ well; enough to develop addiction. I’ve healed up what physical damage I can that the lyrium dealt him directly - but I can’t remove the addiction. He’ll have to handle withdrawal himself.”

Fenris nodded as he rose to wash his face and try to collect himself. He didn’t know if he could speak without breaking.

“It will take some time. He can’t just stop dead - it would be best to wean him off slowly,” said Anders quietly. “And even so, the experience will be... uncomfortable for him at best, painful at worst. If he quits completely, he will be in agony. It....” His voice trailed off quietly. “You saw how Cullen was, “ he finally finished softly.

“What do I do? I should have never let him lick my brands to begin with, I didn’t think it would affect him like that since he’s not a mage. I’m so stupid.” Fenris added.

“No,” said Anders, reaching for Fenris and drawing him down into his arms to hug him gently. “If you must blame anyone, blame Danarius. Licking your brands should not have been harmful... if the enchantments bonding it to your skin were not slowly deteriorating. I told you that the barriers I worked on it would hold it for a time and slow the deterioration - but I guess enough was still leaching out from the brands into your skin. So blame Danarius - and blame me for not working the barrier strongly enough. This is far more my fault than yours, love.”

“No...no, I should have stopped him from doing that. I know full well what it can do to a person. Don’t blame yourself.” Fenris tried to keep calm but it was difficult as he was held far too gently than he thought he deserved.

“No. You had no idea that his body could tolerate the lyrium poisoning him that well. You had no reason to suspect he was being poisoned,” replied Anders.

“I know it’s poisoning me, so I shouldn’t have let him fucking lick me like a sweet.” Fenris shouted as he tried to gather his wits; Anders jerked, startled, in a reflex action. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell at you. I’m sorry Anders.”

Zevran sat upright, reaching for the knife at his hip and drawing it as he stared around, glassy-eyed, face blank like a mask. He blinked, awareness slowly dawning in his eyes as he stared at Anders and Fenris, disoriented and confused.

“I didn’t call him, he came in to check on us.” Fenris said as he rose again. Zevran blinked then rubbed his temples with his fingertips. 

“There was shouting - or did I dream it?” the blond elf said slowly.

“I was shouting, I’m sorry to have woken you. I’ll be back, I’m hungry.” Fenris ducked out and went to the mess tent at a fast clip.

Anders eyed Zevran silently. The other man ran a hand over his face tiredly. 

“I heard something about poison. I take it, then, that he has told you?” the former Crow asked, his voice low.

Anders merely nodded. Zevran stared at him, then sighed. “I cannot blame him,” he confessed. “Were our positions reversed, no doubt I would have done the same.”

“Zevran... you’re addicted to lyrium. That shouldn’t even be possible - you’re not a mage or a templar. Have you any idea just how... how....” Anders’ voice tailed off.

“I am impossible, no?” said Zevran with a ghost of his usual wry smile.

“Maker, don’t you joke about this! Don’t you dare!” warned Anders. “I can handle that kind of humour but it would kill Fenris.”

“Forgive me,” said Zevran quietly. Anders sighed.

“You realise there’s nothing I can do for you, any more than I could for Cullen? I can stop your body from shutting down as you go through withdrawal, but I can’t take away the pain,” he warned the elf. Zevran’s face grew sombre.

“I know,” he admitted quietly. 

Anders groaned as he ran his hands over his face. “You realised I’m going to have to tell Meneris, don’t you?” he pointed out. “You’ll have to be sent back to Skyhold; you’ll be a liability out here as you go through withdrawal. You need to be where a healing team are on hand to give you the best chance of making it through this alive.”

“Go back?” said Zevran, a stricken look coming over his face.

“Zevran, I don’t think you fully appreciate the seriousness of this,” said Anders, lowering his hands and fixing the elf with a stern stare. “You are poisoned with lyrium. You need to stop. And that’s going to be very hard on you - both mentally and physically. We don’t have the facilities to deal with you out here. Maker, if I’d known about this, you would never have been allowed to come!”

“What if you do not tell the Inquisitor?” suggested Zevran. Anders shook his head as he got to his feet. 

“I’m sorry, Zevran,” he said, his expression softening slightly. “But this is for your own good - and for Fenris, too. He knows how serious this is, just as I do. He needs to know that you’re somewhere safe, being cared for. And - and Cullen can help you in ways I can’t,” he admitted. He turned to the doorflap of the tent.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, then ducked out.

He stood for a moment, a little at a loss, then turned towards the cook fires; perhaps he’d find Meneris there.

Fenris had taken a bottle and gone to the far end of the camp without a word to anyone else. 

Hawke saw how fast he’d gone, so he made straight for the tent with a scowl. Anders intercepted him, his own face pale and a look of shock still in his eyes. The blond mage grasped at Hawke’s arms to forestall him.

“No, Vic,” said Anders in a low, urgent voice. “Please - just leave it. Just - just leave it.”

“Maker, what happened?” Vic asked.

“It’s Zevran. It’s... it’s bad. Very bad,” said Anders, his voice shaking a little. “Just... Maker. It’s a mess.”

“Come on and tell me over something to eat, Fenris ran off somewhere like he’d seen a demon on his heels.” Vic pulled Anders into his arms and kissed him gently. 

“Lyrium,” Anders breathed into Invictus’ ear as he pulled away a little. “Zevran is addicted to Fenris’ lyrium. It’s killing him. Killing them both.”

That stopped Invictus cold. “What? He’s not even a mage.”

“As far as we know,” said Anders distractedly. “No - no, he’s not a mage,” he went on as he took in the look Invictus was giving him, acutely aware of the other mage’s strong arms around him. “He is - or was - a Crow. He’s used to habituating his body to small doses of a poison on a regular basis. Apparently he took to licking Fenris’ brands - and it seems my barriers weren’t as good as I thought they were, because just enough lyrium must have been leaking through his skin for Zevran to slowly become habituated to it - and then addicted.” He sighed. “I have no idea how long this must have been going on - I don’t know how quickly Zevran’s body can adjust to poison. He’s been doing it for years; it could have taken only a week, for all I know. But it’ll take far longer to get him off it again.”

“Anders,” said Hawke in a low, warning voice. “Don’t you start blaming yourself for not making your barriers stronger.”

Anders laughed tiredly. “Do you know, Fenris said much the same to me? You both know me too well. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s my fault; I should have realised there was something wrong with Zevran sooner. I’d put his behaviour and sudden mood swings down to grief - but I fear grief was masking the signs of his addiction.”

“Stop that!” hissed Hawke, shaking Anders roughly. The blond mage cried out softly as his head snapped back; Hawke drew him gently back into his arms again and kissed him. “I’m sorry,” he said, chastened. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just get so angry when I hear you blaming yourself like that. Anders, it wasn’t your fault. None of us were at our best as we were leaving, and you were still trying to get over Cullen Smiting you - plus you were hungover as we were leaving yesterday. Stop beating yourself up - please. It hurts to see you doing this to yourself.”

Anders pulled away slightly. “Sorry, I’m... sorry. Tired,” Anders admitted.

“Come on,” said Invictus. “Let’s get you some food, and then you need to sleep. No arguments now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Anders murmured as he allowed Invictus to drag him towards the cook fires and food.

He wasn’t looking forward to telling Meneris.

The elven leader was almost to the cooking fires when he saw Hawke and Anders, their expressions told him bad news was coming. “You both look like you’d rather see anyone but me, so out with it.” Meneris said.

Anders drew a deep breath. “Zevran... is addicted. To lyrium.”

“I beg your pardon, you can’t have said that. He’s not a templar or a mage.” Meneris replied.

“Maybe you’d like me to say it louder?” said Anders querulously. “If I shout loud enough maybe the Venatori will hear us and save us the trouble of hunting them, hmm? I _did_ say it. Zevran is addicted to lyrium. Fenris’ lyrium, to be precise.”

Meneris’ expression went from confused to angry in a heartbeat. “So you mean that you brought them along, knowing what a liability they could be? Both of them? Fenris is dangerous enough but now if you send Zevran back he’ll be going through withdrawal while Fenris is here? Are you all mad?” 

“Easy, no one brought them with us knowing Zevran was addicted. I’ve seen what it does to templars and some mages Meneris, I’d not wish that on either of them. We’ve seen how Cullen suffers, we wouldn’t do that to them or the Inquisition willingly. I suggest you curb that idea, now.” Hawke snapped. He could feel Anders bristling at his side and managed to grab the mage as he lunged forward, angry.

“Knowing what a -! Do you honestly think I would have allowed Zevran to set one foot out of Skyhold if I’d had the faintest idea about any of this?” Anders shouted, his eyes blazing with fury. “What kind of healer do you think I am? What kind of _man_??” 

Meneris stepped back in surprise at Anders outburst. “Easy, easy. I have misspoken.” 

“You did far worse than---” Vic grunted when he was elbowed and felt Anders pull free so he could confront the elven fighter.

“Now you bloody well listen here -” began Anders, lurching forward and waggling a finger practically under Meneris’ nose, just as Dorian put his head out of the Charger’s tent next to the Iron Bull.

“ _Venhedis_ \- Anders, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do anything regrettable to my boyfriend, whatever he may have done to deserve it!” exclaimed the Tevinter Altus as he hurried towards them.

“Anders...you throw a mean jab for a healer, damn.” Vic griped as he tried to straighten up. He managed to do so just in time to see Fenris heading for them, his expression dark as he got in between Anders and Meneris.

“What in the Void is going on? Did you have to tell everyone Anders?” he snapped before he whirled on the other elf. “Blaming him for what was my fault? Think we brought Zevran along like this for fun? Well do you?” Fenris snarled as he got in the Inquisitor’s face.

The furious mage laid a hand on Fenris’ shoulder without thinking, intent only on having it out with the other elf; perhaps that was why they both missed the tell-tale pull of strong magic. There was a loud hissing sound and suddenly Dorian and the Iron Bull were sprinting towards them.

“Down! Get _down!!_ ” screamed Dorian as he hastily threw up a barrier; a second later the fireball hit. Though the barrier held, the shockwave knocked them all off their feet.

As Hawke lifted his head, his ears ringing from the concussive force of the blast, he turned his head and spotted Anders sprawled a few feet away, Fenris atop him. The elf was already looking round even as Anders stirred slightly beneath him.

The Iron Bull was helping Dorian back to his feet, the mage looking pale as he wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand, and Hawke wondered just how much mana the Tevinter Altus had thrown into that hasty barrier. Meneris was already on his feet and shouting orders as more fireballs hissed through the camp and tents ignited with dull whooshes of fire, Inquisition soldiers and templars emerging and running to meet the unexpected attack.

“Son of a bitch!” Fenris snapped as he headed for their tent so he could get his weapon, and make sure Zevran was up. 

“Go with him in case Zev is still asleep, though how I’d love to know.” Vic called as he threw up another barrier as more Venatori blasts whipped through the camp. Anders pushed himself to his feet and nodded as he threw up a hasty shield about himself then ran after the white-haired elf.

Dorian had rallied enough to run and stand with Meneris as red templars began to pour into the encampment. “Not good!” he hissed as he fumbled for a vial of lyrium and hastily downed it.

“Master of understatement as ever love.” Meneris quipped as he pressed his back to Dorian’s. “You’re with me unless the other mages need back up. There has to be lots of bodies buried under the sand, if we need to go that way.” 

“Believe me, Meneris, that would very much be my pleasure,” replied the necromancer through gritted teeth as he threw back two oncoming templars with a lightning blast, bringing up his staff to parry the sword swing of a third. He kicked the templar hard in the crotch then swore as his foot hit silverite plate.

The red templar laughed unpleasantly as he began to force his two-handed sword down towards Dorian; the mage dropped to one knee as the templar’s strength forced his staff back towards himself. “A hand, love?” hissed Dorian.

Meneris whirled and thrust his own two-hander through the templar’s throat, spraying Dorian with blood as the Inquisitor whirled away to meet the next threat even as the nearly-decapitated body slumped to the ground. Dorian hastily turned his face away enough to avoid most of the blood from hitting his face then used his staff to push himself back up off his knees as he turned to face the next threat.

Anders had been cut off from following Fenris as two Venatori reared up in front of him in wreathing dark smoke; he took a step back then brought his staff up, already drawing upon his mana. As the Venatori fully materialised from their spell he hit them both with chain lightning before he took out the throat of the one on the left with the bladed end of his staff before he turned and dispelled the attack of the other, following it up with a spirit blast that hurled the Venatori mage back into the three red templars that were running up behind her. He swore, then twirled his staff before throwing out a cone of cold, the ice fanning out to hold them at bay.

Fenris blinked out as he leapt at the red templars, reappearing behind them with a growl as he took one’s heart, the other’s blade and tried to get some distance before the third could flank him. “A bit more ice on this one!” he got out before the templar countered him with a strike to his right.

Anders turned and fired a blast of ice at the templar before turning to block the downswing of a fourth templar who was trying to flank him. He twisted away and managed to parry the templar’s next stroke then put a hand to his temple and unleashed another spirit blast.

Fenris was able to block the other man’s attack with just enough space to phase his hand in and relieve the wretched templar of his life before he spun to face the last one standing. She didn’t bother with a taunt as she launched herself at him shield up, sword flashing.

Anders turned towards Fenris then staggered sideways as another templar he’d never noticed suddenly shield-rushed him, barging heavily into him and sending him flying. He crashed heavily down to the sand, his staff flung away from him as he clutched his shoulder. 

“I don’t have time for this.” Fenris muttered under his breath as he side-stepped to let the templar barrel past him. He took the opportunity to yank her backwards and clean off her feet. Before she could recover, the elven fighter took her heart and flung it at the other templar before he charged forward to help Anders.

Hawke was busy throwing offensive fire at the Venatori that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “How many are there?! Did Varric write this fight scene!” he gasped.

The Iron Bull charged past him with a roar, sweeping a massive two-hander axe easily in one hand, cleaving a hapless Venatori in half and decapitating the templar who was foolish enough to stand in his way before ploughing into a further five red templars.

Anders managed to roll away from the sword swinging down towards his head, kicking out with one foot to hit the templar’s knee and throw the man off balance long enough to get to his feet, still clutching his shoulder as he backed away. As the templar turned towards him, Anders let go of his shoulder long enough to let off a lightning blast in the man’s face before he turned to stare at the sword swinging towards his unprotected throat.

Before he could do much more than lift his hand helplessly to try and ward off the blade, the swing suddenly went wide as the templar staggered then collapsed to the ground at Anders’ feet. Anders stared at Zevran who casually flicked blood from his knives with a smile before turning and vanishing.

Fenris grunted as he rose to his feet. “This is not what we needed today.” he waved off Anders before he picked up a discarded sword and headed back to the fray.

Anders clutched at his injured shoulder and headed over to where his staff lay discarded in the sand. He let go of his shoulder to pick up his staff then stepped back out of the way as a group of Inquisition soldiers charged past to engage more red templars.

The fight was short, bloody and brutal; by the end of it, half the tents were gone, they were down twelve soldiers, four mages, two templars (one of whom died defending two other mages), and no fewer than fifteen red templars and eight Venatori lay dead. Hawke was bleeding from a stab wound to the thigh, Dorian had passed out after overtaxing his mana, and Iron Bull was bleeding in several places and had a nasty scorch up one arm that he was laughing about with Krem.

Fenris had sunk to the ground once the fighting was done, he hurt all over and he swore something was lodged in his side from one of the red templar attacks. Anders was limping slightly as he made his way over towards Fenris, though he’d slung his staff on his back. He was rubbing his left shoulder but let his hand fall away as he stared at Fenris. 

“Love, are you alright?” he asked as he held out his left hand to help Fenris to his feet. “Please tell me all that blood isn’t yours.”

“I don’t know, maybe I should stay here.” Fenris mumbled.

“Love?” said Anders, and dropped down to his knees beside Fenris, his hands glowing blue as he held them out towards the elf.

“I took a couple hard hits, I feel dizzy.” Fenris replied as he flinched from Anders touch.

“Let him heal you.” Hawke said as he joined them. Anders stared at Fenris, waiting, unwilling to touch the elf without permission.

“Fine, go on then.” he said quietly. 

Anders laid his hands gently on Fenris and closed his eyes as he sent his senses through the elf’s body, healing cuts and contusions, feeling out the source of Fenris’ discomfort. He could feel pain radiating out weakly from a point of discomfort in Fenris’ side; he felt with his magic cautiously.

His eyes flew open in shock. “No,” he whispered. “No.” 

“I’ve been hurt before, stop acting so melodramatic Anders.” Fenris slurred.

“I’m wrong. I have to be,” Anders murmured to himself. He bit his lip, then closed his eyes and reached again for that jagged spike of _wrongness_ he could feel - the one that sang to him and set his skin itching even as he felt drawn to it.

“What’s wrong? Why is he whimpering?” said the Iron Bull as he frowned down at Anders.

“What is it?” Fenris asked irritably as he stared at Anders then looked to Hawke.

“Love, what’s wrong, you have to tell us.” Vic said.

“Red lyrium,” Anders managed to gasp, and then pulled his hands away as though Fenris’ skin burned.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit

The elven warrior simply nodded before he struggled to his feet. “Then I should be quarantined immediately, and none of the mages are to come near me. How long until it infects me to the point I can’t be trusted? The truth Anders.” Fenris was too numb to be anything but practical about things.

“I- I don’t know,” confessed Anders quietly. “I’ve never had to deal with red lyrium before - not like this. But - maybe I can isolate it, bind it up in a barrier the way I did with your lyrium? Let me try -” He got to his feet and reached out for Fenris again.

“No, do not take a chance of getting tainted with it as well. You cannot touch me again, much as it will pain me my heart.” Fenris replied as he took a couple of steps back.

“He already touched you Fenris, let him try to help.” Vic said.

“No, you know he’s right Hawke, we need to get a tent set up for Fenris on the far side of the camp. Once Dorian is awake, we’ll see if he can safely open a portal to get him and Zevran back to Skyhold.” Meneris said.

“No, wait, please, you have to let me try!” protested Anders as he lunged forward, only to suddenly find himself held firmly in the Iron Bull’s strong grip.

“Now, you heard what they said,” remarked the Qunari mercenary in a quiet rumble. “Best not to risk exposing anyone more than necessary.”

Anders struggled in the Iron Bull’s grasp, but he may as well have been fighting against an iron golem; the Bull wasn’t to be moved, and Anders was helpless in his grip.

“Fenris!” he choked, staring at his elven lover. “We - we’ll find a way to fix this, I swear. I’ll go back with you to Skyhold -”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” replied Bull dubiously. “We’re facing Venatori and more red templars out here, and we need a healer here. Some of our people got hurt today and they need you.”

Anders struggled briefly a little longer, then suddenly slumped, all the fight gone out of him as the truth of the Iron Bull’s words sank in. 

“Stay here love, just...do what you are needed to do. People could die without your magic, I’ll be alright until you return.” Fenris gave him a sad smile before he turned to the Inquisitor. 

“Get me a tent, I’ll get it pitched myself and probably go pass out for a while. Send a message once Dorian is awake and you figure out if we can safely create a portal back without affecting him.” 

“And I’ll take our healer to go get to work,” said the Bull. “Right, Healer?”

“Of course,” answered Anders colourlessly. “Here, let me start with your arm.”

“Uh-uh. It’s only a flesh wound,” replied the Qunari. “Deal with the rest of our people; I can wait. Come on.”

Anders allowed himself to be led away - there wasn’t much point in attempting to resist, after all - but cast Fenris a last worried glance over his shoulder as they left.

Invictus watched Fenris get his tent and drop it as soon as it was in his hands. He hurried over and grabbed it up. “Don’t argue, you can barely walk right now. I’m holding it by the straps and not where you touched it, so lead on.” 

The elven warrior didn’t argue, he just trudged far from the camp and pointed at a shaded spot. He watched as Vic set it up and even held the flap open. “Rest up love, I’ll have someone send food in a while.” 

“Thanks, I’m sorry Vic. Please take care of them, no matter what happens?” Fenris asked once he was past his lover.

“Of course.” Hawke left before he could do a foolish thing like try to hold his lover despite the tainted lyrium.

He found Anders busy working hard in a hastily-erected infirmary tent. Dorian had been laid on a camp bed to one side slightly apart from the other patients and was still out for the count, Meneris sitting beside him as he waited for the altus to finally awaken. Anders had stripped down to shirt sleeves and was directing a couple of the Chargers who’d volunteered to help him; he recognised Dalish, the blonde elf, and she flashed him a brief but harried grin as he arrived. 

“Come on, Champion - I know you can heal at least a little. Pitch in, come on. Don’t leave everything to Blondie.”

Vic threw her a surprised glance but didn’t argue, he just headed over to those that seemed to be less injured and got to work. He had other things on his mind but he put himself fully into healing, so he couldn’t think too much on what Fenris could be doing.

He became so absorbed in his work that he was actually startled when some time later, Krem appeared at his side and tugged him away from the man whose leg he’d just finished working on. 

“Hey, c’mon. You’ve been at this for a couple of hours. It’s OK, everyone will be fine for now - come and eat. Anders is practically on the point of dropping and Dalish had to go rest half an hour ago,” said the Charger as he grinned at Hawke. “I think you’ve done your duty.”

“Easier to work than think right now Krem.” Vic said even as he let himself be led to the table that had been dragged to them. Anders was slumped in his chair, staring down at the plate of bread, cheese and sliced meat that had been set before him without really seeing it. His hand trembled as he reached for the cup of wine in front of him. Dorian sat directly opposite him, awake at last though not looking much better than Anders, though he did at least look up as the former Champion lowered himself to the chair next to the blond healer.

Hawke filled his plate and ate quietly, not really in the mood to talk. Meneris tried to get someone to speak but gave it up as a bad job when Hawke actually snarled at him.

Anders finally pushed the plate aside and folded his arms on the table before resting his head on them, staring at Hawke through half-lidded eyes. “I am so tired,” he whispered.

“As are we all love. If you’re done, I think it’s time for a nap.” Vic said as he finished off his meal.

Meneris leaned forward a bit, his voice low to keep the conversation between them. “I’m sorry about Fenris, whatever you need from me, it’s yours.”

Anders lifted his head slowly and stared at Meneris. “You won’t let me go to him. So you can’t give me what I need,” he said softly, before pillowing his head on his arms again.

Vic caught himself, barely. “Anders, we...can’t be with Fenris right now. Don’t take it out on Meneris. Do you want to get infected too?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not doing this to hurt you but you know as well as I do that until we get back there’s not much to do for Fenris and you getting yourself tainted with red lyrium won’t help him. I’ll be in my tent if you all need me, excuse me.” Meneris hurried out so he could be left alone for a while. 

Dorian regarded Anders with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know that if Meneris were tainted, it would kill me to be kept apart from him.” He reached out and laid a gentle hand on Anders’ shoulder, then glanced at Hawke. “I can only imagine what you must both be going through. Has anyone told Zevran yet?”

Anders’ head jerked up and he regarded Dorian with a look of dismay. “Andraste’s flaming knickers - no! Maker. I - I guess I’d best go break the news to him.”

“I’ll be in our tent when you’re done unless you’d like me to come with you.” Vic offered.

“Maybe I should ask if he wants to come join us,” replied Anders as he knuckled his eyes tiredly. “What with going through withdrawal and now this, I don’t think he’d want to be alone right now. I know _I_ wouldn’t want to be.” He rose to his feet a little unsteadily as he stared at Dorian. “You need more rest. I don’t want to see you set foot outside Meneris’ tent until tomorrow unless it’s to eat or piss, you hear me?” 

The altus snorted as Anders and Hawke headed towards the exit. “I don’t like the thought of Zevran dealing with this on his own,” he confided to Hawke.

“We’ve got the room, and it’s probably better if you’re nearby anyway.” Vic said as he slipped an arm around Anders’ waist to guide him towards the tent Zevran now had all to himself. Anders leaned into his support gratefully.

“There’s not a lot I can do for withdrawal except try and make him comfortable,” Anders confessed. “Much as I did for Cullen - just try and repair the internal damage as his body turns on itself once the last of the lyrium is out of his system.”

“Thankfully he didn’t have too long to get hooked. Let’s hope he doesn’t take the news badly eh?” Vic said tiredly.

“That’s just it - I have no idea how long it’s been going on,” Anders said dolely. “I have no idea how long it takes him to habituate his body to poisons - or just when the barriers I put in place on Fenris’ brands started weakening. Maker, maybe they were never strong enough to begin with and I didn’t realise.” He stumbled slightly; Hawke caught him easily and Anders gave him a grateful look.

They paused outside Zevran’s tent; thankfully it was one of the ones that had somehow been spared during the venatori attack. Anders ducked into the tent and found Zevran sitting hunched over on his bedroll. The former Crow had wrapped his arms around his stomach and was staring at the floor, though he glanced up at Anders as the mage entered, and managed a lopsided smile.

“Friend Anders. Fenris is not with you?”

“No,” said Anders heavily as he dropped down to sit next to Zevran. “How are you holding up?”

“It is... tolerable,” said the Antivan elf diffidently. “I have endured worse. It comes and goes.”

“I have... I have bad news,” said Anders slowly, hunting for the right words. _Maker, it never gets any easier breaking bad news to people about their loved ones._ “It’s about Fenris. He... he came in contact with red lyrium.”

Zevran was quiet for long moments, then slowly lowered his head. “Ah,” he said softly, then closed his eyes, his face tightening with pain momentarily before he visibly schooled it into a smooth mask.

“Thank you for coming to tell me,” he finally said softly.

“Hawke and I... we’d like it if you came and shared our tent; it’s not the same as being with Fenris, I know, but I figured maybe you’d prefer not to be alone right now?” suggested Anders.

Zevran tilted his head to one side, considering; then he shook it firmly. “No. I will stay here,” he decided firmly. “I thank you for the offer and appreciate your concern, but it is not necessary.”

Hawke poked his head in and glanced at the elven rogue. “No, you are not doing this. Neither of you is pulling away when you don’t need to. You are coming with us Zevran even if I have to put a sleep spell on you myself. I can practically see the wheels turning and if you sneak in to see him anyway and get tainted? He’ll be furious as will we.” 

Zevran turned his head slowly to stare at Hawke, his eyes glittering coldly golden, his face mask-like. “You will do no such thing,” he stated flatly. “I go where I choose and I sleep where I choose, and I choose to stay _here_.”

Hawke crossed his arms and glared at Zevran. “Zevran… don’t fight me about this. Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” 

“Am I then merely an object, to be placed where you choose?” replied Zevran. “Am I to have no agency in my own life?” His eyes narrowed. “That would make me little better than a slave. No. I _choose_ to remain here.”

“Hawke,” said Anders quietly. “He has the right to choose - even if it’s not what either of us would want for ourselves - or for him.”

“Fine, we just wanted to show support if you wanted it. Be alone then!” Hawke snapped before he left them to talk. He headed straight out of the camp and towards a spot where he could let his magic run wild until he calmed himself.

Anders stared after him in dismay; Zevran closed his eyes and lowered his head, hunching in upon himself as he gritted his teeth. After a moment, the Antivan elf exhaled slowly.

“I know you both mean well,” he murmured. “But I prefer to face this alone. It is... simply my way. I am sorry.”

“No,” replied Anders as he laid a hand gently on the elf’s shoulder. “ _I’m_ sorry. I’ll talk to him. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Zevran shook his head. “I do not think so. I think I would prefer to be alone now.” He opened his eyes and glanced at Anders. “You should rest, my friend,” he said gently.

“Soon,” answered Anders as he got to his feet with a grimace as his joints protested. “I’d better find Hawke. He’ll be in a foul mood now, I just know it.” He headed for the tent exit; Zevran called his name softly and he paused to glance back.

“Anders... thank you,” Zevran said quietly. 

Anders nodded in acknowledgement then let the tent flap fall closed behind him. He headed off to look for Hawke.

The former Champion was going through staff forms, blowing off his anger before he went back to the camp. He realized Anders was watching him as he rotated on the last turn. He glanced at the former warden and waited to see what he wanted.

Anders leaned on his staff heavily, watching Hawke; as Invictus turned and raised an eyebrow at him, he shifted his weight slightly.

“Are you still angry?” he asked quietly. “I think there’s a bit of brushweed over there you missed. I’m sure it’s giving you dirty looks for scorching the others.”

“Yes, and I’m scared and hurting. Anything else?” Vic asked as he tamped down the anger that threatened to send flames along the haft of his weapon.

Anders dropped his gaze and lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the haft of his staff. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to fight, Vic.”

“Nor do I that’s why I came out here. I snapped at Zevran when I shouldn’t and I am terrified we’ll lose Fenris. I can’t...you might as well kill me too.” Vic dropped to his knees as he let the other man see how much he was breaking.

Anders’ head jerked up and he stared at the other man in alarm. “No - no, don’t say that!” he exclaimed as he hurried to Hawke and threw himself down next to him, dropping his staff as he reached for him. “Don’t say that, _please_! We’ll find a way to fix this - Fenris won’t die, I won’t let him, I swear! Don’t say such things, I can’t lose you! I can’t lose either of you!”

Vic just sobbed in his arms as he tried to keep himself from despairing too much. “You’d be taken care of, I’ve made sure of it. Just...I can’t even think of losing him Anders. I’m sorry...I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t, don’t say that, I can’t bear to think of losing either one of you - it would kill me too, I swear!” begged Anders, his own breath coming fast and ragged now. “Please - please, don’t - just, d-don’t say that... don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone without you!”

“I won’t… I’m sorry, I just couldn’t cope with it. Let’s just go lie down and maybe I’ll wake up and it will be a nightmare.” Vic said as he got to his feet, picked Anders up and started to trudge back towards the camp. Anders clung to him and buried his face against the former Champion’s chest, ignoring the chill of the metal breastplate as it pressed against his cheek, fighting to bring his breathing back under control. He didn’t look up until they reached their tent and Hawke had to struggle with the tent flap.

“You can put me down,” murmured Anders.

Hawke did as asked, finally untied the flap and didn’t move once he’d laid face down on his bedroll. 

He could hear Anders moving around the bell tent, slowly disrobing, his breathing still a little ragged and shaky; there was the clinking of potion bottles as he hunted through his pack, his hands trembling as he hunted for something, and then the quiet pop of a cork and the quiet splash of liquid in a cup. A moment later, he heard a second cork being popped and then a brief splash of liquid upon liquid, before Anders came and sat next to him on his own bedroll.

“Here,” said the blond healer quietly.

Hawke lifted his head and stared at the cup of wine Anders held out to him. “What is it?” he asked as he sat up and took the cup, sniffing cautiously.

“Wine, with a few drops of the sleeping draught added. Not a lot - but maybe just enough to let us both sleep,” Anders replied. “Maker knows, I don’t want to dream tonight.”

Hawke nodded, then drank down the draught in one, grimacing at the slightly bitter aftertaste. He handed the empty cup back to Anders, who was sipping his own more slowly. once he’d finished, the blond apostate set aside the two cups then stretched out upon his bedroll and clumsily tugged his blanket up over himself before rolling onto his side, facing towards Hawke.

“I’ll apologize...to Zev...tomor---” Vic cut himself off with a yawn, then pulled Anders to him. “I’m sorry about earlier love.”

Anders was limp and pliant as he was manhandled into Hawke’s embrace, his breathing slow and drowsy, though he managed to open his eyes blearily to gaze up at his lover. He was succumbing to the sleeping draught swiftly in his exhausted state, but he managed a faint smile before his eyes closed.

Vic slipped into a drugged doze right behind his lover, into a rest thankfully devoid of dreams. Unfortunately, Fenris wasn’t having such a placid night.

The warrior found he couldn’t sleep for the ache in his side, so he dug out parchment, ink and quill to write letters to his lovers, just in case. Eventually he slept but it wasn’t restful in the least.

The sounds of the camp stirring roused Hawke the next morning; Anders was still curled against him, sleeping peacefully though dark circles remained beneath his eyes. The small furrowed crease in his brow between his eyes that seemed perpetually present during his waking moments was, for the moment, smoothed away. His chest rose and fell with each deep, even breath, and Hawke felt reluctant to move and wake him.

“Come on love, time to get up and get going.” Vic brushed a kiss against his temple in apology.

Anders stirred slightly, that little crease reappearing as he frowned slightly and made a faint sound of protest before burying his face against Hawke’s chest.

“Come on love, we both need breakfast and you’re already grumpy when you miss out on meals.” Vic said gently as he got them both sitting up. Anders opened his eyes slowly and blinked, glancing around.

“It can’t be morning already, surely?” he protested, rubbing one eye before yawning. His hair was dishevelled; it had finally tumbled free of his hair tie at some point during the night and tumbled loosely about his shoulders, getting in his eyes.

“It is morning I’m afraid. Up you get.” Vic said as he stretched out the kinks his back.

Anders pushed his blanket aside slowly and got up then stretched, wincing as his back protested in a series of pops and cracks, before he pushed his hair out of his eyes and began to dress. He pulled a fresh set of travel robes from his backpack, the clothes he’d been wearing the previous day being rather the worse for wear and tear thanks to the fight and then healing bleeding and broken bodies. One sleeve was still stained with Fenris’ blood. The healer wadded up the dirty clothes and stuffed them in the bottom of his pack before pulling on the fresh shirt and undertunic, then setting to work to attempt to tame his unruly locks.

“I’m going to check on Fenris before breakfast,” he announced as he he fiddled with a fresh hairtie, scraping his hair back into a ponytail.

“Anders…” Hawke sounded worried but he didn’t move to stop the warden. Anders glanced back over his shoulder at his lover.

“I won’t touch him,” he said quietly. “But we need to know how he’s doing, and I need to be able to observe any deterioration in his condition - and I can’t do that through the canvas walls of a tent. Besides,” he added quieter, “I’m worried for his mental state. He _needs_ human contact, love. If his mental state deteriorates, then he’ll go downhill all the faster.” He glanced away for a moment, visibly weighing something in his mind before he turned back to Hawke.

“Besides... there’s something else... something I’m afraid of,” he said slowly as he lifted his eyes to meet his lover’s gaze. “It’s... about Fenris’ lyrium. I don’t know how to describe it or what any of it means but... do you remember, the last time I tried to bind his lyrium and you found me almost impossible to awaken?”

“Yes, that terrified me. What does that have to do with this situation?” Hawke asked as he made his way around the tent to get washed up and ready.

Anders hesitated, trying to find the right words - _any_ words - to explain. He stared down at his hands, then let them fall as he exhaled and looked up at Hawke.

“His lyrium... it was... _alive_ ,” he said quietly. “And at the moment I realised that... I realised also that it was... aware of me. And it fastened onto my magic and tried to drain it away. I had to fight to free myself, it... it was like a spirit, a demon, trying to... to claim my magic, to feed on it, like when Fenris draws on our mana to power a Fade step and take us with him. And when I finally pulled free, Fenris opened his eyes and looked at me except, for a moment, it... it wasn’t Fenris.” He stared at Hawke, desperately wishing him to believe his words.

“Then what does this mean for the red lyrium infection?” Hawke asked as he stared at Anders.

“I don’t know,” said Anders wretchedly, twisting his fingers together. “I need to talk to Dorian - he’s done this Fade-stepping thing with Fenris and opened portals with him; I need to know what he’s felt and experienced.”

“Well let’s find our favorite Altus and get this discussion going.” Vic said slowly, as he tried to wrap his head around what Anders had said.

“Let me go grab food for Fenris and go check on him,” said Anders. “You go find Dorian, and I’ll join you shortly. I need to quickly check on Zevran as well.”

“Don’t touch him, trust me it will be hard but don’t do it.” Vic said as he passed by with a kiss for his lover. “Tell Fenris I love him alright?”

Anders swallowed hard then nodded. “I will,” he agreed, then headed off in the direction of Fenris’ tent, pausing by the mess tent to grab breakfast and a full water canteen for the elf before continuing on.

The two guards stood to attention as he approached; one tried to bar his way but the other shook her head at her colleague. “Not the healer,” she said. The other guard looked at Anders, then stood down. Anders nodded to him, then made his way to the doorway of Fenris’ tent.

“Love? It’s me, Anders. I’ve brought you breakfast,” he called gently.

A low growl of his name greeted Anders as Fenris sat on his bed roll, gaze away from the door flap.”Leave it there, I’ll get it once you’re gone.”

“Love... I need to see you’re alright. Look, I’m going to open the door flap carefully with my staff, and then I’ll sit just inside the door,” suggested Anders in a calm tone. “I won’t touch you or anything else. But I do need to see you.” He softened his voice. “Please, love,” he added gently.

“Fine, do what you want.” Fenris said as he turned away, afraid of letting Anders see how much he’d declined in a few hours. Anders felt his heart sink as he heard the dejected tone in Fenris’ voice.

He unslung his staff and carefully pushed the door flap open then slipped inside. He lowered himself to sit on the floor just inside the tent, setting the breakfast tray with the canteen of water down upon the floor before pushing it towards Fenris before finally he looked up. 

He went stiff with surprise. The elf was clad only in leather pants; Anders’ gaze was drawn immediately to the faint red glow just beneath Fenris’ skin just below his ribs, and the crimson tinge that seemed to have seeped into the edges of the brands twirling across his skin around the glow. 

His lips parted but no words came. He couldn’t draw his eyes away, almost hypnotised by the baleful red glow.

“Well, what is it?” Fenris asked.

Anders tried to speak; he felt his throat clenching tight. He tried again, and managed to cough; he wrenched his gaze away with an effort of will as he fought to speak through the shock. “Your... your lyrium,” he finally managed to gasp. “It wasn’t that way before.” He managed to look up and meet Fenris’ gaze as the elf’s eyes widened before he glanced down at the sight of the wound.

“No... no, it was not,” replied Fenris slowly. “This... what does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Anders.


	63. Chapter 63

“Leave me behind, I’ll start heading back to Skyhold on my own. If the wound changed this much overnight, I won’t risk a portal or any of you to power it.” Fenris rested his hand over the wound as he tried to keep from lashing out further.

“No,” said Anders quietly. “I won’t. _We_ won’t. I don’t know what this means for your Fade-stepping ability, but... I need to talk to Dorian about exactly what happens when he creates a portal with you. But first, I need to know what exactly is going on with your lyrium.”

“Anders...will you take my choice away?” Fenris asked quietly. “I...am scared and I don’t know what else to do but go. I can’t infect you with this poison. Please, don’t take away my choice. It may not be the best one but it’s mine to make.” 

Anders drew a slow breath as he stared up at Fenris. “I’m not taking away your choice,” he said softly. “I’m saying that it’s not the only option. Nor is it necessarily the best one.” He lifted a hand. “Please, let me try and work out what’s happening to you. I don’t have to touch you - it’s just easier if I do. But if you step closer, I can try and do it from here - it’s... a bit like when I heal you during a fight. It’s harder without touch, but I want to try.” He stared at Fenris, his eyes pleading. “Please let me try,” he whispered.

Fenris nodded and closed his eyes again, unwilling to see whatever Anders discovered.

Anders closed his own eyes and held his hand out towards Fenris. A soft blue glow suffused the skin of his hand as he bowed his head and let his awareness reach out towards the elf.

He felt himself drawn straight into awareness of the lyrium; he could feel it, the song pulsing within Fenris’ veins to the very beat of the elf’s heart. He could sense how fast it was beating as Fenris held himself, tense and nervous, afraid. 

He could hear that the lyrium song had changed slightly; there was a sharp, discordant note within the heady thrum that set his own nerves singing in sympathy as his own heartbeat sped up. He ignored the discomfort and let the lyrium draw him towards the source of that discord in the song.

He knew the lyrium was aware of him; he could feel it trying to draw him in, like tendrils trying to twine about his very mind. It was hypnotic; he felt himself almost surrendering to its haunting embrace as it drew him deeper, drawing on his magic. He could feel his mana slowly draining into the lyrium even as he reached the sight of the red lyrium contagion - and was aware of a sense of malignant watching, something alien waiting to ensnare him.

He gasped and fought internally to pull away, only to feel the red lyrium trying all the harder to draw him closer, to touch him through his magic and claim him. He gritted his teeth, feeling sweat beading upon his brow and his body trembling with the effort, but only distantly - as though it were not really there, dreamlike.

He fought for control of his mana and managed to wrest it free, then hastily he drew upon it and began to weave a tight barrier about the red lyrium, seeking to contain the spread of the contagion. It had a foothold within Fenris’ lyrium but he was certain he could bind it.

He was running out of mana. He tapped into his own life force and then leaned into Fenris’ untainted lyrium, weaving the two sources of energy together as he wove the barriers as strong as he could, aware that the magic was taking its toll upon him. As he bound off the last part of the binding and set a seal upon it, he felt himself falling.

Fenris reached out without thinking to keep Anders from hurting himself. He laid the mage down gently then stepped back, snatching his hands away as if he was burned. “Anders?”

After a couple of anxious moments, Anders opened his eyes slowly. He took a moment to recall where he was, then slowly sat up. He glanced up at Fenris. “I’m OK,” he managed, trying to reassure his lover. “That... took a little more out of me than I was expecting.”

“What did you do?” Fenris asked as he looked down to see that the red glow was dimmed and he didn’t feel as wretched. 

“I bound it,” replied Anders. “I tapped a little into the uncontaminated lyrium and a little into my own life force to weave a tighter binding on your lyrium and around the red lyrium. If I’m right, then because I used your lyrium to bind itself and the red lyrium then that should have locked it in - with my life force to seal it. As long as I’m still alive, breathing and well, then the red lyrium can’t spread.” He smiled ruefully. “I think this goes rather beyond what Vic was thinking when he suggested we bond.”

“You... you bound _your own life_ to my lyrium?” exclaimed Fenris, astounded. “How is that even possible?”

Anders shrugged. “Because I’m a spirit healer. And because we’re pretty desperate and I couldn’t think of any other way to make the binding as permanent as possible without needing to be topped up or reworked frequently.”

“What does this mean for you?” asked Fenris, frowning. “Will this... harm you?”

“It will drain me a little,” Anders replied. “A bit like keeping up a constant cantrip, except I don’t have to consciously think about it, and it’ll be maintained automatically. It means if you get hurt, my body will respond automatically to heal you just as if it were my own body.”

“Anders....” whispered Fenris, appalled by the implications. “And... if _you_ are hurt?”

“Let’s try to avoid that if we can, shall we?” Anders suggested.

“Anders....”

Anders shook his head. “We don’t really have any other options, realistically. At least this way, the contagion is contained and your lyrium is stable.”

“Then... I can touch you again?” whispered Fenris. Anders nodded with a tired smile; in an instant, Fenris was on his knees next to Anders, hugging him fiercely as he buried his face against Anders’ shoulder. “You mad, foolish mage,” he groaned. “What have you done? I pray none of us come to regret this.”

“This was _my_ choice to make, love,” breathed Anders as he rested his head upon Fenris’ shoulder. “I don’t regret it. Not if it keeps you with us, alive, safe and whole.”

Fenris simply held Anders close to him and wept quietly. 

“Love, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” murmured Anders. “We have time now, don’t you see? Your lyrium won’t deteriorate, and the red lyrium can’t spread or infect anyone else now. It’ll all be fine, you’ll see.”

“Is it really alright?” Fenris asked as he held on to Anders. 

“I promise you, love,” answered Anders as he continued to rest his head on Fenris’ shoulder. He was unutterably tired and drained. He closed his eyes, glad to feel Fenris’ arms around him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Fenris said as they remained curled around each other.

They sat like that together for some time, Anders slowly drowsing off in Fenris’ arms, until there was a slight commotion outside and then Fenris heard Hawke’s voice.

He didn’t get a chance to move before Hawke entered the tent, stopped and stared at them. “What have you both done?” Vic said as he tried to keep calm.

“We...Anders…” Fenris started to stay but fell silent at the rage that seemed to roll from his lover.

Anders blinked his eyes open slowly, then lifted his head and glanced round to stare at Hawke. He smiled, hesitantly.

“Hello, love,” he said quietly. “It’s... it’s alright, it’s safe. I’ve bound the lyrium - all of it, the red and Fenris’ lyrium. It won’t spread or leak. I’ve fixed it - sort of. We can touch him again.” His head drooped, and he rested it on Fenris’ shoulder again.

“How did you do this Anders? Should I take one guess based on how tired you look and how terrified he looks of me losing my temper?” Vic replied.

“It was my choice,” said Anders quietly. “Couldn’t think of any other way to fix it. Used his untainted lyrium woven with my own life force to bind and seal it.”

“You….did…. _what?!_ ” Vic bellowed. Anders winced.

“If you have any other great ideas of how I could have fixed him, I’m all ears,” he said quietly, a sharp note creeping into his voice. He managed to pull himself upright and away from Fenris as he got to his feet, glad he was as tall as he was as he met Hawke’s incensed gaze, their eyes on the same level. 

“Last I looked, _I_ was the spirit healer here, not you. Yes, it was desperate, but I don’t see that we have any other options right now. This way, the lyrium is contained and the risk of contagion gone, and there’s no further risk of the lyrium deteriorating. Fenris will live, whole and healthy and with no fear of losing his mind to what Danarius did. I’ve fixed it. As long as I draw breath and my heart still beats, he will live and the red lyrium will be contained. This way, I don’t have to constantly maintain the bindings and reapply them.” He lifted his chin and stared defiantly at Hawke. “Now, tell me if _you_ could have done that? How would _you_ have fixed it, Hawke? Tell me of any other mage here with us right now who could have done it!”

He took a step closer. “And tell me that if our positions were reversed you would not have done the same,” he added, his voice dropping. “I saw a way to save his life and I took it. The choice was mine and I do not regret it.”

He stood, glaring at Hawke, his face almost white as he swayed slightly.

Vic returned his glare as he reached out to keep Anders from falling flat on his face. “What happens if you get hurt? What happens if you die? You are here ready to just go here, kill me now instead of looking for another option. Fine, what’s done is done and nothing to be changed.”

Fenris tugged on Vic’s arm with a plea for him to calm down. “Isn’t my life worth this chance?”

“It was my choice,” repeated Anders softly, his head drooping as he leaned against Hawke’s grip. “There was no other way. I can’t let him die. You know I would give my life for either of you.”

“Yes, I know. Now if you die, he goes with you, or vice versa. That wasn’t ideal, Anders, but it’s done. Come on, let’s tell the others and get you fed before you collapse.” He turned to Fenris and gave him a sad smile. 

“You’re more than worth it my love, you know that. I would give all for you, both of you but...knowing I would lose both of you in one go is doing bad things to my mind.” 

“If I die, he won’t die immediately, love,” replied Anders. “The bindings would hold for a little while longer. Maybe enough time to find a cure. But I have you both now - you’ll keep me safe.” He blinked. “Keep me....” His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped.

“Fucking Void.” Vic swore as he helped get Anders on his back.

“He used too much energy to make the bond.” Fenris said as he knelt next to Anders, “I’m sorry Vic, if I’d realized what he was doing I would have stopped him.”

Anders’ eyelids fluttered and he groaned softly before he slowly opened his eyes, dazed. “What happened?” he said weakly.

“You fainted on us, probably used too much of yourself for this bond.” Vic said as he slid his arm under Anders so he could offer some water.

“Sorry,” said Anders, blinking, still dazed. “Couldn’t control it... the lyrium was taking all my mana until I had nothing left to draw on but my life; I just did it without thinking at first, and then suddenly the answer was staring me in the face and I just... did it. Bound it, and it worked.” He leaned into his lover’s strong, reassuring support. “I’ll be fine after some food and sleep,” he assured him. “Just very tired right now.” He closed his eyes. “Meneris is going to shout at me, isn’t he?” he added quietly.

“Probably, if it wouldn’t make things worse I’d shout at you right now. Get some sleep, we’ll go talk to him and then return with some food.” Vic said softly. “Water is by your right side when you want it.”

The Champion sighed as he brushed a few loose strands of hair from Anders face. “Everyone may well shout if they learn what you’ve done. We’ll be back soon, sleep well love.” 

Fenris was quietly standing to the side after getting dressed again. He wouldn’t look at Invictus just at Anders then back to the sand under their feet. 

Anders glanced up at Fenris then smiled faintly. “It’s OK, love,” he said quietly. “It will all work out, you’ll see.” He closed his eyes, and was asleep almost immediately.

The elven warrior glanced briefly at Hawke, nodded at the tent flap and waited. He was sure he was in for a fight once the others were told he was trying to be quiet as he could. 

“Fenris look at me please.” Vic asked.

Fenris stared at the tent flap for a moment longer then slowly, hesitantly turned his gaze to the other man. He was still for a moment or two, then stirred slightly.

“I did not ask for this,” he said quietly. “I did not ask him to do this. I cannot undo it - what is done is done. I am... not happy that it has been done, but... I think I understand better now how it happened.”

“Fenris I’m not angry alright? I...I am frustrated but not angry. Do you understand that while I am not happy with Anders doing this, I would rather have you with us and at our side than exiled until the lyrium took you from us? Please tell me you understand?” Vic approached him slowly and tipped the elf’s chin until he was staring into the other man’s eyes. “I love you more than life Fenris and if anyone can unravel the hold it has on you, it will be Anders.”

Fenris had to fight to quell the urge to pull away from Hawke’s touch, reminding himself that it was safe now.

“I... understand,” he said slowly. He opened his mouth to speak further, but suddenly stopped as a thought suddenly struck him. “Zevran,” he said, his tone changing slightly to one of realisation. “Anders has bound my lyrium as well as the red lyrium. If Zevran touches my brands, he will not be able to absorb any more lyrium from me. I may be with him again without fear of worsening his addiction.”

“Are you sure? I hope he’s alright, we...I put my foot in it with him when we told him about you being infected.” Vic sighed and leaned in a bit closer. “May I kiss you please?”

The faint ghost of a smile curved Fenris’ lips slightly. “You may,” he answered.

“Thank you.” Vic leaned into the kiss, pulling Fenris almost off his feet as he kissed the other man like he needed him just to live. He pulled back just to catch his breath, unwilling to let his lover go. “Almost lost you, I was scared Fen.” he whispered.

“As was I,” breathed Fenris, finally admitting his fear aloud. “I could not bear the thought I might turn on you all mindlessly, or die without ever touching any of you one last time.”

“It will be well my heart, all will be well. We’ve gone through too much shit to let this end us.” Vic kissed him again almost like he had to convince himself it was allowed. He pulled away slightly to wipe at his face. “Guess I’m sweating a bit more than I realized.”

Fenris gave him a skeptical look, then his smile broadened fondly as he leaned up to brush a light kiss upon Hawke’s wet cheek. “We have indeed,” he rumbled. “Come, let us find food for our exhausted healer - and face the Inquisitor’s wrath. Perhaps if he blunts it upon us, he will have little left to shout at Anders with.”

“He won’t be yelling at him at all if I have my way of things.” Vic took his hand and headed for the mess tent, ready for the fury that Meneris would surely explode in.

Dorian glanced around as they entered, then did a double-take as he spotted Fenris and wordlessly reached a hand out to grasp the Inquisitor’s arm, nodding his head towards Fenris without taking his gaze off the white-haired warrior. Meneris turned to see what had the Tevinter Altus so discomposed, then he frowned at the two men. Handing his plate to Dorian, he stalked angrily towards them.

“Here it comes,” murmured Fenris _sotto voce_.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed Hawke?” Meneris asked before he glared at Fenris. 

“What are you doing here? Trying to take down our forces here? Has that red lyrium already turned you against us?” the other elf snarled.

In answer, Fenris unbuckled the side of his cuirass and tugged up his shirt to show the freshly-healed scar just beneath his ribs, no sign of the red lyrium taint. His glance at Meneris when he lifted his eyes to meet that of the furious Inquisitor was coolly challenging though he said nothing.

“That... that’s not possible,” stammered Dorian, who seemed to have found his tongue at last.

“You see it for yourself, now stop getting so worked up and let’s go discuss this like adults. Well after we’ve eaten and gotten something for Anders. Doing _that_ ” he said with a wave at Fenris to drop his tunic, “Justifiably wore him out.”

“That’s not possible at all, no.” Meneris said despite the evidence before him.

“You underestimate the abilities and skill of our spirit healer,” said Fenris calmly. “Though I will admit there are certain... drawbacks to his chosen... solution.” He grimaced and glanced at Hawke, before returning his gaze to that of Meneris. “He has bound both the red lyrium and my own using my lyrium combined with... his own life force.”

“ _WHAT??_ ” exclaimed Dorian. They could see from the stunned look upon his face and then the way his eyes snapped into sharp focus that his mind had instantly grasped what must have happened and was computing the ramifications and possibilities, his brilliant grasp of magical theory coming to the fore. “Dear Maker,” he murmured. “Your life forces are bonded. If you are harmed... oh no. Oh dear. The brilliant, fantastic, incredibly brave and foolish man.”

“Yeah, we know believe us. Now if you all don’t mind, we’re starved and we’d rather not leave Anders alone too long. Are you done yelling Inquisitor?” Invictus asked even as he began to ladle food into bowls for them and waited for Fenris to do more than stand around like a statue.

“I did not ask him to do this,” said Fenris quietly. “I had no idea he would even attempt such a thing. Had I known, I do not know that I would have allowed him even to enter the tent. He said he merely wished to check how far the contagion had spread. He was not even touching me. It wasn’t until he told me that I realised what he had done. I... do not know if it can be undone.”

Meneris pinched the bridge of his nose as he counted to twenty under his breath before he responded. “What’s done is done, and I guess it means you can rejoin our forces. Go on, there’s no point in yelling and screaming out here. We will have words about this once we’re back at the Keep.” the elven leader headed off for his private tent, giving Dorian a murmured request to come to him sooner than later as he passed.

Vic watched him go then glanced to Dorian. “You want to pick Anders’ brain on this, I can practically hear the cogs turning in that head of yours. Come with us, maybe discussing the theory of it will distract him.” 

Dorian hesitated, clearly wanting to take up his offer, but then shook his head regretfully. “No, I think it best if I leave him be to rest. I have seen how much regular healing takes it out of him - and I recall only too well the state of him after he healed Cullen. I will speak with him tomorrow, when he is somewhat more recovered. I don’t deny I am wildly curious, but my curiosity will merely have to wait upon Anders’ convenience to be satisfied.” He turned and picked up his own plate and gave them both a rueful smile. “And I shall attempt to calm Meneris down. I may have to provide him with distraction of my own.” Inclining his head slightly, he turned and headed after Meneris.

“I’m sorry for this love, maybe go check on Zevran? I’ll make sure Anders has some food.” Vic leaned over and kissed Fenris on the lips before he handed off a tray with food and drink. “Go on, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Fenris nodded, pausing to tug his shirt straight and rebuckle his cuirass before taking the tray. “I shall,” he smiled. He headed off in search of the tent he had shared with the other elf.

Zevran lay upon the bedroll with his back to the tent flap; he didn’t stir when Fenris entered other than to hunch in upon himself a little tighter.

“Go away, I am not hungry,” he said tersely, his accent thick and heavy.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” said Fenris quietly.

Zevran sat up and turned, his head whipping round as he stared at Fenris in disbelief, for once lost for words. He swallowed hard, then finally managed to find his voice. “They told me you were tainted. Red lyrium, that you mustn’t touch anyone. How... why do you come to me now, to torment me when I dare not even touch you?”

“I am not here to torment you love. Anders...he, sacrificed a great deal to heal me. Let me come to you and show you, as well as tell you what has happened. Please?” Fenris replied.

Zevran stared at him then slowly nodded. “Sacrificed? He is not hurt?” he asked quietly, a look of concern in his eyes. “Not dead... you are too calm for that. But... not well.”

“Not dead but ...he linked our lives together in some kind of bond, he contained the lyrium. An extra benefit means you can touch me again, not be affected by the regular lyrium. I don’t understand how it works, it’s all magical theory that’s beyond me. But I’m here, and I need you Zev, please?” Fenris sat the tray down, sat to the other elf’s side and lifted his tunic. “See?”

Zevran stared at the scar, lifting his hand slowly. His fingers hovered above Fenris’ skin as he drew breath, and then he tentatively touched the tawny skin. Then he pressed his palm gently against Fenris’ side with a hand that trembled slightly, and he closed his eyes for a moment before staring down at the whorls of lyrium that wound across Fenris’ skin. His fingers covered several lines; he frowned slightly, then glanced up at Fenris, golden eyes meeting green.

“I feel... nothing,” he said haltingly. “It... it does not tingle.” 

“He, whatever Anders did it also contained the regular lyrium in my skin. You don’t have to worry about it continuing to poison you. I can be with you again, if you want me that is.” Fenris dropped his gaze to the bedrolls they sat on, worried that perhaps Zevran would want space as he recovered.

Zevran stared at Fenris, and the white-haired elf became aware that the hand that still rested against his side was trembling slightly.

“If I want you...” echoed Zevran softly, and then a moment later his hand slid across Fenris’ skin to encircle his waist as the Antivan turned to curl up against him, resting his head against Fenris’ shoulder. He was still for a moment, and then he shifted slightly to press a kiss against Fenris’ skin. “ _Carissimi_ ,” he whispered.

“I was afraid you’d want to be alone while you dealt with the...the withdrawal. I was so scared Zev.” Fenris said as he hugged the other elf to him.

“I can endure it,” said Zevran. “But the loneliness in the night... that, I find harder. It seems I have grown too accustomed to sharing your bed, my heart. I cannot sleep.”

Fenris sniffed slightly as he held the Antivan elf close as he could. “Forgive me the nights you spent alone. I didn’t want to risk harming you more, I could not. I’m so sorry, I should have had my guard up, I shou---”

Zevran lifted his head and silenced Fenris by claiming his lips with a kiss, his hands sliding across the lyrium-marked skin as they swept upwards to slide into Fenris’ hair, the Antivan elf making an almost frantic sound of longing as he tried to show Fenris just how much he wanted him there through his kiss and touch.

The Tevinter elf whimpered slightly as he pulled away to breathe. “Guess you wanted to me to keep quiet?” Fenris said softly.

“Enough shoulds and could nots,” said Zevran, his voice husky and thick as he buried his face against Fenris’ shoulder. “I have had enough of them. I have heard too many of them of late and I will hear no more.”

“As you wish, I’m just glad you can hold me again.” Fenris admitted softly as he rested his cheek on top of Zevran’s head. “Whenever you untangle ourselves, we should eat something. I’m actually hungry.”

Zevran swallowed hard, then nodded. “I should eat, though I have little appetite and I am uncertain whether it will stay down,” he admitted. 

“Try to have something even its bread dipped in some broth. You’ll do no one any good if you collapse out here love.” Fenris turned so he could reach the tray but stay in Zevran’s arms. “Shall I feed you?”

Zevran smiled wanly. “I am not so far gone as that, my love,” he chided gently with a fond look.

“Thought you liked it when I fed you?” Fenris replied as he missed the expression on Zevran’s face. “Here, try to have something, please?” He turned back to find Zevran still regarding him with a gentle smile upon his face.

“If it makes you happy, _carissimi_ , then very well,” the Antivan acceded with a small shrug as he lay back against the pillow, something soft and slightly wistful in his gaze.

“Not to make me happy, not for that reason Zev.” Fenris sighed and held the bowl of stew out in one hand, and a chunk of bread in the other.

Zevran regarded him for a minute, that strange wistful look still in his eyes, before he sat up again and took the food. “Perhaps... no, forget my ramblings,” he shrugged. “An idle thought. Tell me, do you think friend Anders will recover from this... whatever he has done... soon? Or are we all staying here a while until he is fit to travel?”

“He’ll be fine after food and sleep he said. Why?” Fenris asked.

“I find I am restless and eager to have this little trip over and done and behind us,” replied Zevran with a shrug. “I thought I would enjoy this heat, so like my Antiva, but instead I find it tedious and uncomfortable. A Crow can endure many things, but tedium? I was never a very patient man - one of my many shortcomings, as my Crow trainers told me often.” He gave a quick grin, his teeth flashing white.

Fenris kept his gaze on his lover as he ate for a while then set his bowl aside. “Talk to me, there’s something you’re hiding from me, I can finally know your tells and it is worrisome.”

Zevran’s smile slipped slightly as he met Fenris’ gaze, then dropped entirely as he stared down into his bowl. “You have grown to know me too well, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. After a moment, he set the bowl aside then dropped his head into his hands. He sat there for a few moments; Fenris stirred as he was about to speak, then held his tongue as Zevran lifted his head enough to stare at him through the blond hair that had fallen forward to hide his face.

“I fear that if we tarry here too long, then you may have to take me back to Skyhold,” he admitted in a low voice. “I would rather return with you all than be sent back. I do not want to leave your side, _carissimi_.”

“I don’t think we’ll be out here much longer if the Inquisitor’s mood is an indication. He’s as tired of the sand and Venatori as we are, perhaps doubly so.” Fenris crawled over to Zevran and got behind him so he could wrap his arms around the other elf while he got himself under control.

“I pray you are right,” said Zevran quietly as he straightened then let himself relax back into Fenris’ arms. “I do not wish to become a burden or liability out here, and the longer we remain then the greater the risk.” He shivered suddenly and bit his lip. “It starts again,” he murmured, half to himself.

“What can I do for you? Fenris asked as he rubbed his hands over the other elf slowly to calm both of them.

“Hold me. Talk. Distract me,” said Zevran, grimacing as another shiver ran through him.

Fenris tightened his grip just a bit before he began to speak in Tevene, low and quiet, nothing that made much sense but something to keep his lover distracted. As he talked, Zevran’s shivers grew harder, his body shaking with each bout as they came closer and closer together, the other elf’s breath coming in shuddering gasps, though Zevran made no sound otherwise apart from the occasional very quiet gasp, his hands curling into fists as he pressed his nails into his palms, his teeth gritted. 

As the evening drew on and the sky darkened, the shaking eased as sweat beaded Zevran’s forehead and he shifted restlessly in Fenris’ arms, heat beginning to radiate from his body as though he were burning up within, his body turning upon itself, hunting for the dwindling lyrium within his flesh, craving more yet denied it. Zevran grew slowly limp in Fenris’ arms, dropping into an exhausted, feverish sleep.

Fenris frowned at how bad off Zevran was as he slid to the side so he could get a cool cloth and stretch his legs a bit. He didn’t have words even if his lover were awake to talk to him Instead he stretched out next to the Antivan and fell into his own uneasy rest.

When Fenris woke shortly after dawn to the sounds of the camp stirring and coming to life, he found Zevran’s fever had broken and the Antivan slept peacefully and deeply.

Instead of waking the other elf, Fenris left for a quick wash and to check in with Anders and Invictus. He entered the tent to find both men sitting and chatting quietly as they had camp rations. “Hi.”

Anders glanced up and smiled. His eyes still looked tired and the healer was still pale, but his smile was warm. “Hey, love,” he greeted him.

“Hey yourself, did you both sleep well?” Fenris asked as he dropped down next to them.

“Somewhat it’s still too damned hot for me here.” Vic replied.

“Hawke assures me he did wake me up to get food into me, but I honestly have no memory of it,” admitted Anders. “I think I must have been half asleep and just passed out again straight after. I’m only barely awake now.” He rubbed an eye slowly as he straightened from the remains of his breakfast. “Did you spend the night with Zevran?”

“Yes, but I’m hungry...and tired. I didn’t sleep well next to him.” Fenris emphasized his words with a sudden yawn. “Sorry I guess I am still tired.”

“How is he?” asked Anders with a small frown, patting the bedroll next to him for Fenris to sit down.

“Shakes are bad and he fears what will happen the longer we are out here.” replied the elf bluntly.

Anders’ frown deepened and he sighed. “That sounds... about what I would expect, and he’s right to worry. He needs to go back to Skyhold where he can be cared for properly; it will only get worse, and I doubt the heat will be helping much. Soon he’ll be feverish, and it will only deteriorate from there.”

“Is it safe to create a portal now that you’ve contained the infection of lyrium?” Fenris asked quietly. 

“Yes,” nodded Anders. “Your abilities should be unaffected. Have you teleported yourself anywhere at all yet?”

“No, it’s been a little less than a day. I’m… afraid to try it.” he admitted.

“Maybe we should test that then,” said Anders. “Particularly before you try anything as tiring as opening a portal - even if it seems most of the portal-opening seems to put the greater drain on Dorian.”

“Alright. I’ll try to go back to my tent.” Fenris dropped the towel he’d slung around his neck, went to the center of their space, closed his eyes and thankfully popped up in the tent he shared with Zevran. “It worked...thank you Andraste.” he whispered before he slipped out to return on foot.

He returned to find Hawke fussing over Anders, who was sipping slowly at what looked like a small cup of brandy, looking rather shaken. “No, I’ll... I’ll be fine,” he was insisting to Hawke. To Fenris’ eyes he looked rather far from fine. 

“It worked, I just decided to walk back.” Fenris said as he approached them. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” insisted Anders. “Just a slight dizzy turn is all. I’m obviously more exhausted than I thought, but I’ll be fine. I just need to catch my breath a moment.”

“He’s not fine Fenris, don’t believe that.” Vic said. Anders gave him an exasperated look.

“I _will_ be,” he insisted. He stared up at Fenris. “Did it work? Did it feel any different? Nothing hurting, no pains in your brands out of the ordinary?” he asked.

“A little out of breath but that could be the worry it wasn’t going to work.” Fenris stared at him for a moment before he came over, took Anders’ hand and lit his brands. “How does this feel?”

Anders’ eyes widened and he inhaled sharply with an audible gasp, a brief flicker of fear in his eyes for a moment before he closed them and forced himself to breathe normally. “Different from how it used to feel,” he said tersely. “Like my skin is on fire.” He opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris. “This... this is how it has always felt for you, isn’t it? Every single time? I knew it pained you, but to know is one thing, to _feel_ it....”

“So me teleporting...how bad was it, the truth Anders.” Fenris leaned into his space and waited. As his brands showed no sign of dimming, sweat began to stand out on Anders’ forehead and he gritted his teeth.

“Bad enough,” he finally admitted, his voice almost cracking. “Maker... how do you stand it?”

Fenris dimmed his brands and let go of his lover with a sad expression. “I don’t want to talk about that, here or ever. I’ll keep the teleporting to a minimum. If me using my brands harms you, then I won’t.” 

“Fenris! Look what you did to him?” Vic cried as he caught the blond warden.

“No... I’ll be alright in a moment... just not used to it yet....” Anders slurred as he slumped against the other mage. “Was just... a little too much....”

“No more using my brands around you, at least if it can’t be helped.” Fenris ran his hands through his hair and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice as he walked around the tent. “This is bad, what if I need to get across the field, or get someone back to Skyhold, what has happened to us?”

Anders managed to pull himself upright with an effort. “Then you’ll do it,” he said, his voice a little steadier. “My life force is bound to your lyrium. I should have foreseen this; when you use it, of course I’m going to feel it. I’m just going to have to get used to it.”

“No, you are not.” Fenris replied before he left for his tent before either mage could argue with him.

A couple of minutes later he heard footsteps following after him. “Fenris,” called Anders. 

“No, please don’t drag this beyond the walls of the tent.” Fenris replied as he slowed down and let Anders catch up.

Anders’ lips thinned into a line, but he nodded once, jerkily. “But I will tell you this: I don’t want you to hold back, Fenris. Not on my account. And if Zevran needs you to take him back to Skyhold, then I want you to do it. I don’t care about the pain - if he needs you, I want you to promise me you’ll put him first. Please.”

“Fine...just, let me go back to the tent.” Fenris replied, his voice hoarse as he tried to not snap at Anders.

Anders nodded slowly, then turned and headed back towards the tent; Hawke had emerged and was staring at them, the worry clear on his face even from where Fenris stood.

“I’m sorry.” Fenris said before he hurried back to the tent he shared with Zevran. He stretched out next to the other elf, buried his face against the sleeping Antivan’s shoulder and quietly cried himself back to sleep.

Anders made his way back to his tent and ducked back inside; Hawke followed. Anders picked up the cup he’d dropped earlier, and glanced around for the brandy bottle; Maker knew he needed a stiff drink after that experience.

Vic watched him drink but didn’t speak, he’d let his lover start things off when he was ready. 

Anders splashed another couple of fingers of brandy into the cup; he stared down at the dark amber liquid. “I never knew,” he said quietly. “All this time. I mean, I was _aware_ Fenris felt pain every time he used his brands - I could pick up on how he was physically, of course, but it’s one thing to be able to recognise the effects of pain on someone’s body and know, intellectually, that they’re hurting - but it’s something else again to _know_ it like this. To know that every time he uses his powers, his skin burns like -!” He broke off and hastily swallowed the brandy, not caring as it burned his throat on the way down. It was nothing compared to what he’d felt before.

“He tortured you to get an answer Anders, do you realize that?” Vic asked quietly.

“What?” said Anders, his head jerking up as he turned to stare at the other man. “What do you mean? Fenris didn’t - he _wouldn’t_ \- Hawke, how can you _say_ that? Fenris would never do anything like that!”

“Not intentionally no, but he kept his brands lit and I saw how he stared into you. He probably doesn’t realize it himself but that was torture.” Hawke looked uncomfortable as he remembered the things they had done to mages before Anders had joined them. “Regardless I know that look on his face.”

“No. You’re wrong,” said Anders tersely as he began to pace. “I’ve been tortured. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that kind of pain. Fenris would never do that to me - even angry; he _knows_ what I’ve been through, he’s experienced the same himself - he wouldn’t. You’re wrong, he just forgot to let the brands go - he was worried, distracted.”

“He wasn’t trying to inflict the pain on you Anders. I just said he probably doesn’t realize what he did to you. Love, we used to hunt mages together before you joined us, I _know_ that expression on him, even if we haven’t done that in a while.” Vic grabbed a glass and downed a shot before he refilled his glass.

Anders slowed, then halted as he turned back to Hawke. “What you’re saying...” he said slowly. “He was determined to get an answer from me. You... you think he, he what - subconsciously held the power a moment longer because he knew how close I was to begging him to let go?”

Hawke just nodded yes before he got another drink. “Like I’ve said, probably didn’t realize he was doing it.”

Anders dropped his gaze to his empty cup, still clutched forgotten in his hand. “I would only have begged because I wasn’t afraid of him; I trusted him, that he wouldn’t hurt me deliberately.” He lifted his head and stared at Hawke. “It took far more than that for the templars to make me beg,” he said quietly. 

“I know love, I know.” He went over to Anders and took the cup from him so he could hold the other mage. “Rest with me, seems like we’re not moving much today anyway.” Vic asked.

Anders pressed closer against the former Champion. “Does Meneris know? What I did, I mean?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, and he yelled for a bit then Dorian seemed to calm him down. He just kind of deflated when neither Fenris or I rose to his level of bluster. I’m sure we’ll hear about it once we’re back at Skyhold.” Vic closed his eyes and sighed softly. “I hate this fucking desert.”

“You and me both, love,” said Anders quietly. “I was a midwinter baby, and even when we moved to Ferelden when I was six it was one of the colder areas, near the foothills of the Frostbacks - snow came earlier and lingered longer than most of Ferelden. I must have been mad to think I could stay in Tevinter; I’m just not bred for this heat. I think it’s only the ice magic in my veins keeping me from keeling over,” he tried to joke.

“Share some of that then, this is going to make me wilt,” Vic joked back. Anders glanced up and managed to smile a little. The dark-haired mage felt the pull of magic, and then a chill breeze that seemed to hover a bare inch over his skin raised gooseflesh on his arms. It faded soon, but the air around him kept a lingering coolness that was refreshing after the heat.

“Harder to do on someone else,” murmured Anders. “I can’t keep it up for long, but I think it’s only that I have an affinity for ice magic at all that enables me to stay upright in this heat. Without it I think I would probably have fallen over long ago. I certainly wouldn’t have handled the journey to Adamant.”

Vic grimaced at the memory of it. “It was pretty rough. Regardless, I’m guessing it’s too damned hot to do anything today so we’re still hanging around here for now.”

“I shan’t complain,” said Anders as he let his head rest against Invictus’ shoulder. “Another day to recover sounds good.” His expression became sombre for a moment. “I have patients I should be checking on in the infirmary tent. Most were OK, but there were three that barely pulled through even with my best efforts. I need to check; one was rather touch and go, and I want to be sure she actually lived through the night. I should have stayed really. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“If you must go, I’ll go back to the tent we were sharing, and I’ll drop off Fenris’ gear since he ran off without it. See you for dinner then?” Vic remained where he was, content to be cool for even a few minutes.

Anders straightened and nodded. “Vic... please try to get through to Fenris? He can’t stifle his abilities for fear of the effect on me. I need to get used to this. If he tries to avoid it, then when he finally _has_ to then it will only be harder for me to handle. The only way I can learn to deal with it is if he does it often. I need to get used to this, otherwise he and I are both useless to the Inquisition, effectively. And he needs to do it when I’m not expecting it - because if the Venatori attack us, his instincts will kick in and he won’t be able to tell me every time he’s going to do it.” He stared at his lover. “Maybe you can get through to him. I’m not sure I can right now.” 

“I’ll do my best, but you know how thick he can be when he’s like this. Go on, take care of your patients, I’ll get up in a bit.” Vic waved him away lazily before headed back to the bedroll to lie down; he closed his eyes for a bit more sleep.

“Maybe I should wish for another Venatori attack?” said Anders. “He’d find himself using his abilities without even thinking about it then-” He broke off. “I shouldn’t wish for such things.” He closed his eyes briefly and murmured something; Invictus caught only the name of Andraste, but as he frowned, opening his eyes and sitting up, Anders was already pulling on a silk travel robe and heading out of the tent, still tying the sash belt as he went.

Hawke frowned and lay down again, but sleep did not return as swiftly as he had hoped.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a toss up who hates the desert more, being tied together emotionally is getting old really fast for Fenris and Anders, while other things come to light.

The camp was quiet for the rest of the day, the heat taking its toll on most of the Inquisition forces until evening. Fenris finally emerged from his tent, leaving Zevran to sleep; he went to seek out food though he could have run right back to the tent when he saw Invictus glaring at him. 

Anders was stumbling wearily out of the infirmary tent as his two lovers stared at each other, he himself oblivious as the Bull caught him mid-stumble with a glance at Dalish, who shrugged and grimaced. She could _hint_ and even outright bitch right in front of the healer, but she couldn’t actually force the man to abandon a patient when he was that involved in healing. 

“I’m off to grab food, Boss; he’s all yours,” she shrugged, wiping sweat off her forehead with her forearm. Krem had mentioned something earlier about a half-keg of ale and she’d called first dibs on it; let the Boss handle the blond healer. He was good but too easily one-tracked to the point of obsession, but he wasn’t her problem.

“Thanks Bull, I’ll be by to see him later. Taking him to your tent or ours?” Vic asked as he continued to glare a hole into Fenris.

Anders lifted his head wearily, as though belatedly aware of the tension in the air. He glanced from Invictus to Fenris then pushed himself away from the Qunari mercenary, still glancing from the former Champion to their elven lover.

“I can take him Bull.” Fenris offered before he saw the way Invictus’ stare got darker somehow. “Or I can see what my lover wants, excuse me.” 

“I’ll leave you three to sort it out,” said the Iron Bull. He glanced at Anders. “I’d best see you at breakfast or I’ll know something’s wrong. Come find me if you need me.”

“Take a walk after you eat, love?” Vic asked Fenris as he folded his arms and watched the elf in case he decided to run off, his eyes flitting briefly to the Bull as Anders nodded wearily, before returning to Fenris.

Anders walked slowly until he was equidistant from both men, then stood still, staring down at the sand, waiting to see which man would approach him first, or whether they would set this tension aside at least for the moment. He was weary, aching; he could feel an itching in his skin and couldn’t figure out if it was something in himself or the feelings of Fenris bleeding over into his awareness of his own skin. He felt wrong, out of sorts, and wanted nothing more than to be in the arms of both the men he loved right now and a thousand miles away from this Maker-forsaken place.

Fenris turned around when he felt _something_ from Anders as the blond stood there looking dejected. He got up and pulled his warden into his arms. “What’s the matter?”

Anders stiffened briefly then shivered as he felt that undefined _something_ in Fenris call to something in his own veins, then slowly relaxed into Fenris’ grip. “I need you. I need both of you,” he said quietly. “Please... don’t fight.” He glanced to Invictus and held a hand out to him. “Please... let’s get food then go to ou-” He checked himself. “To the tent. We need to talk, and it’s best to let Zevran rest.” He hoped that made his intentions plain.

“As you wish Anders.” Fenris turned and gave Invictus his best hangdog look before he turned away to hug his lover.

Vic took Anders hand with a slight sigh. “Bull, can I bother you to bring a tray, a large one with us?” he asked quietly.

“Sure, Hawke,” said Bull. He glanced at the blond healer and raised an eyebrow at him; Anders sighed soundlessly.

“I will be honest with them, Bull,” he replied. The Qunari nodded. 

“They can take the truth. You just have to trust them.”

Anders stared into Fenris’ eyes. “I trust them with my life and more,” he said steadily.

The elf felt his eyes sting but didn’t break Anders’ stare; he simply nodded and inclined his head toward their tent. “After you.”

Anders pulled his glance away reluctantly and he turned towards Invictus, praying inwardly that Hawke wouldn’t choose now of all times to be difficult.

Fenris followed behind the two mages, his expression tense as he waited for Bull to set the tray down and leave them. He didn’t sit, he just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, almost at attention. 

Vic let go of Anders just to get a plate and mug; he nodded towards the tray and waited for his lover to begin.

Anders glanced at Fenris, then picked up a mug and pulled a face at the thought of trying to eat. He was aware of both Fenris and Hawke’s eyes on him; he sighed inwardly, put a plate together then moved to his bedroll and sat down to pick at the roast meat and tubers without much appetite, sipping at the mug. He wasn’t sure he entirely dared to look at either man just yet. He could practically _feel_ the tension and nervousness from Fenris in his very skin, which itched tantalisingly where earlier it had burned. 

He desperately prayed that neither man would try to touch him again just yet; he wasn’t sure he would be able to refrain from flinching, his skin oversensitive. He had found himself having to fight down the urge to jerk away from every casual touch in the infirmary tent through the day, hyperaware of brands in his flesh that didn’t exist and yet seemed to burn with half-remembered pain nonetheless. If either man had tried to touch him at this point, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop himself screaming. It had taken all his self-control to stop himself when Hawke had hugged him.

How had Fenris been able to stand this? _How?_

“You’re hesitating, why?” Fenris finally asked as he glanced at Anders then back to the floor of the tent. He knew what was wrong with his lover and he wanted to scream himself at the prospect of being so tangled emotionally with Anders. That was more than he’d bargained for.

Anders glanced up. “I...” he glanced at Hawke, then back to Fenris. He swallowed hard, then sat up a little straighter. “I trust you with my life,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. I need you to know that... that it’s OK. I know that using your powers will hurt me. But you need to understand that I can handle that, and trust me too. To know what I can handle.” His eyes darted to Hawke briefly before returning to Fenris. “And I need you to be yourself, love.” His eyes softened, though he still held himself stiffly.

 _As though expecting any movement to hurt,_ Fenris suddenly realised. How often had he, himself, done the same?

“You know what my pain is now, don’t you?” Fenris asked as he approached the blond mage.

“What do you mean? Are you somehow bonded even closer than what you had thought?” Vic asked.

“Yes,” said Anders, the word coming haltingly to his lips as though dragged forth unwillingly. As Fenris reached out towards Anders’ bare arm the mage couldn’t help himself; he clenched his eyes shut, a brief whimper exploding from him before he determinedly bit his lip hard, stifling further sound as he held himself stiffly.

Fenris dropped his arm and turned away with a scowl. “Maker what have we done?”

“Apparently this bond was more intense than we realized. So what does this mean Anders? Will you always feel what he feels?” Vic asked quietly.

Anders opened his eyes, fighting to bring his breathing back under control. “It’s... This is all new and unfamiliar to me,” he said slowly. “It seems to be mostly one-way. At least physically so far. This... Just give me time. I don’t know how many years Fenris had to adjust to the pain of what Danarius did to him; for me, it’s been barely a day. The more Fenris uses his powers, the more I’ll grow more... accustomed to the sensations.” He stared up at Fenris pleadingly. “Give me time. I’ll learn to handle this, I swear.”

“As you wish Anders.” Fenris folded his arms and turned away. “I’m sorry this is an effect of what was done. I’m not worth all the pain I am causing you.”

“Maker Dammit stop that right now Fenris.” Vic snapped.

“No, stop,” said Anders, reaching out towards Fenris instinctively. “Don’t turn away from me like that, Fenris. _Please_. I don’t care if you think you’re worth it or not - _I_ think you are, and I’m not going to let you throw it back in -” He broke off, swallowed hard, then stared at the ground by his feet, unwilling to finish that sentence. _To let you throw it back in my face like that._ It didn’t matter. He would not feel regret for what he’d done, even if Fenris did. It couldn’t be undone now. He was willing to accept the pain, even if Fenris didn’t understand; it was better than standing by and watching the man he loved die. 

Fenris had flinched at Vic’s shout but he finally turned around to look at them both. “I apologize to both of you.” 

Anders stared at the ground and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Slowly, hesitantly, he held one hand out towards Fenris, the other towards Hawke, not lifting his head.

Both men took the mage’s offered hand and went to him. Fenris stood quietly, gaze on the ground as he waited for someone else to act. Invictus gently swept his thumb over the back of Anders’ hand and stared at him.

Anders stared at the ground, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively before finally he spoke. “What’s done is done. None of us can change it. I had no idea any of this would happen before I tried to heal Fenris, but I refuse to regret it.” He lifted his head at last and stared at Fenris. “I need you to go on as before. Don’t hold back on your abilities, and don’t tell me when you’re going to use them. If the Venatori attack, you won’t have time. Trust me to be able to handle the pain.” The ghost of a smile swept fleetingly across his lips. “It’ll be easier to bear than what the templars did and we both know that. At least you’re not inflicting it deliberately.” 

He glanced at Hawke. “And I need you to let your anger go. Fenris is not hurting me out of spite; we all know he’d sooner turn this on himself than let either of us feel it. I’ll adjust a whole lot better if I know you’re not resenting Fenris every time I flinch.” He drew their hands together then placed Fenris’ hand in that of Hawke and closed his own over them. “I know it’s not the bonding you had in mind, Vic,” he said softly. “But for better or for worse, this is what we have here and now. None of us would have chosen this, but it’s done.”

“As you wish Anders, Invictus. I will behave normally.” Fenris was subdued and he winced when he felt a tinge of annoyance from his lover. “This feeling each other’s emotions is going to get old, very very fast.” he muttered.

“I’ll do as you asked love, it’s best for what we need right now.” Vic said with a glance at Fenris then Anders. He leaned in to kiss his lover gently. “Sorry love, I’ll do better. Really I will.” 

Anders let go a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and managed to give them both a small smile. “What a trio we make,” he tried to laugh. He glanced to Fenris. “What you said - about feeling each other’s emotions... does that mean this is a two-way thing? You - you can sense what I’m feeling?”

“I believe so.” Fenris answered. Anders’ eyes widened in surprise, and then a look of chagrin crossed his face. Fenris answered it with a half smile. “Which is why I know you’re about two steps away from falling over and you need to eat,” he added.

Anders grimaced. “You’re right - definitely going to get old fast,” he muttered.

“Sit and eat, I’m tired as well.” Fenris admitted before he took one of the bedrolls and dug into his meal, disquieted that he couldn’t even hide have his feelings to himself.

“Are you going to be alright with such...intimacy? I know how close you hold your feelings Fenris and Anders...well you’re a damn open book, so it’s not much different is it?” Vic asked as he got his own meal and sat by their elven warrior.

“It’s not Fenris’ emotions I can feel, so much as the way his body reacts to them,” replied Anders. “And not every single thing even then, unless I concentrate. It’s... kind of hard to describe,” he went on, running a hand through his hair. “It’s... like right now, my skin sort of itches... but in weird lines. Which I guess is what you feel pretty much all the time from your brands?” He glanced at Fenris, who nodded. “I’m only aware of it when I’m not preoccupied with something else. Sometimes, I feel my heart speeding up even though there’s nothing to cause it - it takes me a while to realise it’s not my heart I’m feeling, but yours. I guess you’ve been very worried about Zevran and he gave you a few anxious moments last night.” He gave Fenris a sympathetic look.

“Look, don’t worry, Fenris,” Anders went on as he took a piece of bread and tore a bit off. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking, and I can’t actually feel your emotions really properly - only make educated guesses thanks to being a healer, and the fact that some physical symptoms just generate a sympathetic response - if your body is reacting to feeling anxious, for example, then my body might start showing the physical symptoms of that - which would have the natural effect of me actually feeling anxious and having no idea why at first. If I’m busy healing someone, my mind is too involved with that to be aware of much else though.”

“Alright.” Fenris said without looking at either man, poking his bread into the stew. He didn’t like it no matter how innocuous Anders made it sound but there was no point in getting upset, and giving his mage a reason to be upset as well. 

Anders dipped his bread into his stew, stifling a yawn. His eyes had grown heavy, and Hawke suddenly realised the blond healer was on the verge of nodding off into his own bowl of stew.

“Anders, go to sleep, if we move out I’ll come wake you.” Vic said as he rescued the bowl from tipping out to the bedroll.

“I’ll be back, Zevran must be awake by now.” Fenris said as he rose to go. Anders was stretching out on his side on the bedroll where he was sat, eyes already closed, practically falling the last few inches as he surrendered to his exhaustion and the pull of sleep; a moment later, as the lines on the blond man’s face smoothed into dreamless slumber and peace, the faint niggling ache in the small of his back that Fenris had been feeling for the past couple of hours faded away.

“Don’t run away Fenris, please?” Vic called out as he rose to follow his lover. 

Fenris paused, unwilling to turn and let his lover see how discomforted and unnerved he felt.

“Love, talk to me. I’m not angry anymore, I’m worried for all of you. Please Fenris, don’t run this time. I’m begging.” Vic asked as he approached his lover slow and easy.

Fenris’ ears drooped slightly, then he slowly turned to face Invictus. “I am worried for Zevran,” he said, then grimaced. “And I am afraid for Anders. Invictus, when Danarius inflicted these accursed brands upon me, I was told by the other slaves that I lay insensible for weeks, and I remember the first few months only barely. The first time I actually used them, I passed out from the agony. It took me over a year of Danarius forcing me to use them repeatedly before I could do so without screaming. How can I inflict that upon him?” He shook his head. “I am astounded that he did not scream when I held his hand and lit them; had I held them for a moment longer, I think he would have.”

His ears drooped further and a remorseful look crossed his face. “I held them too long. I forced that admission from him. I... should not have done that. I inflicted pain on him needlessly.” He dropped his gaze to the sand, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “As though he were one of those apostate mages we once hunted. I am no better than the templars he fears still. I do not deserve his trust.”

Vic dropped to his knees before Fenris and looked up at his lover. “Stop, you hurt him and you admit it. Apologize when he wakes up. Do not do this to yourself again, don’t let Danarius keep his claws in you so long after you ended him. We love you so much Fenris please I beg of you. If you won’t talk to me, talk to Zevran, Anders, Bull, Dorian - someone, but for the love of the Maker don’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

“I tortured him, Invictus,” Fenris said sadly. “I knew he was in pain and I used that to make him admit that my teleporting affected him badly. Maybe I was not aware that I was doing so deliberately at the time, but that does not make it right. Tell me truly: how badly _was_ he affected? It was more than mere dizziness, wasn’t it?”

Hawke nodded. “I thought he was going to drop dead from something wrong with his heart or something. It was terrifying. But you didn’t know how bad it was for him, you couldn’t have known. We all know you’d never harm him like that willfully Fenris. Stop fucking torturing _yourself_ like this.” Vic said as he took the elf’s hands in his.

Fenris’ eyes had widened in horror and alarm as Invictus spoke, and his head jerked up as he stared a little wildly back at the tent where Anders was sleeping. “His heart? _Venhedis!_ Hawke, what if this kills him? How can I take that risk? Can we trust what he says, that if I carry on as normal he will acclimatise to the pain?”

Vic was very glad that Fenris couldn’t sense _his_ emotions as he struggled not to snap at the elf. “Fenris, Anders is a grown man. We know he’s probably downplaying it but you can’t withhold yourself on the chance you’ll hurt him. Are you going to go back on what you just agreed to in there?” the Champion rose and offered his hand to his lover. “Come to my tent so we can talk, please?”

Fenris glanced back at Anders’ tent, then glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his own, a look of indecision upon his face before he turned back to Invictus. “Let me check on Zevran first,” he suggested. “After that, I will go with you. Zevran was very ill last night.”

“Alright, do you want me to come with you then? Or just meet me at the tent?” Vic asked.

“I’ll meet you there, I don’t...I’ll just see you there.” Fenris headed off to the tent he’d been sharing with the Antivan elf, worried for him and for himself.

He found Zevran awake, sitting crosslegged on his bedroll with some of his knives laid out on a cloth in front of him, carefully oiling and cleaning them. He was frowning slightly, and as Fenris entered the tent he laid down the knife in his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with a faint wince.

“How are you feeling?” Fenris asked softly as he approached his lover. Zevran glanced up, then waved a hand dismissively.

“A simple headache, nothing more,” he said. “This heat, no doubt. It is stifling.” He took up the knife again and frowned as he inspected it. “The others, they are well? Anders, he has taken no lasting harm?” he went on.

“I don’t want to talk about them right now. I am more concerned with you.” Fenris said as he sat behind Zevran and carefully wrapped his arms around the other elf.

Zevran let the knife fall from his hand and leaned back against Fenris, letting his head drop back to rest against Fenris’ shoulder. “I have felt better,” he admitted. “Though it is not so bad as last night. Thank you for staying with me, _carissimi_.”

“I could not have been dragged from your side my heart.” Fenris closed his eyes and squeezed Zevran just a bit more. “I love you.”

“And I you, my heart,” murmured Zevran. He shivered slightly and grimaced, then unfolded his legs to turn and curl up against Fenris’ chest. “This is... intolerable,” he muttered. “If this continues, I shall be useless.”

“Do you need me to send you back?” Fenris asked softly.

Zevran shook his head and clutched at Fenris’ arm. “Do not send me away,” he whispered. “Not yet. This will pass soon, I swear it.”

“Zev.... I will trust you but do not force my hand. I would not wish that love.” Fenris said quietly. Zevran closed his eyes and bowed his head, then after a moment he nodded.

“Nor I, my heart. I promise I will tell you when I cannot... when I cannot bear this and I am no longer of use and a burden. I will not force you to make that choice for me, _carissimi_.”

“Thank you. I am sorry my heart is heavy, and I am not the best company.” Fenris nuzzled the back of Zevran’s neck as he tried to just enjoy a moment of quiet. He felt Zevran’s tremors finally grew less, then cease.

“What has happened, my heart?” asked Zevran eventually, breaking the silence that had stretched as the fit of shaking passed. “You are troubled, and I do not think it is only worry for me?”

“Maker must everyone make me spill my heart to them?” Fenris complained. Zevran lifted his head and gave a rare chuckle; with a start Fenris realised it was the first genuine sound of mirth he’d heard pass Zevran’s lips in nearly a month.

“I am not the first then?” he smiled as he turned his face towards Fenris, then he leaned in and brushed a kiss against Fenris’ chin. “Let me guess... friend Hawke? Anders would not chide you so to share unwillingly, I think; quick to emotion as he is, he seems patient to let others speak when they are ready, hmm? So, Hawke then?”

“Both of them, I do not wish to talk. Just let me hold you for a bit longer.” Fenris sighed.

“As you wish, my love,” acceded Zevran, pressing light, apologetic kisses along the line of Fenris’ jaw then down the side of his neck before he lightly mouthed a lyrium line at the base of his throat without thinking. Before Fenris could pull away, he felt Zevran suddenly freeze then jerk his head back with a faint gasp. “No - no, forgive me, I should not - I was not thinking,” he stammered.

“Please don’t.” Fenris turned away and tried to keep from lashing out. “Don’t do this, please.”

“No, no Fenris, please - I didn’t mean to!” said Zevran. “I - I -” He pulled away and sprang to his feet, backing away, then turned and began to pace in agitation, clutching his head. “You should go,” he muttered. “Please. Before I forget myself further and lose my control. I barely know myself.” He swore softly to himself in Antivan, his voice shaking.

The Tevinter elf gave him a nod and left for Invictus and what was likely to be another bad conversation. 

Left alone, Zevran paced restlessly, rubbing his temples as the headache pounded but not enough to drive away his racing thoughts and the bone-deep craving for the lyrium in Fenris’ skin.

***

Vic turned at the sound of the tent opening and gave his lover a smile, hopefully to put him at ease. “How is he?”

Fenris shook his head with a scowl. “His fever is gone but the shaking fits worsen. He craves the lyrium so badly he reaches for it without thinking.”

“Are you alright, you seem shaken.” Vic said as he continued to wander around the tent trying to repack their gear.

“As would you if you’d just had your lover paw and mouth at you mindlessly for the metal in your skin and not for love of you!” snapped Fenris as he whirled round, his voice shaking slightly. He stared at Hawke and realised what he was doing. “We are leaving?”

“Yes, easier to travel in the evening when it’s cooled off.” Vic said as he began to pack his rucksack.

Fenris’ eyes went to Anders, still sprawled upon his bedroll, deep asleep. 

“I should pack my things, but they are with...I don’t know where my things are actually.” Fenris said. He frowned. He glanced around, then back at Anders. He was about to ask Hawke if Anders were really still deep asleep when he realised he could _feel_ the total unconscious relaxed sleep the blond healer was in; he could feel Anders’ slow steady heartbeat, the deep, unhurried breaths. He was so deeply asleep that Fenris didn’t think even dreams troubled him.

He pulled himself back mentally, feeling almost guilty as though he had somehow trespassed in Anders’ body in some unknown way, and he turned away hastily. “He is fast asleep. Should we pack his things? We can look for mine later when he awakens; he may know where they are,” he suggested.

“Sure and then you will get something to eat my heart.” Vic frowned at him, sure the elf was hungry but not admitting it.

Fenris shrugged. “If there is anything available in the mess tent,” he said diffidently. “I can always eat cold rations whilst we travel.” He glanced around at the discarded robes Anders had dropped near his pack, doubtless whilst looking for something, and picked them up and began to fold them. He fingered a dark brown blood stain on the sleeve of one with a grimace before folding it hastily.

“Throw those out or better yet we should burn them, that blood won’t ever come out now.” Vic said with a frown.

Fenris paused in the act of putting them back in the pack, then straightened, staring down at the stained robes. He stared closer at the pale blue silk travel robe. “He wore this when the Venatori attacked,” he suddenly realised. “This... this is my blood.” He glanced up at Invictus. “You think it may be contaminated with red lyrium?”

“Yes, put it outside right now and I’ll burn it.” Vic replied shakily. Fenris stared down at it, then glanced back at the unconscious Anders. Wordlessly he stared down at the blood stains, then at Anders again, then finally back at the former Champion, the worry plain in his eyes.

“Now Fenris!” Vic said to snap the elf out of his sudden stillness. Fenris jerked, then blinked and nodded before turning and ducking out under the door flap, returning a moment later empty-handed. He made his way back to Anders’ side and stared down at the sleeping mage. 

“He can’t be contaminated,” he said slowly, though there was an uncertain note in his voice. “He would have shown signs by now, wouldn’t he? It spread so fast in me - but there is no sign of it upon him, is there?” He looked up at Hawke.

“No he’s fine.” Vic assured him. Though there was no magical bond between the mage and the elf as there were now between Anders and Fenris, Vic could practically feel the elf’s relief at his words.

“That... that is good,” said Fenris as he nodded. He crouched down next to Anders and gently brushed stray strands of hair away from the sleeping man’s face. “He should eat when he awakens. He will be hungry, and he practically fell asleep in his soup earlier.”

“True, and you are probably hungry considering how much you failed to eat. Come love, let’s eat and watch over him yeah?” Vic gave him a smile and a kiss to show he wasn’t upset. Fenris blinked, and realised that the hunger he felt gnawing inside was not entirely that of Anders, as he had surmised.

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea, Though you should burn those robes first before anyone else inadvertently touches them,” he remarked as he rose to his feet.

“I’ll take care of that now, if you can start gathering the rest of his things.” Vic said as he passed by, fire already sparking in one hand. Fenris nodded and turned to start packing the rest of Anders’ gear. It didn’t take him long; the mage hadn’t brought much with him save clothes.

Vic entered with a satisfied grin and a bit of soot on the hem of his robes. “There we go, no more worries about those robes. Let’s get you fed and then we wake Anders.”

“You seem entirely too satisfied for someone who was merely getting rid of a possible source of contagion,” remarked Fenris with a wry smile as they left the tent. “One might almost think you hated seeing Tevinter style on Anders as much as I do.”

“I hate them more, that time in Tevinter will forever be a stain on my soul.” Vic said quietly.

“Tevinter has left its mark on us all, one way or another,” growled Fenris.

“We know love, we know.” Vic added.

“At least we have the consolation of knowing Anders will not be returning to Tevinter with that Magistra bitch,” Fenris grinned savagely. “Perhaps it is wrong of me to take pride in having had a hand in that, but I cannot regret it.”

“Easy love, you frighten even me when you get that look about you. Come on, let’s eat and save the fury for the battlefield yeah?” Vic kissed him gently and took his hand, relieved he could do so. Fenris’ answering kiss was only slightly contrite.

As he pulled away, he spotted Dorian leaving the mess tent and heading towards the command tent. Fenris caught at Hawke’s arm, holding him still.

“I do not wish to meet Pavus when I am in this mood,” he said darkly. “I do not think our fledgling friendship is quite ready to be tested, and I am in no mood to be reminded of his homeland.”

“Go on to the mess tent, I’ll keep him occupied.” Vic nudged the elf away so there could be no argument.

Fenris nodded; he was quite happy to leave the talking to Hawke. He cast one last glance in Dorian’s direction then stalked on ahead to the mess tent.

Dorian glanced over towards them then came to a halt as he watched Fenris stalking away towards the mess tent. After a moment he walked over to join Hawke.

“Have I said or done something wrong?” he asked with a small frown. “Fenris looked most put-upon.”

“No, he’s just in a bad way right now.” Vic glanced at where Fenris had disappeared then back to Dorian. “We burned those robes Anders was wearing when he was hurt and some ...feelings about our time in Tevinter surfaced. He left rather than risk taking his hurt out on you for no reason. Seems you’ve mended things if he’s willing to do that.” 

Dorian grimaced slightly. “I should have considered that before I had those robes commissioned,” he mused. “The style suits Anders, and the cut and fabric suits this heat far better than the heavy Ferelden robes he favours around Skyhold, but I’m afraid it was very remiss of me not to consider the effect it would have on Fenris. How _is_ Anders now, by the way?”

“Better, he’s still sleeping it off. I’m more worried about Fenris and Zevran to be honest. Fenris is beating himself up and Zevran needs to go back to the Keep regardless of how stubborn he’s being. Maybe our dear Seeker can make him see reason?” Vic mused.

“Cassandra? She’s in the command tent,” said Dorian. “If anyone can tell if it’s time for our assassin friend to return to Skyhold then it would be she, in lieu of Anders.”

“Or she could end up with a blade in her chest, either way someone needs to talk sense to Zev and he’s not listening to us. That means though that you and Fenris will need to open a portal to send him back. I worry for what it would do to Anders since they are so closely linked.” Vic shrugged and went for a canteen of water.

Dorian frowned. “How so?” he asked, folding his arms then lifting a hand to stroke his moustache.

“I don’t know all the terminology, but somehow Anders feels it when Fenris uses his markings. He nearly passed out when he teleported a short distance away, I have no idea what it will do when you work to open a portal. Maybe I’ll keep him asleep to make it tolerable.” Vic sighed as he let the canteen frost over a bit before he drank.

“In theory it should be no worse than when Fenris teleports anywhere - the distance is actually immaterial, and when it comes to forming a portal it’s actually I who do most of the work, anchoring the two points. Unlike a teleport however, where it’s over momentarily, the portal stays open as long as it’s needed until I let it collapse. The longer it takes, presumably the more discomfort Anders will be in.” Dorian’s frown deepened. “Meneris won’t like that at all.”

“We should deal with this when we make camp again, I don’t want to incapacitate Anders before we move out in a couple of hours. Why is nothing ever easy Dorian?” Vic asked sullenly.

“Welcome to the Inquisition,” shrugged the Altus. “Maker knows Meneris never takes the easy option.”

“Yet we’re still here, for some reason.” Vic glanced away, annoyed at letting his irritation slip. Truth be told he wanted to be done with the Inquisition and the demands on them, but they had nowhere else to go. At least until Corypheus was defeated, hopefully for good. 

“Well, we’re _here_ , specifically, right now because this whole area is simply crawling with Venatori - well, the ones that didn’t get killed at Skyhold - and they’re looking for something. Whatever it is, it would be far preferable for us to find it first and deny it to Corypheus,” said Dorian. “Thus far they’re doing better at locating _us_ than we are at finding them - much less whatever it is they’re searching for. Harding and the other scouts are out there trying to track it down, but we’re waiting on a report. Just as soon as the messenger arrives then we’ll be on the move.”

“That’s not quite what I meant...but I get it.” Vic let frost trail off his fingers as they sat there, and he let his mind wander.

“Oh, believe me, I know,” sighed Dorian, then grimaced as the rising wind whisked dust and sand up against their legs. “Today will not be pleasant if we have to march anywhere. I swear, it will take a month to wash the sand from unmentionable places when we get back.” He glanced in the direction of the command tent. “If it’s Cassandra you’re after, let’s go see if Meneris and she have finished. Best you catch her before she gets called away to other duties.”

“I’m sure she’ll be so glad to see me again.” Vic let Dorian lead the way to the tent so he could avoid being first in to see her.

Cassandra was frowning down at a report in her hand as she gestured at the map spread upon the table; Meneris was shaking his head as they entered, but his smile as he spotted Dorian was welcoming enough. Cassandra glanced up then scowled as she spotted Hawke. She said something to Meneris then turned to leave.

“Oh dear,” murmured Dorian. “Quite the popular one, aren’t you?”

“Maybe you should talk to her, I don’t want to lose anything vital today.” Hawke replied quietly.

“Relax, she won’t try to kill you. Not after what happened with Anders,” replied Dorian as he led the way over to the map table.

“I’m not taking any bets” Vic muttered as he fell in behind Dorian. 

“Dorian,” the Seeker greeted the Altus noncommittally, ignoring the former Champion.

“Seeker,” greeted Dorian before skirting around the table to press a light kiss to Meneris’ cheek; he murmured briefly to his lover to not let Cassandra maim Hawke. “We have a problem with Zevran and I think we’re going to need the Seeker’s help.”

“Greetings Seeker, I hope you are well.” Hawke said from where he kept on the other side of the table.

“I’ll do my best love, can’t promise what she’ll do.” Meneris whispered in return before he turned to face them. “So what is it Hawke?”

“Zevran needs to go back to Skyhold, but he’s being stubborn. I thought that Seeker Pentaghast could talk sense into him since she’s dealt with this before. That was my hope anyway.” Vic replied.

The scowl didn’t shift from her face. “What is wrong with him?” she asked tersely. “Anders is the healer. Shouldn’t you be asking _his_ advice?”

“Same condition as Commander Cullen, Seeker, there’s little Anders can do besides make him comfortable until the lyrium is out of his system. At least he’s only been hooked a short while so it may not be as bad as the Commander’s condition. Regardless, he’s going to become a liability sooner than later and needs to be sent back.” Vic admitted.

To her credit, Cassandra didn’t waste time asking how it was even possible for Zevran to have become addicted to lyrium in the first place. “Have the shakes started? Is he feverish at night?”

“Yes and yes. Fenris would know his symptoms best since he’s been able to stay with him after Anders contained his lyrium once more. Long story short, he needs to go but won’t listen. Will you help him?” Vic asked.

“Do you know how far apart each episode of the tremors is?” she asked. “If they are too close together he may not be fit to be moved. Is he lucid between bouts of fever?”

“I don’t know Seeker, I just said Fenris would know best since he’s been spending the most time with him. While Fenris was quarantined, Zevran wanted to be alone. So ask them, or speak with Anders since he did give him some aid, but I don’t know if he’s too bad off to be moved. Considering how he was in the fight, he’s probably not that bad, yet.” Vic huffed.

Cassandra frowned, tapping her gloves against her thigh as she pondered. “I will go see for myself,” she decided. “Inquisitor, Dorian,” she nodded to the other two men before she turned on her heel and stalked out of the command tent.

“I hope she wakes Zevran up from a dead sleep and see what happens.” Vic muttered under his breath.

“That’s not nice and I need her alive Invictus.” Meneris replied. He simply tapped his ear when the other man looked at him in surprise. “Elven hearing, a curse some days, really.”

Dorian managed to look faintly chagrined yet apologetic. “I _did_ apologise, love,” he murmured very quietly.

“I know love, I know.” Meneris replied with a smile. “Since you’re here, want to update us on what _is_ going on with Fenris and Anders? All I know is he pulled off some magical thing that should be impossible.” Meneris asked as he passed Vic a wine skin.

“I’m all ears myself,” said Dorian. “Not least as we need to figure out just how we are going to mitigate any unfortunate side effects.”

Vic sighed and explained all that he could, even being patient as Dorian interjected to explain the magical theorem terms and such until the Inquisitor was caught up. He was tired of explaining it but knew it couldn’t be helped without Fenris or Anders present. He wrapped up and stared at both men curiously. “Now that you know what’s going on, what is our next step, well once the Venatori are cleared out and we’re back at Skyhold.”

“I should think our next step rather depends on whether Anders can, indeed, adjust to this bond. It seems to me that he’s getting rather the raw end of things at present,” said Dorian as he glanced to Meneris.

“Talk to Anders then, he knows his tolerance despite our partner not listening to him.” Vic frowned as he dismissed his statement. “Forget I said that, he’d murder me for speaking out of turn about him when he’s not present. Fenris that is, well Anders too. I’m just going to shut up now.”

“Then we shall speak to Anders,” said Dorian. “Is he in any fit state for talking right now?” He glanced at his lover. “Perhaps best we go to him rather than the other way around, depending on his state of health.”

“He’s sleeping, or could be awake by now. He finally fell into a natural doze, so it shouldn’t be hard to wake him if he’s not already up.” Vic said.

“No time like the present then,” suggested Dorian.

“If we must, follow me gentlemen.” Vic lead them back to the tent, and was relieved to see Anders sitting up, a little groggy but awake. 

“Hey love, I brought company. May Dorian and the Inquisitor come in?” he asked.

Anders glanced up, rubbing sleep from one eye with the heel of his palm. “Uh, yes, I guess?” he said, then yawned, belatedly covering his mouth with his free hand. “Excuse me, I just woke up,” he apologised, abashed.

“It’s alright, I told them you might even still be sleeping.” Vic let them in before he sat with his lover, one arm around the former warden as if he needed to protect him.

“Is this about Fenris?” asked Anders, glancing from Dorian to the Inquisitor.

Meneris nodded as he sat across from the mage. “No one is in trouble, we’re worried about all of you is all but you’re the best person to tell us what happened and what you did to contain the red lyrium.” 

“I already explained - about using my life force and Fenris’ lyrium together...?” said Anders hesitantly, glancing to Hawke then back at Meneris. “It was just an extension really of what I’d done previously to try and bind his own lyrium and prevent it leaking, except with my life force woven in, it maintains the binding so I don’t have to keep topping it up. The red lyrium was just draining away my own mana so I had to resort to my own life force. It’s almost indistinguishable from spirit magic, if you know what you’re doing, though it’s only something spirit healers can do. We have an affinity for healing magic which draws heavily on spirit force and creation.”

“Wait - what do you mean, the red lyrium was draining it away?” Dorian interrupted. “That’s the opposite of how lyrium works. The red templars use red lyrium the same way they do normal lyrium, to fuel their powers - how would it drain your power away?”

Anders glanced at Hawke nervously, then back at them. “It’s... alive,” he said quietly.

Dorian blinked, at a loss for words.

“I had pretty much the same reaction but you’ve noticed how lyrium grows right? How could something not alive propagate the way lyrium does?” Vic asked.

“It’s alive, and it’s... aware,” said Anders quietly. “Or at least, that bonded in living flesh appears to be. I can’t be fully certain - we haven’t captured any red templars alive, so I can only go on a sample of one.”

“Fenris,” said Dorian. Anders nodded.

“Anyway, the only way I could think of was to use my life force woven with Fenris’ own lyrium, which worked. And means he and I are bound - it seems to be a two-way thing, he can feel when I’m tired or hungry. And I... when he uses his brands, I... feel what he does.” Anders blanched slightly.

“We understand that’s painful for you,” said Dorian quietly.

“Only as painful as it is for Fenris,” said Anders. 

“Creators, he’s lived with his pain since being branded? How does he stand it?” Meneris asked.

“Whatever it is, he won’t speak on it so I suggest not asking.” Vic noted.

“He’s learned to live with it,” said Anders. “I’ll do the same.”

“No wonder you all get on so well, you’re like nugs in a pot.” Meneris quipped.

Invictus kept quiet as he watched the three of them. He knew he had no room to say a word.

Anders frowned slightly. “It’s not as though I have much choice,” he pointed out. “We can hardly expect him to never use his abilities ever again for fear of hurting me - the Venatori could attack at any point, and he won’t tamely hold back and let others fight for him. He’ll fight, and sooner or later he’ll instinctively use them. It gives him an unbeatable edge. I’ll just have to learn to deal with it. He needs to use his abilities _more_ so I can have a chance to adjust before being hit with it in the middle of a fight. The less he uses his powers, the worse it will feel for me when he finally _does_ use them.”

“Which we’ve told him but, you know he’s thick as a slab of stone some days.” Vic admitted.

“Huh, never thought you saw that about him.” Meneris quipped before he got an elbow in his side. “That was uncalled for.”

“Was it?” said Dorian innocently. “I’m sure I don’t know -”

Anders suddenly gasped, his face going white. “Fenris!” he choked. “We’re under attack - he’s lit his brands, there’s -” He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes even as the first shouts of alarm broke out around the camp.

“One day, that’s all I wanted was one Maker bedamned day without an emergency.” Vic snapped as he grabbed his staff in one hand and pulled Anders to his feet. “Can you fight?”

“If not, stay here!” Meneris said before he dashed out to find utter chaos in the camp, magic being cast everywhere between the sounds of battle and screams of death. “Creators preserve us, this will be our last stand here.”

Anders nodded to Hawke, gritting his teeth against another wave of pain; somewhere out there Fenris had lit into a brilliant white lyrium ghost. “They knew we were here. We’re a target. We should have kept moving,” he managed as he reached for his staff.

“They won’t get another chance.” Vic snapped as he went out with Anders in tow. “Maker have mercy, let’s get to work.” He kissed Anders briefly and didn’t let go until the other mage looked at him. 

Anders glanced back at him, just as there was a brilliant flash of light off to one side; the light reflected bright gold in Anders’ eyes as the mage shuddered briefly, then nodded to him. 

“Good luck, I love you. Come back to us in one piece.” Vic gave him another brief kiss then sprinted off to join the battle.

Fenris appeared behind a red templar and relieved the man of his heart before there was a bright flash of spirit fire and another red templar to his right dropped, dead.

“Watch your back, love,” said Anders as he glanced around, the firelight of burning tents giving his eyes an almost glowing quality as his gaze met that of the elf briefly before turning to search out other templars. 

“You too.” Fenris replied as he turned to end the templar bearing down on him. “Back to back with me, let’s use...this damned bond to our advantage.”

Anders nodded, already turning and bringing up his staff to blast a red templar sweeping a large broadsword towards his head. The blast of fire that erupted from the staff flash-fried the templar even as Anders’ eyes were scanning for the next foe.

Fenris was preoccupied with a templar himself; the woman’s sword lashed out and caught him across his bicep even as he took her head. The elf barely had a chance to register it before he realised it was already healing, feeling Anders’ magic flowing through his body as the mage shuddered briefly then a shield spell tightened across Fenris’ skin.

“Ok… there are some advantages to this bond.” Fenris said before he turned to block a templar that had crept up on them. “Vishante...Kaffras, I hate. this.void.bedamned.red.lyrium.”

The templar suddenly flew backwards, stunned, as Anders unleashed a spirit blast before encasing the feet of the two templars trying to flank him with ice. He turned and caught Fenris’ gaze, his own curiously blank - likely concentrating. “Do what you have to,” the mage said tersely before turning away and unleashing a lightning bolt on the Venatori witch who’d suddenly popped up.

Fenris nodded and let his brands light up before he went into a battle trance and tore into the templars that seemed to never cease popping up around them. He stopped only when he was covered in blood from their enemies. He turned to find Anders fighting with a pained look even as he took down enemies all around them.

Anders paused as the last of that wave went down, and leaned heavily on his staff as he panted, his breathing ragged. He turned towards Fenris and was about to speak when Fenris saw his expression fall. “Duck,” Anders said tersely as he raised his staff, staring over Fenris’ shoulder.

The elf dropped to one knee as Anders concentrated; there was a flash of bright golden-white light that lit up Anders’ eyes and then the Venatori mage who had suddenly appeared just behind Fenris crumpled to the ground, a smoking black charred mass where the man’s chest had been.

The elf whipped around at the feel of something hitting the ground behind him. “Please tell me they are done now.” he panted as he dropped to his knees. “Maker I could fall over and sleep for a month.”

“No time for sleep Fenris, get up and help Zevran!” Vic shouted as he ran by with a Rejuvenate for his lovers.

Anders stared after Hawke, his eyes slightly glazed, but he nodded. He glanced at Fenris.

Fenris snarled something nasty in Tevene as he got to his feet nodded at Anders then ran off after Invictus. He felt like he could drop just like his lover. “Please let his battle be over soon” he repeated as he ran into the fray of Venatori and Inquisition forces to get to where Zevran, Dorian, Meneris and Cassandra were taking on more red templars than he’d seen ever.

“ _Go!_ ” shouted Anders, urging him on even as he staggered on behind the elf.

The warrior didn’t respond except to start taking out his frustrations on any red templar he saw until soon there was a red stain upon the sands and he got past their enemies to back up their Inquisition forces. “End...this, use that damn mark Meneris.” he said even as he had to whirl around to decapitate another foot soldier that almost broke their circle of defense.

“I concur,” panted Zevran as he stared around, blood dripping down his face from a cut above one eye. He looked as though he should not be out of his sick bed, much less on his feet and fighting, but there was a look of fierce determination in his eye as he flicked blood from his blades and turned to face the enemy forces advancing upon them once more.

Somewhere out beyond the ring of enemies, Fenris was aware of Anders’ weariness; as he narrowed his eyes and glanced around for sight of the blond healer, he felt Anders waver and then there was a bright flash of golden light at one side of the melee and several templars dropped whilst others turned, distracted.

Hawke had staggered over to Anders in time to see what he’d done to drop their enemies, and he stared at his lover in surprise. He knew something was different but he’d figured it out finally. “At least it’s not an angry spirit of Vengeance this time.” he muttered.

Anders turned and threw out his hand and golden energy erupted from his outstretched hand to strike two more templars. He glanced around, his eyes glowing bright golden white, and then he blinked and slowly sank to his knees, near-spent.

Fenris’ eyes widened as he realized finally what that burst of power from Anders meant, how he survived Hal’s attempt at healing him. “No…” he whispered before he too went to his knees from their combined exhaustion. 

“Fenris!” cried Zevran. He leapt forward to stand over the other elf, blocking the downswing of a templar sword before he stepped in beneath the templar’s guard to bury his other knife in the man’s chest then wrenched it free. “Inquisitor, if you are going to do something, perhaps now is good, yes?” he called desperately.

Meneris let his Mark’s power open up a Rift that pulled the remaining Venatori to their doom. He winced at the way it felt even as he recalled the opening and closed it. He turned to Dorian and rested against his lover so he wouldn’t sink to the ground as well. “Don’t let me collapse until we’re alone.” he whispered.

“I have you, amatus,” murmured Dorian as he wrapped an arm around the Inquisitor’s waist. “It’s over.”

Zevran was checking over Fenris, bewildered as he found no wounds upon the elf and nothing to account for his exhaustion. He glanced up, and his eyes caught the gaze of Hawke who was pulling Anders up to his feet. The mage looked practically dead on his feet, and as Zevran tried to pull Fenris up, Anders abruptly collapsed in Hawke’s arms.

“Shit” Hawke cussed as he scooped Anders up and started to trudge towards the medical tent. He glanced back just to see Fenris fall over on his face too. “If there’s a Maker, this is reversible somehow.” Vic pleaded. 

The Iron Bull was making his way over towards the Inquisitor’s group, bellowing out orders to his Chargers as he went. He paused beside the fallen Fenris and bent down to heft up the unconscious elf easily as though he weighed no more than a child. “It’s OK, I got this,” he told Zevran before he headed after Hawke.

“Medical tent or our tent, love?” Dorian asked, his arm reassuringly strong and steady about Meneris.

“Our tent, you know I hate how I feel after using the Mark lately.” the elven Inquisitor let Dorian lead them back to their tent, which survived the onslaught.

“Meneris, they can’t stay out here with us,” said Dorian once he’d gotten his elven lover settled with a glass of wine and he was satisfied Meneris had a little more colour in his cheeks. “After the numbers of Venatori we’ve killed both here and back at SKyhold, we must surely have broken the back of their power. There can’t be that many of them left, and not many more templars either. Surely we can leave the rest and the scouting to our forces? At the very least, we can afford to send Anders, Fenris and Zevran back?”

“We’re going back too, we took heavy losses and I’m on razor’s edge. Leave Bull and the Chargers to clean up what’s left. Bull is a great field general.” Meneris rubbed his temples as he tried to will away the headache he could feel starting.

Dorian nodded and exhaled a thankful sigh. “I’ll go find Cassandra and the Bull and let them know. If I weren’t afraid of what it would do to both Fenris and Anders, I’d suggest a portal and take us back to Skyhold this moment, but as it is I simply don’t want to take that risk with either of them.”

“I don’t think either of them is conscious right now to consider it. Maybe once they’ve rested we can ask. Void, Fenris might just suggest it himself if it means he gets back faster.” Meneris finally sipped his wine and leaned back. 

“Love, be honest with me. Do you think Invictus, Fenris or Zevran would stick around if we’d not taken Anders in as part of the Inquisition?”

“Are you regretting having conscripted him?” asked Dorian. “Because no, I don’t think they would. Hawke has been invaluable in helping to train our battlemages, and I have no doubt Leliana would have made great use of Zevran’s abilities - but without Anders? I do not think they would have stayed.”

“I don’t regret it no, he’s been invaluable. I just wonder if I’ve done more harm than good for them by effectively conscripting them by proxy. I know Fenris is miserable, we’ve had a few talks about it. I have a feeling Zevran doesn’t really care for me and Hawke, well… is Hawke.” Meneris rolled his shoulder with a wince. “Once Anders is up, I might ask him to look me over cause everything hurts.”

“Are you thinking of letting Anders go? Releasing him from service?” asked Dorian quietly. “You’ve raised him to First Enchanter - effectively of his own Circle. If he leaves, the Circle may go with him.”

“I don’t know right now, I’m just wondering if I’ve done right by them, all of them.” Meneris got up and tied the tent flap securely before he resumed his seat. “I’m going to tell you something and it has to stay between us Amatus.” 

“On my life, I swear,” said Dorian sombrely.

“Fenris has thawed enough towards me, to tell me he has been heartbroken and torn over the fact that Hawke wants them to bond, officially. Yet Zevran and Solona apparently were married all this time, and he didn’t know until she passed. He.... he will flip if he finds I told you but I worry about him, especially with this unplanned bond he took with Anders.” 

Dorian blinked. “By ‘bond’ I presume you mean Hawke was planning some kind of - what, group wedding or some such?” He frowned slightly. “Anders mentioned nothing of this bond between himself and Fenris involving thoughts or feelings, but then thinking about it, he didn’t actually tell us about what this bond actually _does_ entail,” he said slowly.

“I’m not going to ask for full details but I get the sense they are in tune with each other somehow. Fenris can sense Anders and vice versa. Not like when mages can sense him because of his lyrium I’m guessing. I mean Anders went down like a sack of rocks and Fenris right after.” Meneris refilled his glass and topped off Dorian’s. 

Dorian frowned and began to pace. “Anders is a healer; I’m not - you might say my powers are diametrically opposed to his, focusing as they do on necromancy. But in some ways they’re more alike than you might think - enough that I think I can see how this bond might actually be working. It’s all a matter of balance, do you see? When Anders - or any healer, for that matter - speeds up someone’s healing, their body needs sleep and food - energy, in other words - to make up for that which their body expends by having its own healing sped up. With me so far?” He turned and glanced at Meneris, who nodded slowly.

“So. You note that Fenris had not a single mark on his body - yet we’ve seen him covered in a myriad of little cuts, nicks and flesh wounds after a fight like that, and often worse, which Anders patches up again. Now, I can hardly imagine Fenris finished a fight like that completely unscathed - so. Something in the bond means that Anders’ healing magic must have been healing Fenris pretty much instantaneously, yes?” 

The Altus paused to pour himself another glass of wine. “That constant healing would be taking a toll on Anders of course - and Fenris keeps on fighting. Maybe he gets the energy from Anders, maybe it’s sheer adrenaline - who knows? And Anders was casting and fighting whilst all this was going on. Then at the end they both fall over - _I_ think, because each was feeling the other’s exhaustion as well as their own, and they were both running on a deficit of energy. And don’t forget the effects of pain - we know Anders is in considerable pain that matches that of Fenris every time Fenris uses his power, but Fenris is used to it and Anders isn’t.”

He turned and regarded Meneris somewhat triumphantly. “There! What do you think of my theory?”

“It sounds good to me for all I understand magical theory. That’s your wheelhouse love, so I’ll trust you with it. Let’s get cleaned up and check on people before we call a rest for a few hours then start striking camp.” Meneris forced himself to his feet with a wince before he got his sword and waited for Dorian at the doorflap.

“If I’m right - and I rather think I am - then they should both be fine after rest,” said Dorian. He tossed back his glass of wine and set down the glass then reached for his staff and followed Meneris out of the tent.

****

Dorian was right, it seemed; both Anders and Fenris slept like the dead for several hours after the red templar attack. Both were groggy and starving hungry when they finally awoke; Fenris recovered fast after a meal, Anders a little slower.

They broke camp and the Inquisitor’s party set out for the long return back to Skyhold whilst Iron Bull and his Chargers continued on with the original mission.

By the time they returned to Skyhold, Zevran’s condition had worsened. A private room was assigned to him just down the hall from that of Fenris, and Anders and Hal took it in turn to monitor his condition. There wasn’t a great deal that could be done for the Antivan assassin but make him as comfortable as possible. Cullen dropped in frequently, sympathetic for what Zevran was enduring.

Fenris came in quietly, glad that Cullen was with his lover, worried for how badly Zevran had worsened. He hated that he didn’t just open a portal to get them back quickly rather than travel on foot. He took a seat on the other side of the bed and held the Antivan elf’s hand in silence. 

Zevran was pale and sweating, feverish although this was one of his more lucid spells. His body was wracked by frequent tremors, though thankfully not the terrifying seizures that had started shortly after they arrived back at Skyhold. As Fenris took his hand, Zevran opened his eyes and gave him a wan smile.

“He’s doing a little better today,” said Cullen quietly.

 _”I’m here carissimi, be at ease._ ” Fenris said in Antivan, his gaze flickering to Cullen only briefly. “Thanks for sitting with him so much.”

“He has an ulterior motive,” murmured Zevran with a faint half-smile. Cullen frowned a little, and rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced away.

“I have no ulterior motives - I just remember how wretched I felt going through withdrawal on my own on the journey from Kirkwall to Haven,” he shrugged.

“And it has nothing to do with a certain Madam Seeker, hmm?” Though his face was waxy and pale, his eyes sunken and red, there was still a faintly mischievous look in Zevran’s eyes.

“Let that alone Zev, even half conscious you still manage to stir the pot.” Fenris said with a wan smile. He brushed a few strands of damp hair from the other elf’s face and held Zevran’s hand to his lips as he closed his eyes and stilled.

Zevran tried to shrug but had only enough strength to roll his head upon the pillow to stare up at Fenris. “I must have my fun, no, _carissimi_? The good Commander knows I bear no malice.”

“It’s alright, Fenris,” said Cullen quietly. “I don’t mind. Well, not that much, anyway.” He glanced down at his hands for a moment, then at Zevran. “You should sleep,” he suggested softly.

“I have already slept enough for a lifetime,” said Zevran in a slightly peevish tone, twitching one hand restlessly as the other hand tightened slightly on Fenris’ fingers. “I will not be deprived of Fenris’ company.”

“We can nap together in a bit, if you wish.” Fenris said without opening his eyes. He knew if he opened them he’d fall apart in front of Cullen and Zevran. 

“He’ll still be here even if you sleep,” Cullen pointed out. Zevran rolled his eyes at the Commander, then closed them.

“Please stay for a while, I just...I don't mind it even if he’s being a pain about it.” Fenris finally glanced at the Commander then back to his lover. “Thank you.”

“I’d rather he were being a pain than being in pain,” shrugged Cullen. “Maker knows, I was probably far worse company myself in the early days, whilst I was still capable of having much company and noticing it.”

“We’re lucky that you’ve recovered and that you still call us friends. I’m glad Anders could help you.” Fenris said softly.

“That was a relapse,” said Cullen heavily. “I’d been clean for months - nearly two years by that point.” He stared at his hands and then suddenly recalled that Zevran wasn’t even at that point; his head jerked up and a dark red blush stole across his features as he began to stammer. “That is, I’d been running myself down, and I didn’t have healers like Anders or Hal at hand - I understand that, that makes relapses more likely, and I’m sure Zevran won’t be as bad as I was - I’d been taking lyrium for _decades_....”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be this bad for him, it couldn’t have been more than a month, maybe two that he had a chance to get addicted to ...my markings. I should have never let him start licking them.” Fenris said as he watched Zevran’s sleeping face. Despite his attempt at bravado, the Antivan elf had fallen asleep almost immediately his eyes closed.

“Most people would have died long before they could get addicted,” Cullen pointed out. “The preparation templars use is different from that used by mages; if I drank one of Anders’ lyrium potions it’d likely kill me on the spot - if I was lucky. And even the preparation templars use has to be administered only after extensive training and the recruit has to be deemed physically fit enough. Many aren’t. Not all recruits become templars,” he added. “Zevran was absorbing what was little more than raw lyrium from your skin - even mages can’t ingest that stuff safely. So who’s to say what’s normal with him?”

“Fair point, I mean...I should be dead by all accounts.” Fenris held up the hand that was free and lit his brands, just slightly. “This should have killed me Cullen. It’s only because of blood magic, arcane spells that even Dorian can’t decipher any longer and things I’d rather not think about are why I’m still here. If not for Anders, I’d have been dead from the red lyrium. I doubt I’ll see sixty summers which is nothing for an elf.” 

“But you _are_ still here, and there’s still a chance Anders and Dorian - and Hal, and the other mages come to that - will find a way to bind the lyrium permanently and undo this bond between yourself and Anders,” said Cullen, shifting forward onto the edge of his chair. “You’re not dead yet. That new elf healer who turned up recently - didn’t Dorian say she’s been making a brilliant research assistant with those old ancient Tevinter texts Bull sent back?”

“I think so, I’ve been a bit self-absorbed recently. Sorry, I shouldn't even be worried about that right now. I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused the Inquisition as well. I doubt we would be missed if we did go.” Fenris kissed the back of Zevran’s hand before he pulled the covers back and started to pull his tunic off so he could stretch out alongside the other elf.

“ _I’d_ miss you,” said Cullen quietly. “Anders and I have finally been able to put a lot of stuff aside at long last - and I’d miss you as well, Fenris,” he added with a smile. “Not just in the practice ring either. I think I’ve come to enjoy Zevran’s company, and I always regretted I never really got the chance to know Hawke better in Kirkwall. I like you and he far better now you aren’t trying to round up every apostate in sight - even if you _did_ make my life harder when Hawke was no longer best buddies with Meredith. Maker, but she made my life very hard when you two took up with Anders.”

Fenris stood there with his tunic in hand, surprised by what Cullen had said. He sniffed and tried not to show how the former templar’s words had got to him but it was a lot to take in on the heels of their last battle, and dealing with Zevran’s recovery. “I...thank you, we don’t deserve your friendship for all we put you through in Kirkwall.” 

Cullen dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m not proud of the man I was in Kirkwall,” he said quietly. “Whatever you put me through, I deserved it and more. I only wish I’d opened my eyes sooner and realised just how poisonous my mind had become. I wish it hadn’t taken the deaths in the chantry for me to realise just how far Anders had gone - and realise how complicit I was in all of Meredith’s madness. Hawke tried to warn me, but I think it was too late.” He closed his eyes. “I wish Anders had gone to you sooner. I wish you’d all gotten through to me sooner. That I’d not been so wrapped up in everything Kinloch had done to me. Maybe I would have seen - I shouldn’t have let that happen. I can’t change the past, but maybe I can atone for it.” He lowered his head.

Fenris felt his chest tighten as he listened to Cullen’s regret and hated that it sounded so much like his own. He knelt before him and tried to get him to listen. “It’s the past Cullen, we...we have to move on. Ironic, me of all people telling anyone that since I can’t let go of anything without a minor miracle and command of Andraste herself, but we all need to let go Kirkwall at some point. Right now, we have to focus on what’s at hand, and that’s taking down Corypheus and stopping those rifts from appearing, for good.” 

Cullen drew a slightly ragged breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put all of that on you. I -” He broke off as the door suddenly burst open and Hawke staggered in, staring around wild-eyed; Dorian’s voice drifted in from the hallway outside as he told someone to calm down and breathe. The Commander glanced up, startled. “Hawke? What’s going on?”

“Um...Anders was worried that Fenris was hurt, but I see he’s not?” Hawke replied, confused that Fenris seemed fine except for a bit of redness around his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong, just had a bit of a moment with Cullen. You two should talk and let me sit with Zev for a while.” Fenris said as he rose, just as confused as the other man until he felt rather than heard Anders. The blond mage’s heart was racing, a choking feeling in his throat; he was hyperventilating, and as he stood there Fenris realised the faint frantic rhythmic whimpering sounding like a whined pant was Anders’ voice, articulating what he had felt himself almost on the verge of a little while ago. 

Devoid of external stimuli to explain his body’s reaction, Fenris suddenly realised that Anders’ stress reaction was building on itself; possibly triggered by his brief use of his brands and then followed by his own discomfort with the turn Cullen’s talk had taken. Anders appeared to have fallen into a vicious feedback loop, keying up into hysteria, and Dorian was trying to talk him down again.

“Is something wrong?” said Cullen, and then his expression grew worried. “Maker, that’s Anders - that’s just how he sounded when he’d been left alone in the dark too long!” He brushed past Hawke and hurried into the hallway.

Fenris came out as well and moved past all of them to take Anders’ hands. “Love, can you hear me?”

Anders was huddled against the wall, his eyes wide and glazed as breath escaped from him in frightened pants. It took a few long, anxious minutes in which Fenris focused on his own heartbeat and breathing, deliberately slowing both as he concentrated on the link between them and speaking calmly, before Anders’ terrified pants slowed and his eyes gradually focused on the elf; and even longer still before the blond mage was capable of speech.

“F-F-Fen?” he finally managed. “You’re - you’re alright? Oh.... oh Maker....” He slowly curled up against Fenris, fighting hard against tears. “Hate this,” he gasped. “I hate it so much. I want it to be over. I felt you use your brands and then - then I was panicking and I thought - but you’re alright, you’re alright -”

“I’m fine, I was...I was talking with Cullen and lit them briefly to make a point and then I got, we were sharing some emotional things and you must have felt that. I’m sorry love, forgive me?” Fenris pressed a gentle kiss to each of Anders’ palms, then turned around when he remembered they had an audience. 

Cullen was looking contrite. “Anders, I’m sorry. I had no idea my words were having that effect on Fenris. If I’d known... well....” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I meant every word I said and I stand by them, but perhaps that was neither the time nor the place to voice them.”

Fenris turned away as he felt himself blushing, probably all the way down his back. “I’m just going to go in and stay with Zevran, excuse me.” 

Vic didn’t go after Fenris, he didn’t need the bond that Anders had to know his lover was embarrassed. “Come on love, let’s get you back to the room and maybe Cullen can visit with us for a bit?” 

“H-hate this, hate all of this,” murmured Anders as he hunched in upon himself. “I don’t know what’s me or what’s him any more. Like Justice all over again but worse. I’m losing myself, losing my mind.” He closed his eyes and pressed his face against his knees as he drew a deep breath, visibly fighting for self-control.

“Anders, believe me I know you hate it. Both of you do, but curling up in the hallway isn’t gonna make it better. Come on, let’s go relax with Cullen and Dorian with a bottle of wine, or maybe something stronger.” Vic said as he tried to get the blond to his feet.

Anders glanced around as though finally realising where he was. “Oh. Oh no. Please tell me no-one saw me?” he begged, blushing with mortification as he let his lover pull him to his feet. “Maker, what’s wrong with me? What will the Inquisitor say?” He clutched at the front of Hawke’s tunic then buried his face against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry; forgive me,” he breathed. 

“Nothing to forgive my heart, nothing at all. This is weird and we have to deal with it. Come on.” Vic pulled Anders up and started towards their room.

Anders kept his eyes on the ground, his face flushed crimson with embarrassment. “Invictus,” he said quietly. “This - it’s worse than it was even with Justice. Do you... is there a chance I’m....” He darted his eyes sideways then back at the floor. “Could I be possessed?” he whispered.

Vic was glad the other mage wasn’t looking at him for once. “I don’t think so, wouldn’t you know?” he replied with a glance upward for help from someone, anyone.

“I don’t know,” confessed Anders. “Since Justice... I honestly don’t know. He protected me from demons, from all risk of possession. I... I think I just got so used to him just _being_ there, and... Vic, remember when Arden and the others crossed over? And - and all the weirdness then. That desire demon that affected us all... I had no idea until the morning afterwards. I don’t think I _would_ know, and I’m.. scared.”

“Once we’re alone I will check, ok? The last thing I want is to give Cullen or anyone else reason to worry about that alright?” Vic said as they went ahead of Dorian and Cullen. 

Anders’ breath caught in his throat and he leaned in against Hawke as he closed his eyes, bringing his heart back under control as he fought to keep his breathing even; and Hawke was suddenly struck by the contrast - Anders so firmly in control at this moment so that Fenris wouldn’t be alarmed, when such a short time ago he had been in the throes of uncontrollable hysteria through what he’d felt from Fenris. The blond mage straightened after a moment.

“Find an excuse when we get to your room and do it,” murmured Anders. “I need to know. If something came back with us from the Hissing Wastes, we need to deal with it promptly.”

“No, let’s visit with them a short time then we check you out. No reason to raise suspicions. Besides they will be loathe to leave your side immediately Anders.” Vic leaned in to open the door, sure to make a show of it as he let them in.

Anders’ eyes slid sideways to meet his, then dropped to the floor. He walked in and headed over towards the cupboard where he knew Vic usually kept stronger alcohol. As he reached for the Starkhaven malt he knew was usually tucked at the back, he briefly wondered if the effects of alcohol would bleed across the bond with Fenris, then decided if anything, it might help Fenris sleep.

And if he were possessed? Well, Justice had never let him drink. So perhaps he’d have his answer one way or another.

Vic took a seat after getting some glasses and waiting for Anders to join them. Cullen leaned back and watched the mage carefully, his curiosity was piqued by their sudden hurry to be back and Anders going straight to the drink. 

Dorian accepted his tumbler of whisky without comment as Anders poured for the others in turn then took up his own glass. He raised it in a silent toast then knocked back the strong liquor. Cullen raised one eyebrow but said nothing as he drank his at a more sedate pace. Dorian was reaching for the bottle to inspect the label as he savoured his own, oblivious to the way Anders was staring into his empty glass with a faintly alarmed stare.

“Love, would you like a drink or are you just going to hold on to that glass?” Vic asked. Anders glanced up at Hawke, then held his glass out wordlessly. He was aware of Cullen’s eyes on him, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He wished there were some way he could get Hawke away on some pretext. He only needed a few minutes; if he _were_ somehow possessed, he was certain Hawke could take him down safely. The not knowing was maddening, but he couldn’t breathe a word for fear of arousing Cullen’s suspicion. And Maker only knew how Dorian would react to the very suggestion.

Luckily Invictus didn’t have to invent a reason as Anders paled and went to a chair suddenly. “Fenris’ feelings coming through again love?” he asked. 

Anders blinked, then dropped the glass abruptly as he dropped his head into his hands. “Don’t know... maybe,” he murmured faintly. “I feel... I don’t know....”

“Sit tight.” Vic turned to their visitors with regret. “Sorry gentlemen, but maybe we should cut this visit short so Anders can rest? I can come by and talk with both of you later. After all Fenris made it sound like we had things to discuss Cullen.” 

“Um, yes of course, Champion.” Cullen finished his drink and stood to go, unsure he should leave Anders in such a state. “Anders, I... I hope you’re feeling more yourself soon,” he added as he got to his feet, looking ill at ease and awkward.

“And that would be my cue to leave also,” remarked Dorian smoothly as he got to his feet and steered Cullen towards the door. “Let me know if there’s anything you need, Invictus - Anders,” he added as he executed a smooth bow whilst also somehow rather efficiently nudging Cullen towards the door with his hip and elbow until Anders and Hawke were alone.

“Do it quickly,” Anders begged as he lifted his head, looking rather pale and nauseated. “It’s... this isn’t Fenris.”

Vic narrowed his eyes at the other mage but didn’t argue. Instead he stepped back a couple of paces and let a spirit bolt loose at his lover, only to see it bounce back at him. 

Anders’ eyes had sheened over with golden-white spirit fire, his expression blank as he lifted his hands to cross his wrists in front of his heart, palms outermost, a faint golden haze flickering over his skin as the spirit possessing his body instinctively protected him and itself without, strangely, lashing out. The unnatural golden eyes stared at him.

“ _I will not let you harm him._ ” The voice was like Anders’, only a little higher, lighter. 

“Well damn.” Vic murmured as he dodged his own spell. “I mean him no harm, he wanted to know if he was possessed and well, that’s confirmation. I’m Invictus who are you?” Vic asked.

“ _I am Healing_ ,” replied the spirit. “ _I am that spirit that first came to Anders when he awoke to his magic and first sought to heal. I have always been with him, though not quite like this._ ” It was unnerving seeing Anders regarding him blankly like that, the spirit energies flickering across his pale skin. There wasn’t the same feeling of barely-contained anger and violence that there had always been with Justice; merely the sense that something alien regarded Hawke from within Anders’ form.

“You kept him alive then? He was dying when Hal tried to heal his head injury.” Vic said as he approached slowly. 

“ _Yes_ ,” answered the spirit. “ _He would have died, and I could not allow that._ ” Slowly Anders’ hands lowered as the spirit gazed at Hawke through his lover’s eyes.

“Thank you for for saving him then, we’re glad he’s still here. You know he’ll be upset when he realizes you’re with him. He spent many years possessed by Justice, then Vengence.” Vic said as he stood before Anders, his expression worried for his lover.

Anders’ face contorted into an expression of grief. “ _I do not wish him to be hurt. I did not mean this to happen, but I could not permit this body to be harmed. I would not have shown myself. I have kept him safe._ ”

“Then shall I lie to him when you go back to the recess of his mind? Or tell him the truth?” Vic asked.

The spirit lowered its gaze. “ _He is not aware. He lost consciousness a moment before I took possession. But I would not have you lie to him._ ” The golden eyes raised their gaze to him and blinked, and Vic was stunned to realised that tears were slowly trickling down Anders’ face. He would never have thought it possible for a spirit to show this kind of emotion. “ _Do not lie to him. But reassure him that I am no stranger to him. I have been at his side for so long. I tried to help him withstand Vengeance, but it was too strong._ ” The spirit lowered its gaze. “ _I will go now. He will be confused. I shall hide so that he cannot feel me._ ” Anders’ head drooped lower, and then he swayed slightly before lifting his head and blinking, disoriented.

“It’s not... not....” He glanced around, then up at Hawke, confused. “Vic?” He blinked and put a hand to his face. “I’m... why am I crying?”

Vic tugged him into his arms before he explained what happened when he’d loosed a spirit bolt at him. Partially to reassure Anders and partially to keep him from panicking. “Sorry love, but you’ve a spirit of Healing with you in a more permanent sense of the word. She kept you from dying.”

Anders stared at him, aghast. “I’m possessed?” he whispered. He lowered his gaze, trying to process what Hawke had told him. 

“Yes, the good news is she has retreated so she won’t interfere with your life love. She kept you with us. She’s a good spirit, of Healing who has always been with you but it’s more literal now. Anders, it’s alright.” Vic said.

Anders laughed unhappily. “There _are_ no good spirits, Hawke. Merrill tried to tell me. And now I’m hearing my own words from your lips, I’m horrified how I never saw it before. But it’s OK - because it’s a _good_ spirit, right, Hawke? I’m sure I’m no threat to anyone. After all, it’s not as though I ever hurt anyone whilst under the influence of a spirit before, is it?” He got to his feet and turned towards Hawke, his face contorting in self-hatred as he clutched at his hair and laughed.

“Tell that to Ella. Tell that to Elthina.” He began to laugh harder, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Tell that to the _fucking Chantry._ ”


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get dark, bloody and dangerous.

Cullen glanced up as Fenris entered the room with a tray, and gave him a small smile of welcome.

“He’s sleeping again,” remarked the Commander. “I think he’s doing better though - the fits seem to be getting further apart.” He took the mug of tea Fenris offered him with a grateful nod.

Fenris nodded and sat across from Cullen as usual, one hand taking Zevran’s in his as he rubbed a thumb over the back of the other elf’s hand slow and steady. He stared at the blond elf for a while as he let the guilt that had been clawing at his mind creep in once more.

“Stop that,” said Cullen in a reproving tone as he stared at Fenris over the rim of his mug. The elf looked up at him, startled. “And don’t give me that look either,” the Commander went on. “I can see what you’re doing. You’re blaming yourself again. I know that look; Maker knows I’ve seen it in the mirror often enough myself.”

Fenris blinked as he tried to keep himself from snapping at Cullen, the man was right after all. “Then who else is to blame? I know what lyrium does yet I didn’t keep him from chewing on me like a sweet.” 

“Because of course you could keep an eye on him even in your sleep,” said Cullen, raising one eyebrow. “He’s not a child, Fenris. He did it of his own free will - and it’s not as though either of you had any idea of the danger.” He set his mug down. “Or did you become a mage whilst I wasn’t looking and discover how to foretell the future? Even Dorian can’t do that - and he actually seems to know something about time magic.”

Fenris felt tears slide down his face either from anger or shame, but he didn’t know in the moment. “Cullen, I know good and damned well what happens when you ingest lyrium. I’ve been living with it in my skin, my...soul for years. The volatile moods, the rage, the almost happy delirium? Because it was breaking down without maintenance from my former master, until Anders did what he did? I was going to die from it. I’m stronger, I could have--should have stopped him.” 

“And I know it as well, Fenris,” said Cullen heavily. “And I think this has been going on longer than we all knew. The licking - that probably sped it up, but how long now has Zevran’s mood seemed volatile? Didn’t he draw blade on you, before he disappeared?”

The elven warrior glanced down at Zevran then ran his fingers over the scar without thinking. “Yes but I betrayed him! He had every right to be furious with me.” 

“To the point where he might have killed the only person he’d had reason to live for, up to that point, as I understand it?” said Cullen gently. “Zevran was a Crow. The man has self-control that would put many templars to shame. Does it seem rational to believe he’d lose it all like that, even provoked?”

“But...I’d betrayed him after I’d gone so far off the deep end about Hawke. He had every right to be angry, if he’d killed me I’d have deserved it Cullen.” Fenris said shakily as he kept rubbing at the scar.

“And what was his reaction when he realised what he’d done?” asked Cullen, regarding Fenris intently.

“He was sorry, he ...he.” Fenris paused as he thought about the stricken way Zevran had looked at him, even offered to let him mark him in return. He looked to the sleeping elf then back to Cullen then back to Zevran. “No...I deserved it Cullen, he wouldn’t have hurt me otherwise. I made him angry.” 

“Meneris’ guards made him angry when he first showed up here,” Cullen pointed out. “Yet Zevran didn’t so much as harm a hair on their heads. He was _very_ put out about Hawke and Dorian, but you notice they’re both walking around unscathed. Fenris, when Zevran drew blade on you, he _lost control_. That’s unheard of.”

Fenris shook his head in disbelief. He knew Cullen was right but he couldn’t accept it, that he’d been poisoning Zevran all the times they’d been together, merely by contact. It was too much for him in that moment. “No, I...I won’t accept that Cullen. I did him wrong and he had every right to lose control, he _should have killed me_ for my betrayal.”

Zevran’s breath suddenly caught in his throat as his eyes flew open and his fingers abruptly tightened upon Fenris’ hand. “No,” he rasped, turning his head upon the pillow to stare up at Fenris. “Never that. I would die a thousand deaths before I would harm you, my heart.”

“How much did you hear?” Fenris asked quietly.

Zevran stared up at Fenris. “Enough,” he admitted. “The Commander’s words... much makes sense now that I did not see before. Now I know why those assassins were able to get so close to me in Val Royeaux yet not at Halamshiral. But I cannot forgive myself that I held a blade to you, my heart.”

Fenris closed his eyes before he pulled away and tried to compose himself. He didn’t want another episode of Anders running in thinking he was hurt. He tugged at his hair as he tried to find words for what he wanted to say, but worried it would be more of the same. 

“I should have realised sooner myself,” said Zevran as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a frown. “I was distracted, which is not like me, yes? I have sat patient for three days awaiting a mark and nothing escaped my attention, but for some while now it seems I have been lacking. One would not think me the former Master of the Crows. But I did not see it.”

Fenris wouldn’t hear him. He got up to pace as if that would give him some other answer to what was staring him in the face. None of them had realized that exposure to his marks had started to affect Zevran, and the licking, nuzzling, and biting had ramped it up. He knew it, but wasn’t able to accept it. He kept pacing until Cullen held his arms out to stop him. “I should go, before I do any more harm.”

“Who will you harm, _carissimi_?” asked Zevran weakly. “Your lyrium is bound. It cannot harm anyone now. Please. Come back.” He held a hand out towards the other elf.

“He does have a point - though Maker knows what Anders must make of how you’re feeling right now,” remarked Cullen.

That made Fenris’ eyes widen, he’d not thought of how he could be affecting Anders. He took his seat again and sat quietly, head in his hands. “I can’t do this ...I don’t want Anders to know, I just want to go away.” 

“All he’ll know is the physical sensations,” shrugged Cullen. “If he’s deep enough in his work he might not notice - but if you don’t get yourself under control he _will_ notice. Take a deep breath. What’s done is done, and you can’t change the past. Maker knows, I wish it were possible - there are so many things in my past I wish I could change. Maybe Kirkwall wouldn’t have gone up in flames if I’d done things differently. Maybe Anders wouldn’t have had the chance to blow up the Chantry if I’d been more alert, more sympathetic, less of an ass about things and less of a wreck after Kinloch. And maybe if other people had made different choices, Kinloch wouldn’t have happened.”

The Commander leaned forward in his seat. “But see, Fenris, that’s thing about the past. Magic aside - and I don’t think you’d want to go down that route, given what happened when Alexius tried - we can’t change the past. For good or ill, it’s done, and all we can do is move on, try and live our lives better so the same mistakes don’t get made again. And that’s as much to do with what goes on up here -” he tapped his temple, “- as on circumstances and other people. We can wallow in our past mistakes, stay trapped in self-hatred, and be forced to stagnate - or we can make the decision to actually live, and make a difference. I couldn’t save Kirkwall, but I _can_ make a difference here in the Inquisition. But I couldn’t do that if I dwelled on what I’ve done, do you see? If I’d paralysed myself through guilt, I’d have been useless to myself much less anyone else. My guilt doesn’t change what happened. But I can use it to make myself a better person, to make sure those mistakes don’t get made again.”

He leaned back in his seat. “You have that choice, Fenris, it seems to me,” he went on. “You can put yourself over a rack about what you perceive to be your fault - but what does that do? Does it get Zevran off his sick bed, or help Anders in any way? Does it help Hawke or even yourself? _Use_ it. Turn it around. Move on from it - learn a lesson, and work with the others to make sure it’s not going to be an issue - help Zevran through his withdrawal, make sure Anders doesn’t work himself sick trying to find a way to fix this, see if you can work with your lyrium yourself to find out how it works - Maker’s breath, talk to Dagna, maybe she has some ideas! I don’t know - but in many ways, you’re the expert here, Fenris. You’ve had years to know how your body can use the lyrium - teleporting, making portals. Learn. Work with it. And - I don’t know, make a difference. There’s so much we don’t know or understand about lyrium. We had no idea it might be a living thing.”

Fenris lifted his head to stare at the former templar. “It’s easier to stay in my own darkness Cullen. I...I don’t know how to help anyone, I can barely help myself some days. Even escaping slavery wasn’t planned, it was because I got left behind, like unwanted cargo.” He felt a tug on his hand from Zevran, and a soft plea to stop it. 

He stared at Zevran for a drawn out moment, before he leaned down with a kiss and an apology for hurting him so before he settled back in his chair. “Apologies Commander, you’re right.” he’d pulled his ‘slave face’ as Vic called it but that was how he was going to get it together at least while he had both of them looking to him to accept the truth and work at moving on. “I’ll seek out Dorian and Dagna after I’ve had a chance to freshen up and get myself in a better state to be seen.” 

Cullen nodded. “I’m not saying it will be easy, Fenris,” he said gently. “I know only too well how hard it is. But it has to be better than staying in a pit of self-pity. That’s not living, Fenris. That’s just marking time until you’re dead, and a corpse is no good to anyone.” He got to his feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, there’s a pile of reports on my desk I need to get through before Cassandra comes to chase me up over them.” He grimaced.

“Nothing is ever easy, believe me I know Cullen. Thank you for your counsel, though I was loathe to hear it.” Fenris replied.

“Go find Anders, my heart,” said Zevran quietly. “I should sleep, in truth, rather than lie here in mummery, hmm?” 

“As you wish Zevran.” Fenris brushed a kiss against his forehead before he left him to rest. 

Anders wasn’t in his rooms, nor was he teaching. Fenris next tried the infirmary, where one of the Chantry sisters informed him that Anders and Hal had gone out to gather herbs.

“Master Hal mentioned the apothecary is low on crystal grace, and suggested First Enchanter Anders perhaps could use a little fresh air,” she explained. “They said they would be back before sundown however.”

“Thank you sister, if he returns soon please let him know I was seeking him out.” Fenris headed to his room so he could freshen up and possibly find Dorian and Hawke to discuss ...his problem. 

He felt in need of a bath and a change of clothes, and then Krem dropped by as he was dressing to invite him to the Herald’s Rest that evening for drinks with the Chargers. It was almost two hours later that he was finally able to finish getting ready. He’d just turned away from the mirror when he thought he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Anders?” he called out, hopeful his lover had returned already. There was no answer; and then suddenly he saw the movement again - a brief flash of red hair in the mirror, at the exact moment he felt a brief stab of pain in his left shoulder, gone as swiftly as it had come.

“That..is not good.” Fenris bolted down the stairs towards Hawke’s room, worried at what he felt. “Hawke! Hawke, open the door!”

He had to pound on the door for several minutes before he realised that Hawke must be out somewhere - working with some of his students in the practice ring, perhaps. He could feel nothing through the bond with Anders, which somehow was far more worrying than that brief flash of pain had been.

“Damn…” the elven warrior ran back to his room to get his armor on and his sword but what he saw as he passed the looking glass stopped him cold.

On the other side of the glass, Hal was frantically beating his hands against the cold pane, his eyes wide and frightened. “ _Fenris! Maker, please be there - Fenris!_ ” His voice echoed as though from far away.

“Hal?” Fenris said in shock. “Where are you?”

“ _I’m not sure - a cart, travelling down off the mountain. Red templars. Fenris, they’ve taken Anders and I. They took him down with magebane and a Smite. There are other Tranquil here - they think I’m one of them. They’re going to make Anders Tranquil too. Fenris, you have to come save us! Please!_ ”

“I’m leaving now, I’ll get Hawke and the others. Take care of Anders!” Fenris panted as he sprinted towards the College at a dead run. “Please be here Hawke, please.” 

As fortune would have it, Hawke and the Iron Bull were walking back from the practice rings.

“Looks like trouble,” grunted the Bull as he noted Fenris’ face and the sword slung over his back.

Fenris slid to a halt as he tried to explain what had happened. “Hal...Anders, captured… need to follow down the mountain path….Venatori.” he panted.

The Qunari went still. “They took Kadan?” he said quietly. He glanced to Hawke, and unslung his immense axe. “Tell the Inquisitor. We’re going to get them back.” He turned and began striding towards the gate.

“We need more mages, I’ll send a runner but we need Hawke too.” Fenris said as he caught someone going past. “Tell the Inquisitor that he’s needed along with Dorian and Varric to catch up with us on the mountain path going down from the Keep. First Enchanter Anders and Hal have been captured. Now GO!” Fenris tilted his head towards Bull and followed after the kossith.

As the elf and mage followed after the Iron Bull at a run, a horn rang out high and clear and shouts began to ring out across the courtyards.

The Iron Bull was heading down the mountainside at a run, following the main road down. “Where were they?” he called back over his shoulder.

“In a cart, headed down the mountain. Thankfully this is the only road they could have gone down but they've got a couple hours lead on us. Fenris lit his brands as he caught up and passed Bull.

Hawke was doing his best to keep up but practice for a couple hours before Fenris had found them had him almost tapped out. He cast Haste and Rejuvenate on himself in an attempt to keep up. Even so, it wasn’t long before the massive kossith mercenary and the white-haired warrior had far outstripped him, Fenris lost from view in a brilliant flash of white light.

Bull was leaping down the mountainside, his face set in lines of grim determination as his feet pounded the familiar path they had ridden countless times before. Never had the road seemed so long as now however as they raced to reach the faceless Venatori who had taken the two mages. If a single hair on Hal’s head had been harmed, it would go ill indeed for Corypheus’ forces.

Fenris was a ball of seething rage as he raced ahead of the others, and let out a snarl as he caught sight of the cart after what seemed like an eternity of running. He called back to let them know he’d spotted them but kept going, determined to get them back.

Hawke felt like he might die before he caught up to Fenris and Bull, he was just hopeful the others caught up before they got themselves too deep. 

The cart was far ahead - little more than a distant dot disappearing around the bend. Without conscious thought, Fenris flickered from view to reappear at the corner in the road, not breaking stride between one footstep and the next. He raced around the bend in the road and spotted the cart just ahead. He barely had time to take in the group of Tranquil sat in the back of the cart, Hal amongst them, before he spotted Anders flung face-down across the saddle of a templar’s horse. The templar in question - a tall, surly-faced brute of a man with thinning, greasy dark hair and sallow face, ill-shaven, red lyrium encrusted here and there upon his armour, checked his horse and half-turned it in the road to glare back at the unexpected elf; but Fenris only had eyes for Anders, who was stirring slightly, lifting his head dazedly to stare back at his lover.

“Take ‘im down!” ordered the templar; and then suddenly Fenris couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Some unseen force had taken control of his body; and though he could hear Anders choking, he couldn’t even turn to see the effect the blood magic - for surely, that must be what it was - was having through their bond on his lover.

A Venatori mage circled around him, blood dripping from the wound on her arm as he struggled in vain against her spell. “He is held, Samson!” she called back. “What shall we do with him? Want me to slit his throat?” She stepped closer, and then her eyes widened. “Samson, he’s tattooed in lyrium! Pure lyrium! This knife-ear’s skin must be worth a king’s ransom!”

“Corypheus will have use of that, I’m sure,” replied Samson. He spurred his horse closer, then swore as Anders struggled, gasping for breath. The red templar scowled, and then a speculative look crossed his face. “Poke ‘im.”

“You what?” exclaimed the mage, glancing up at Samson.

“You heard me. Poke ‘im. Make ‘im bleed. But let him breathe first.”

Grumbling under her breath, the mage relaxed the hold on Fenris just enough to let him draw breath, then stabbed him through the bicep with her knife.

Held like that, Fenris couldn’t cry out; but Anders could and did, screaming in pain until Samson brought his mailed fist down hard on the back of the blond mage’s head, stunning him near-insensible. The templar grinned.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” he smiled unpleasantly, even as Fenris felt himself on the verge of blacking out, intense pain radiating through his head. “Oh, we’re going to have fun with you two. I might not make this one Tranquil right away.” He yanked at Anders’ hair; the blond mage merely groaned, his eyelids fluttering faintly.

“Knock ‘im out then chuck ‘im in the back of the cart with the Tranquil bastards,” ordered Samson before turning and riding up front.

Fenris’ vision went black.

 

****

By the time Meneris, Dorian, Cullen, Cassandra, Zevran and the Chargers reached Hawke and the Iron Bull, the massive kossith had shredded to pieces several small trees and was bellowing rage at the mountainside.

“Oh _vishante kaffras_ ,” muttered Krem as he and Dalish rode forward cautiously to try and talk their boss down.

Hawke turned to face them with a murderous expression. “About time you got here. They have Fenris now too. Be very glad I’m on your side right now, very, very glad Inquisitor. Get the horses and let’s go.” 

“Hawke don’t threaten me, I’m worried for them too.” Meneris turned to Cullen for his command. “You’re our tactician, what’s our move?”

“Scouts out, have the roads shut off,” Cullen said as he turned and gestured to two of his runners. “They can’t be that far ahead with a cart - this road’s notoriously bad for wagons.”

The Inquisition forces milled around, scouts riding off ahead down the path as Zevran spurred his horse forward until it stood beside Hawke. The elf stared down at the former Champion; he looked as though he were about two heartbeats away from falling from the saddle, but a fierce, deadly light shone in his eyes.

“We will find them, and then we will flay them alive, friend Hawke. It is not the Inquisition they should fear.” Zevran’s grin was mirthless. 

“Let me be the rider Zev, you’re about to fall down. Oh there won’t be much left of these Venatori once we get them. I guarantee it.” Hawke’s own expression matched the former Crow’s eerily well.

Meneris was anxious as they awaited the return of the scouts even as they headed down the road. He turned to Dorian with fear for what would happen once they got their mages back. “I am truly afraid of Hawke, and Zevran for once.” 

“Be thankful we’re on the same side,” murmured Dorian, then frowned. “Look, here comes one of the scouts. And from the look on his face, not good news.”

The scout hurried to Cullen and saluted. “Sir, we found blood on the road. Two patches, not fresh I fear - drying, at least a couple of hours old.”

Zevran began to curse softly in Antivan.

“Then we ride to find them, Zev, you gonna let me drive that horse or are you going to be hard headed? The longer we wait the longer they have them.” Vic said.

“Inquisition, move out.” Meneris called before he kicked his horse into a run along side the wheel tracks and occasional blood spatter in the road. “I’m going to kill them slowly, all of them, if Hawke and Bull don’t beat me to it.”

Zevran shifted back in the saddle so Hawke could mount up in front of him, then wrapped his arms loosely around the mage’s waist.

Dorian dropped down to the road briefly to touch two fingers to the blood and let his necromancer’s senses tell him what little they could - about as close to blood magic as the Altus ever dared let himself get.

“Whoever this was, they were alive when they bled,” he called up to Meneris. “I’m fairly certain the smaller amount was Fenris.”

“And Hal?” growled the Bull. Dorian shook his head. 

“I don’t think any of this was Hal.” He mounted up again and glanced back at Zevran and Hawke, whose expressions had darkened further. “ _Alive_ , Hawke - just keep that in mind. For whatever reason, they wanted all three of them alive.”

“Watch out,” called Cullen suddenly. “There’s red lyrium here. Small amounts, but red templars have been through here.”

“It would have taken templars to take down Anders,” murmured Zevran, then shivered. “I hear the lyrium singing from here.” He buried his face against Hawke’s back, muttering to himself in Antivan.

“We’ll get them, we’ll get them Zev, have faith.” Vic replied as he squeezed the elf’s hands around his waist as they ran. 

“Maker have mercy on whoever took them. I don’t think there will be much if anything left of them once those three have their way.” Meneris said as they galloped on.

 

****

It had been hours. Hal had lost count. He had sat with the other Tranquil, face schooled into an impassive mask, whilst inside he wanted to scream. They were surrounded by templars, and he didn’t dare let anything slip.

He had no idea where they’d been taken. It looked like some kind of deserted temple or something; it was hard to say. The Tranquil had been herded together into one room together, templars keeping guard. From somewhere else in the ruins came the sounds of screaming from time to time.

A short while ago, two newly-made Tranquil had been brought into the room and sat with them, their sunburst brands raw and new, their faces white from physical shock, eyes blank, still adjusting to the massive insult to their system from being branded, their connection to the Fade severed, not yet adjusted to having their emotions stripped away. They stayed where they had been put.

He knew when Anders had awoken; Samson had dragged him into the room of Tranquil and forced him to look. “You’ll see him again soon enough, boys - once we’ve finished having our fun,” the red templar promised them. Hal stared at Anders as blankly as the others, though he had to fight hard against the urge to shudder. He knew only too well what the templars’ idea of “fun” was likely to be, and he didn’t like the answering grins they gave their commander.

A while later, a group of templars came into the room where the Tranquil were kept, relieving those on duty. It was shortly afterwards that Fenris began screaming - a high-pitched, bloodcurdling sound; and from the room next to theirs, Anders’ screams echoed those of the elf.

Hal stared straight ahead, desperately praying Hawke would come soon, but the hours crept by and still Fenris screamed, though Anders became silent after a while.

Hal didn’t want to think what that meant. He hoped Anders had merely passed out.

Eventually Fenris too, fell silent.

Two templars came into the room, selected a group of Tranquil nearest the door, and led them out. They did not return.

Hal had no idea how long they had been waiting in the room before Samson returned and shoved Anders into the room to sit next to Hal. The blond mage’s face was white, and the raw red of a fresh sunburst brand stood out against the pale skin of his forehead as Anders stared blankly ahead, his body trembling with shock.

“Those two next,” ordered Samson, indicating Hal and Anders. “Make it quick.”

Hal had no idea what to expect, but when they led them into a chamber awash with blood and he saw the large block of wood in the centre of the room with a templar standing beside it, holding a large executioner’s sword, he finally understood why none of the other Tranquil had come back.

That was when he finally broke and began to scream.

 

****

Hawke jerked as he heard a scream ahead of them, but it was drowned out by the roar of the Iron Bull as he charged ahead of them. “So much for subtle, let’s get them back.” 

Dorian glanced around at Meneris, wiping blood off his tunic then grimacing when it smeared. “There’s not going to be much left if we don’t get there soon!” he said as they broke into a run after the others.

They burst into a large chamber and their feet splashed in fresh blood; there were exclamations of disgust, but Bull was already fighting with a group of red templars, roaring with bloodthirsty fury. Hawke only had eyes for the figure of Anders, kneeling with his neck upon a block of wood, an executioner’s sword raised over the back of his neck as the blond mage knelt there, blank eyes turned towards the door, face white with shock beneath a sunburst brand.

Hawke unleashed a torrent of flame at the red templar, gratified at the scream of agony that erupted as he staggered back from his victim. “Anders!” he yelled as he stood over the other man with a barrier at the ready. “Love?”

Anders didn’t move; he remained where he was, staring blankly ahead. Blood was soaking into the plain grey shift he wore as he knelt there, his hands gripping the side of the block, as though oblivious to all around him.

The Iron Bull had Hal in a gentle embrace; the red-haired mage was babbling something about Fenris and his lyrium and screaming. Zevran turned wordlessly to run from the room, a terrible look in his eyes. 

“Inquisition, spread out! Look for Fenris!” ordered Cullen as he ran after Zevran.

Dorian was walking slowly towards Anders and Hawke, a look of horror and sympathy on his face as he glanced from the Tranquil mage up to the former Champion.

“Anders?” Vic said as he finally lowered his barrier enough to let Dorian in. He turned when there was no answer. “Anders? No...no, no no…” he begged.

Dorian knelt beside Anders, ignoring the blood that soaked through the knees of his pants, as he gently took hold of the blond man’s shoulders and guided him to sit up.

“We’re too late,” said the Altus gently. “Hawke, I am so very sorry.” Anders stared blankly at the Tevinter mage, his eyes unfocused.

“NO, NO he can’t be Tranquil. He can’t!” Hawke shook Anders to make him look at him, “Healing, please, please tell me you’re still in there!” 

Anders’ head snapped back as he was shaken; his eyes slowly focused on Hawke, though their gaze was still blank and empty. His lips parted, but only a faint whimper of pain emerged.

From somewhere far off deeper inside the ruined complex came a hoarse, ragged scream of fury - Zevran’s voice.

“Oh Maker,” murmured Dorian. “He must have found Fenris.”

“Anders, love please. Remember Healing, she’s in there somewhere, you can’t be made Tranquil remember? Remember Justice and how you couldn’t be made Tranquil then. Please snap out of it, just a little I am begging you Anders, please?” Hawke begged.

While Hawke tried to get a reaction out of his warden lover, Zevran had found Fenris in a pool of blood, most of it his own as he stared blankly ahead. Some of his lyrium marks seemed to be wrong, almost as if they’d been severed and reformed too quickly. The elf’s green eyes were devoid of any recognition. If not for the moan of pain when he was moved, Zevran might have taken him for near dead.

As Meneris entered the room, Zevran’s head jerked up and he glared at Meneris as he cradled Fenris tenderly. “See what they have done! See what those butchers have done to him!” he growled, his Antivan accent thick. “I will kill them. Flay them alive. Cut their flesh from their bones. Their fingers, their toes, a digit for each cut - and then their noses, their lips, their eyelids!”

A sound of scuffling in the corner of the room drew their attention; Cullen had a red templar pinned against the wall, his arm around the man’s neck as he wrenched the man’s other arm up behind his back.

“Easy there, Rutherford,” snarled the man, and Cullen froze. 

“Samson,” he said, his voice shaking. “What have you done??”

“Kill him Cullen, or let Zevran have his revenge. They hurt our members, we do the same to them.” Meneris said as he let his mark flare, the green energy building around him as he considered tearing the red templar to shreds with a well placed Rift.

“No,” said Cullen as he wrenched Samson’s arm a little higher behind his back as the templar began swearing and cursing. “This one’s mine, Inquisitor. Do what you like to the rest, but Samson is for me to deal with.”

“You dare -!” began Zevran with a hiss.

“Yes I _fucking well dare!_ ” Cullen roared back as he glared over his shoulder. “Stand down, Ser Crow - and you too, Meneris! I have my own score to settle with Samson, and he will answer to justice, not the butchery he’s visited on others! Or would you reduce yourself to his level? Samson has betrayed the Order we both dedicated ourselves to and turned everything we swore to uphold into a twisted mockery, and he will answer to that!” 

The commanders’ ire brought Meneris up short, enough for him to quell the rift he’d started to form. Instead he went to Zevran to offer his help in getting Fenris out of there. “Let me help?” 

Zevran was shaking with fury, but he nodded, whitelipped, as Meneris moved to help him with Fenris. The white-haired elf was barely capable of standing even with their help. They began to move slowly from the room, Fenris staring blankly ahead, shivering in shock.

When they all emerged blinking into the sunlight, Hal was a frantic mess in the Bull’s arms, Anders seemed to still be completely devoid of mind, staring blankly ahead as Dorian looked on in frustration and Hawke desperately tried to get him to respond. Several Inquisition soldiers were clutching their stomachs and throwing up, and several of the Chargers looked as if they would like to do the same as they stared down at something piled on the ground near Dalish’s feet.

Hawke turned to see Fenris is just as good a shape as Anders was in before he left the blond to Dorian’s care for a moment. He went to his lover worried for how _gone_ the elf seemed to be. “Fen?” 

Even the nickname he hated couldn’t rouse the Tevinter elf to do more than whimper in pain as he was held up between Zevran and Meneris. “What did they do to him?” 

Hal pulled away from the Iron Bull a little. “They were trying to strip out his lyrium,” he said, his voice shaking. “But as fast as they tried to cut it out, his bond with Anders meant it healed up again. So they kept trying. And he kept screaming, even after Anders stopped, and then they made Anders Tranquil because he wasn’t responding any more I guess, and then they were going to cut our heads off and they killed all the Tranquil and we were next and -!”

The Iron Bull swept the hysterical mage up into his arms. “Enough, Kadan,” he said quietly. “Enough. It’s over.”

Dalish walked over towards the Inquisitor, holding something in her hands. She held it out towards him.

“Look what they did. Look what they did to them all, Boss,” she said, murder in her eyes and in her voice. She held an elf skull in her hands. “There’s a whole room of them in there. All Tranquil. Just their skulls. Just - these.”

Meneris made a disgusted face before turned away and threw up. He knew the Venatori were horrific but that topped what he thought them capable of 

Invictus winced at the noises coming from behind him but he was more concerned with getting Fenris and Anders back to the Keep. “Let me get him on the horse, he can barely keep upright. Zev can you ride on your own?” Vic said softly as he gathered his lover in his arms and headed for his steed.

Dorian glanced at Meneris. “I’ll take Anders,” he said quietly. He guided the blond man with a hand on his shoulder; Anders meekly went where guided, his gaze still blank.

Cullen shoved Samson on ahead of him, pushing him roughly ahead of himself when the templar seemed too interested in staring at the blond man. There were low, angry mutters from the Chargers as they passed.

“Boss, what should we do with them?” asked Krem, jerking his head at the pile of skulls. “There’s a room full of dead bodies in there as well. Some still fresh.” He grimaced.

“Identify those you can, burn them so these fuckers can’t use them for anything else. Once the clean up is done, get back to the fortress doubletime.” Bull replied.

Fenris didn’t seem to realize he was being moved or even that he should hold on to the saddle once Invictus slid in behind him. His eyes closed as they slowly made their way back to Skyhold, and if not for Invictus’ arm around his waist he would have toppled to the ground. 

By the time they reached Skyhold, Anders had closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep in the saddle, Dorian’s arm around him as they rode alongside Meneris. The Altus kept glancing at Meneris, his eyes full of worry; both he and his Inquisitor lover were certain the blond man were Tranquil, and Dorian wondered how long Hawke would be in denial.

“He begged Cullen to kill him if he’d become Tranquil when Hal was healing him,” murmured Dorian as the Inquisitor helped him get Anders down from the horse in the courtyard of Skyhold. “How long before Hawke finally accepts that Anders is gone?”

The blond man had opened his eyes as they got him down from the horse, but his eyes still held that empty look.

“If Fenris were in his right mind I have no doubt he would want to let Anders go,” continued the Altus as he guided Anders towards the entrance of the keep. “I suppose in lieu of anywhere else, I should take him to his rooms. We can hardly let the other mages see their First Enchanter like this. No, Anders, this way,” he added as the blond man turned towards the infirmary. 

Hawke followed Dorian with Fenris in his arms, unwilling to let the elf go to anyone else. Zevran came along, his expression kept anyone stupid enough to attempt conversation away. Fenris was rambling, his eyes still closed and his brands flickered erratically.

“I’ll put him to sleep, hopefully it will help them both heal.” Vic said as he nudged the door to the bathing room open. “He hates being dirty, right Zev?” he asked shakily. 

The Antivan elf nodded, glaring at anyone who glanced in their direction, his face grim. His expression softened momentarily as he turned his gaze to Fenris. “He will require a healer I am thinking, no?” he said, the thickness of his Antivan accent betraying the depth of emotion he was experiencing. His eyes flicked over to Anders and he drew a shaky breath then glanced away, lifting his fist to his mouth as he bit his hand briefly to keep from some outburst.

“Yeah, help me get the bath started first?” Vic said as he sat Fenris on a stool and began to peel the bloodied remnants of his armor off, slow and easy just in case the elf came around and decided he was a target. He might as well have been undressing a practice dummy for all that Fenris responded to being moved around or even rinsed off.

Invictus lifted him into the tub and scrubbed him gently, making sure to get all the blood out of his hair, from under his nails and between his toes. Once his lover was clean, he swaddled him in a robe before he sat him in a chair before the fire, and awaited Zevran’s return with a healer. 

The blond elf returned a while later with one of Anders’ senior students in tow. The man regarded Fenris thoughtfully before setting to work calmly. Hawke found himself wondering what the mages must have been told as the man gently worked on the unresponsive elf.

Fenris suddenly gave a shudder, then blinked, his eyes seeming to focus a little on the fire.

He turned his head and saw Hawke and Zevran but didn’t realize they were actually there. “I’m..still being tortured, aren’t I?” he whispered.

Zevran dropped to his knees next to Fenris and reached for his hand as the healer moved around to work on a bloodied scar that wound over the elf’s shoulder.

“No, _carissimi_ , we are in Skyhold. You are safe now.” The Antivan’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Safe...safe…” Fenris laughed before he broke down sobbing. “Never safe...never.”

“You’re home now, you are safe Fenris.” Hawke said as he watched the healer slowly work on his lover. 

“This isn’t home. Nowhere is safe.” The white-haired elf flinched away from the healer. “Leave me! I want only one healer, and he is gone!”

Zevran and Hawke exchanged glances.

“Anders lives,” said Zevran quietly.

“No,” replied Fenris brokenly. “He’s either Tranquil or dead. I can’t feel him. They cut him off, I felt him and then suddenly he was gone. He’s either dead or may as well be!”

“No,” said Hawke, and wished he felt as sure as his voice sounded. “He’s alive, and he’s not Tranquil. He can’t be - he has a spirit of Healing, remember? He can’t be Tranquil.”

Fenris shook his head. “But I felt him go,” he argued. “I felt his pain - echoing mine, but also the things they did to him - and then it... stopped. _He_ stopped. Anders is gone; his body may yet breathe but there is nothing there of _him_!”

“Fenris he’s not Tranquil, he can’t be! He has a spirit, the one that kept him alive remember? He’s not Tranquil, he’s not. Stop it, he’s probably unconscious it’s why you can’t feel him. Come on love, please please I beg of you.” Hawke was on the verge of tears himself as he tried to convince himself and his lover.

Zevran lowered his head. “Hawke. Do not let him do this - to himself or to you. Let him rest,” said the Antivan, his voice trembling.

Hawke drew a breath then nodded, leaning forward to touch two fingers to Fenris’ forehead; a moment later, the elf’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped, unconscious. The healer caught him before he could slide from the chair.

Hawke helped the man move Fenris to the bed, then sat on the edge of the bed. After a moment he realised the healer still stood nearby; he glanced up, frowning slightly.

“You may go, serah; he will sleep now.”

“Of course, Champion,” nodded the healer, but he hesitated.

“What is it, man?” growled Hawke. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone with Fenris and Zevran; from the way the Antivan had dropped heavily into the seat Fenris had occupied a few minutes before, he guessed that Zevran had exhausted his reserves of energy and needed rest almost as much as Fenris and Anders did.

“The First Enchanter. He said First Enchanter Anders is Tranquil. He’s... that’s not true, is it, sir?” asked the healer, frowning.

Hawke sighed and shook his head. “No. He was gravely hurt, and he has been branded but his connection to the Fade is intact,” he answered heavily.

“Ah. Like Master Hal?” asked the healer. Hawke laughed mirthlessly.

“Yes, something like that,” he nodded. “You may go now.”

The healer bowed and departed.

****

Fenris slept the rest of that day and through the night. Hawke sat vigil over him, leaving him only briefly when Zevran stirred and came to take his place so that Hawke could go check on Anders. He found Dorian keeping watch over the blond man, who slept deeply; the Altus was dozing in his chair, a half-drunk glass of wine on the floor by his feet. Hawke stood there for long moments, staring down at the angry red sunburst brand upon Anders’ forehead. It was a little less livid now for the attentions of one of the healers, but it still stood out clearly against Anders’ pale skin. 

Dorian stirred and woke just as Hawke was about to leave; they conversed for a little while. A healer had come to tend to Anders shortly after Dorian and Meneris had gotten him to his rooms. Though the only outward sign of trauma on the blond man’s body were bruises about his wrists and hips and the brand upon his forehead, the healer found that his body was experiencing signs of physical shock, his organs on the verge of shutting down. The healer had worked hard to stabilise him, despite her own obvious distress at finding her First Enchanter had been made Tranquil. Dorian shook his head when Hawke insisted once more that Anders could not be Tranquil, patting Hawke gently upon the arm. Hawke had left rather than snap at the Altus who no doubt meant well. No-one seemed to understand or believe that Anders had been possessed by the spirit of Healing; he had shown no signs of possession, and wouldn’t such a thing have been unheard of anyway - for a man to be possessed not once, but _twice_ in his lifetime and yet never show signs of becoming an abomination? And indeed, had the spirit herself not spoken to him through Anders’ own lips he might have thought he dreamed it himself; but he knew he hadn’t.

Hawke returned to Fenris and Zevran. He felt torn; he wanted to be with both his lovers, and yet there wasn’t much he could do. Both slept, and truth be told Zevran was in no fit state to look after anyone either. By the time he got back to the other room, Zevran had passed out upon the bed next to Fenris. Hawke tugged a fold of the blanket up over the Antivan’s body and left them both to rest.

When Fenris awoke the next day, he again refused to believe Anders was not Tranquil, no matter how much Hawke assured him Anders was alive. No matter how hard Hawke tried to persuade him, Fenris merely shook his head and denied it was possible. 

“Come with me and see for yourself!” said Hawke finally.

“Will you not leave me to my grief?” said Fenris as he moved stiffly from the bed to his seat by the fire.

“Come with me. _Please_ ,” begged Hawke. “Just five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

Fenris stared at him in silence before finally he narrowed his eyes at the mage but nodded.

They found Anders sitting in a chair, the ginger tabby sat upon his knees. The blond man stared into space as the cat butted its head against his chest and mewed imperiously then pawed at his hands, trying to get him to pet it but in vain. Dorian glanced at them with a hopeless, frustrated expression as they entered, then turned away, flinging his hands up.

Fenris approached Anders slowly, noting the vacant stare.

“I told you he’s still alive,” said Hawke; Fenris said nothing, but halted in front of the mage. He lifted a hand and his fingers hovered above the angry-looking brand as though afraid to touch it. Anders’ eyes did not so much as flicker in recognition or alarm.

“And I told you he is gone,” the elf whispered, his voice breaking on the last word. Tears rolling down his face, he tenderly embraced Anders, who sat still and unresponsive. “Anders... I promised you once that if ever this day came, I would not let you linger in such a living death,” he murmured as he caressed Anders’ face gently. He leaned down and kissed the blond man’s lips.

Before Hawke could react, Fenris lit his brands and slipped his hand into Anders’ chest, his fingers curling about the man’s heart.

The effect was immediate. Anders’ eyes widened in pain and sudden fear as his breath caught, choking; Fenris felt the heart in his grasp beating wildly in fear. Anders’ lips parted and he seemed to be trying to find words as his eyes rolled wildly until his gaze locked onto Fenris.

“N-n-no, p-please,” he managed to stammer out, as Fenris felt ghost fingers curl about his own heart, an excruciating pain burning through his chest as he gasped. The elf snatched his hand away hastily, and Anders doubled over, clutching at his chest as he coughed. Fenris backed away, feeling the pain in his own chest subside; he stared down at his hand and let the brands die before staring back at Anders, horrified at what he had so nearly done.

Anders was trying to catch his breath, staring around himself now in confusion as he rubbed his chest. He glanced up at Fenris. “Why did you -” He broke off, and his eyes widened. “Your lyrium! It’s - oh thank the Maker, it was only a dream!”

He stared down at the cat crouched upon his knees and gently stroked it with a hand that trembled slightly; then he went still as he noticed the dark mottled bruises around his wrist. He lifted a hand that began to shake badly as he reached up to his forehead, and then he closed his eyes.

“Not a dream,” he whispered. “Wasn’t a dream. It all happened. It really happened.” He curled in upon himself, shaking badly as he whimpered.

“But...the brand, your connection to the Fade...you’re not Tranquil?” Fenris staggered back as he clutched at his own chest, before he started to collapse. 

Dorian sprang forwards and caught Fenris, easing him slowly down to the floor. “Easy there,” said the Altus, worry in his grey eyes as he stared down at Fenris. “Takes the breath out of one a bit - just relax a moment.”

“Not Tranquil,” agreed Anders, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m not sure what exactly happened. I think I was already in shock from what went before - between what they were doing to you, and what Samson and the other templars were doing to me, I think the branding was perhaps the last straw and I just... went catatonic. I was aware of the spirit of Healing just... being there, and then... nothing. I think she was keeping me alive, keeping my mind and connection intact, but... nothing left for anything external.”

“He’s not ...Tranquil?” Fenris said in confusion as he looked up to Dorian then Hawke. He rubbed at his chest with a hiss. “I’m so, so sorry for when I did that to you all. Maker that hurts like the Void.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” said Dorian. “I was still getting pains in my chest over a day later. Deeply unpleasant. Cullen _did_ warn me to take it easy afterwards but I never was very good at taking advice. Maybe you’ll be better at that than I was, hmm?”

Anders rubbed his chest as he stared down at Fenris. “You... were going to keep your promise, weren’t you?” he said quietly.

“Yes...I couldn’t let you suffer _Amatus_ , not when I gave my word.” Fenris said before he winced again. He was trying not to let the discomfort loop back to Anders. “If I ever raise my hand to any of you again you have my permission to cut it off before I can inflict this kind of pain on any of you again. I just want to sleep forever.” 

“Just lie on the ground, I’ll pass Dorian a pillow for you.” Vic said before he cautiously went to Anders before he hugged him close. “Praise the Maker you’re both back with us. Hal too.”

Anders stiffened slightly before leaning into Hawke’s embrace and closing his eyes. “Maker. After what we went through, I’m almost afraid to sleep again,” he confessed quietly. “Poor Hal. He had to pretend he was Tranquil. They dragged me in to see the Tranquil before - before they started, to show me where I would end up. I could see him looking at me, trying not to show how terrified he was. I was terrified enough for both of us.”

Fenris wiped at his face before he opened his eyes again. “Dorian, please help me to my room. I need...I need to rest.” 

“Yes, of course,” murmured the Altus as he helped Fenris to his feet.

Anders reached out a hand to clutch at Hawke’s sleeve. “I don’t think I could bear to be left on my own right now,” he murmured.

“I wasn’t leaving love, just let me give Fenris a kiss ok?” Hawke pressed a kiss to his temple before he slowly approached their elven lover. “May I hold you for a moment?”

“Yes, please.” Fenris said as he felt Hawke’s arms around him. “I was so scared Vic. I thought we were all going to die.” he whispered.

Dorian moved a few steps away, reaching for his glass of wine then thinking better of it as he noted the way Anders’ eyes darted about the room, nervous and jittery, and he thrust the glass into the blond mage’s hands.

“I think you need this more than I do,” suggested the Altus quietly.

Fenris pulled away slowly, his gaze guarded as he glanced at Anders once more to convince himself the mage was fine. He went over to him, and hugged him close before he apologized again for nearly keeping his word. “Forgive me eventually.”

“Why should you need forgiveness for doing what I begged you to do?” breathed Anders as he buried his face against Fenris’ hair and closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to live like that. Thank you for being willing to carry through. If the feel of your hand about my heart couldn’t wake me then I was as good as dead anyway.”

“I love you Anders.” Fenris replied as he gave his mage another brief squeeze and moved away. “I’ll be back after I’ve rested a bit. This is too much for me right now.” he rubbed at his chest slowly as Dorian wrapped an arm around him so they could go.

Anders nodded understanding and tried to smile. “It is a bit,” he agreed; his hand drifted back up to the brand upon his forehead and he shuddered again.

Fenris gave them a smile before he let Dorian help him back to his room. He crawled into bed, pulled his tunic off and curled up as small as he could as he tried to get himself under control. 

As the bed shifted beneath him with Fenris’ movements, Zevran’s eyes drifted half-open and the Antivan rolled slowly over onto his side, stretching a hand out slightly clumsily to stroke Fenris’ forearm, his gaze unfocused as he softly slurred Fenris’ name in a barely-articulated whisper.

The Tevinter elf turned and curled against Zevran with a murmured reply of his name before he closed his eyes and tried to rest.

Dorian stared down at them, then glanced around the room and gestured gracefully until all but a small handful of candles were still lit, the long heavy velvet drapes keeping the room comfortably dark. Then he turned and headed towards the Inquisitor’s rooms.

He took the stairs to Meneris’ chambers two at a time and brushed open the door without a word to the startled guard, his momentum and anger carrying him across the distance from the door to Meneris’ desk without breaking stride until he stood opposite the elf.

“It’s time to take Corypheus down once and for all,” he snapped.

Meneris grinned savagely. “Oh yes,” he agreed.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A respite, of sorts before the Inquisition takes the initiative.

The next three weeks seemed to simultaneously drag on for some of them, yet flew by for other members of the Inquisition. Fenris was withdrawn from everyone but his lovers, Dorian and some of the Chargers. He had only begun to practice with Krem again for a few days before they were summoned to the war room. 

Hawke was impatiently waiting with Anders for the others, his foot tapping on the stone floor while Cullen spoke with his former warden lover. He wasn’t going to relax until Fenris and Zevran appeared for their council. He noted that Morrigan had been called as well, and she was in deep counsel with Meneris over a portion of the map. 

Maevaris had finally set off back to Tevinter shortly after the discovery of what the last of the Venatori had sought to do with the Tranquil. She had taken with her one of the skulls - what Solas called “ocularum” - as the final proof needed that would sway many to the side of the Inquisition. They’d all been very careful to keep from Anders just what exactly had happened to the Tranquil; they didn’t need him going to pieces on them.

Anders nodded to Cullen and made his way back over to Hawke. “Cullen thinks it won’t take much to route the last remnants of the red templars now we have Samson,” he said quietly. “Looks like it’s all a matter of where and when we make the big push.”

Fenris entered the room with Zevran at his side, curious about why they’d been summoned since they’d usually been left out of such war room discussions. “Apologies for keeping you waiting. You wished to us to join in this discussion Inquisitor Lavellan?” 

Meneris gave the other elf a warm smile, but knew he was not going to be open among so many people. “Yes, we’re going on the offensive. With Samson captured, and many of the Venatori killed and driven off, we’re taking the fight to them. Lady Morrigan has shown me exactly what the Eluvians can do, and we’re going to make our way to the Temple of Mythal. There, we should be able to find what Corypheus seeks exactly and hopefully cut him off from it.”

“Alright, but why have us present?” Fenris asked.

“Presumably because we’ve been through eluvians more often than Morrigan has,” muttered Anders. Morrigan turned her head slightly, her golden eyes piercing as she stared at him; the blond Enchanter smiled back at her, the smile not quite reaching his eyes as he bowed ever so slightly towards her.

“If you’ll pardon my language, I never want to go through another fucking Eluvian as long as I breathe.” Fenris remarked with a look to his lovers.

“Normally. I’d agree and leave but this could mean the advantage over Corypheus.” Hawke said.

Hal suddenly appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, emergency in the infirmary,” he apologised as he slipped in the room. “What’s this about eluvians? Are we going through an eluvian again?” His eyes lit up with a faintly hopeful look.

“No dragons,” Anders reminded him.

“Indeed, no,” agreed Morrigan with a laugh. “We shall have no dragons, First Enchanter.” She gave him a mocking little bow of her head.

“Maker, I’d forgotten what a stuck up prissy little cow Morrigan can be sometimes,” Anders muttered to himself as he flecked imaginary dust off the sleeve of his robes.

Fenris glared at her before he flicked his gaze to Meneris and Cullen. “What is it you plan to do and must we go?” 

“I’m going,” said Hal firmly. “If there’s to be going through eluvians, then I’m there.”

“Kadan,” rumbled Iron Bull quietly; Hal turned and murmured something to him in what sounded like Qunlat, and the kossith frowned but said nothing. The expression on his face suggested that Bull and his slender partner would be discussing this issue further.

Morrigan’s ears seemed to prick up and she turned and gave Hal a speculative look but said nothing, turning back to tap the map on the table. “The Arbor Wilds,” she said slowly. “An unfriendly place; there are many elven ruins in the forests, but there is one in particular we seek - the Temple of Mythal.”

Fenris folded his arms and waited for an answer on whether he had to go. Hawke came up to him and reminded him that if Anders was hurt he would feel it too, and it wouldn’t it be better if he was there to protect their mage? “You play dirty Vic.” he huffed.

Anders deliberately ignored their discussion as he stared at the map. “How soon do we set out?” he asked.

“The scouts left this morning and our forces are en route as we speak,” answered Leliana.

“It’s about midday, so do we set out by evening or first thing in the morning Inquisitor?” Hawke asked as he looked over the map. 

Fenris turned to Zevran to whisper in his ear, then gave the room his attention once more.

“We set out at dawn,” answered Meneris. “I suggest you all make sure you get a good night’s sleep.” His gaze went to Dorian, who gave him a wry little smile.

Morrigan cocked her head slightly on one side as she gave Anders one last measuring look before turning and heading towards the door, not waiting to be dismissed. As she walked past Hal, she stared with open curiosity and the young man who was talking with his Qunari lover, twirling a long strand of blood-red hair around one finger distractedly as he spoke, oblivious to her scrutiny.

“I’ll be glad to get this over with,” Anders said quietly as he stared at the map.

“We all will, see you after dinner love.” Fenris took Zevran’s hand and led them from the room in a bit of a hurry. 

Anders straightened and watched them go with a faintly wistful expression, then turned to Hawke just as Solas approached them. 

“First Enchanter, I would like to discuss your experience of eluvians with you; it may be of invaluable importance,” said the elf without preamble. Anders caught himself before he could let irritation show; with an apologetic glance at Hawke, he inclined his head towards Solas.

“Of course,” the blond mage replied. “My office?” The two mages left the room together, Solas already gesturing animatedly with his hands as they began to talk.

Hawke glared at the back of Solas’ head as they walked off before he gave the others a bow and headed off to catch Anders and let him know he would like his attention before dinner as well. Anders gave him a slightly harassed smile; Hawke couldn’t help but notice a slight blush creeping up Anders’ neck and face from his collar and couldn’t help but wonder at just what there was about the subject of eluvians to have the First Enchanter slowly blushing.

As Hawke turned around, he found Hal hurrying towards him.

“Hawke - these eluvians. There’s likely several. Maybe one of them might link to one of the ones in my Thedas, do you think?” said Hal. “Belann should come with us.”

Invictus gave him a sad smile as he walked with the red head. “I don’t know Hal, I’d hate for you both to get your hopes up and wind up trapped elsewhere or be disappointed.” 

“It’s more for him than for me,” Hal admitted. “I already have several reasons to stay. Since Solona died... he’s not really had any.” He shrugged. “My Fenris is dead, Anders in that world is likely dead too, and Arden stayed in the Fade. There’s not really any real reason for me to go back any longer. But if there’s the slightest chance we can send Belann home....”

The Iron Bull laid a hand on Hal’s shoulder and squeezed lightly; Hal lifted his hand to lay it lightly over the Bull’s massive hand.

“Belann should have that choice,” said the Bull quietly. 

“Then ask him, I don’t know if I won’t fuck it up.” Hawke admitted quietly. “If you don’t mind, I want to spend some time with Anders before dinner.” 

“Of course, Hawke,” nodded the Bull. “Come, Kadan.”

Hal nodded and turned away, leaning in to the Bull’s side as the mercenary wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

Anders appeared on Hawke’s doorstep a little over an hour later, looking decidedly harassed, hot and flustered. He barely waited for Hawke to get the door open before he was pushing his way in, kicking the door shut with his foot as he reached for the other mage and claimed his lips with a fierce kiss.

“Maker, I’m going to kill Fenris if I get the chance before we set off,” muttered Anders as he pushed Hawke backwards towards the bed. “Fuck me. Now.”

Vic was not going to argue but he was amused as he got away long enough to strip and turned to find his lover already halfway there, searching for the oil. “Another benefit, or should I say pain of being so bonded love?” 

“Have you any idea what it’s like trying to keep a straight face and talk Fade theory and eluvians with _Solas_ , of all people, while you have the raging boner to end all hard-ons and you’re not sure if you can get him out the door before you can cream your smallclothes?” hissed Anders as he threw said garments halfway across the room. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress and out the other side and see how he likes _that_!”

Invictus laughed as he took the oil from Anders and not so gently rested his hand on top of the blond mage’s head. “It’s been too long, suck me first.” 

Anders dropped to his knees with a small whine of protest; Hawke could see the other man had been telling the truth as Anders’ erection bobbed stiff and hard between his legs, weeping slightly. The blond man opened his mouth willingly however, leaning forward as he swallowed Hawke down with a faint, desperate sound.

“Good boy...so ...oh fuck Anders. Ok, maybe it’s been ...too long. On your hands and knees.” Vic moaned when he realized he wasn’t going to last long for that first round. He wasted no time in slicking Anders up, until the other man was fucking himself on his fingers desperately. “Easy, easy, let me give you what you asked for.” 

“Maker, please Vic, please hurry,” Anders begged as he thrust back onto the other man’s hand. “I need it, need your cock so bad!”

“Love...easy, just relax so I can get in you. Then I’m gonna fuck you senseless while you tell me how it feels to have me in you and know what Fenris is feeling too. You realize he’s gonna feel me too yeah?” Vic rasped in his ear before he slapped Anders’ ass with each thrust. 

Anders cried out in surprise, then nodded. “Harder - harder!” he begged, then cried out louder as Hawke obliged him, his hand leaving a red mark on Anders’ rump. Then he slammed into Anders in one hard thrust and the former warden practically howled.

Fenris paused and grinned evilly when he heard Anders scream then went right back to what he was doing. Beneath him, Zevran was panting, his knuckles white where they grasped the bedsheet, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his face flushed as panting cries escaped him with every thrust of Fenris into his willing body as the warrior pounded into the Antivan. He had already taken Zevran once, and this second surge of energy so soon after the first was unexpected but a pleasant surprise. 

He could feel a warm glow spreading across his buttocks and wondered what the other two were up to, but he could feel his second climax coming upon him swiftly and he sped up his thrusts.

Anders was reduced to frantic begging, his pleas only half-articulated as he begged for more, harder, faster, deeper - more, more, only more until finally he felt Hawke’s rhythm stutter and then a hot wetness pulsing inside him as the other mage came, and that was all he needed to fall over the edge, climaxing hard as he screamed, his body shuddering as he finally found release. He collapsed onto the bed, spent and exhausted.

Fenris stared down at Zevran and smiled fondly as the Antivan groaned faintly, utterly ennervated after such intense activity. He leaned down and claimed Zevran’s mouth with a kiss; the blond elf moaned quietly into his mouth.

“I swear, give me ten minutes and I could go again,” murmured Fenris with a grin as he straightened and headed to the washstand to clean up. Zevran’s low groan followed him.

“Please, a little longer, _carissimi_ ,” Zevran begged. Fenris laughed, and Zevran groaned again for the promise in that laugh.

Hawke had no such luck, since Anders had flipped the tables on him with a bit of rest. He was pinned, hands over his head while his warden lover took advantage of a chance to rest and to recover his energy. “How sore am I gonna be tomorrow?” he moaned between kisses. “Or how angry will I need to be with Fenris for making you so damned worked up?”

“That depends,” murmured Anders as he nuzzled against the side of Hawke’s neck then pressed light teasing kisses and nips along his jaw back to his mouth before claiming it again with another kiss. He leaned back and stared down at the other man. “I can think of a few ways you could repay him and tire me out very thoroughly at the same time.” He rolled his hips against Hawke’s groin and was rewarded by a deep groan from the other man.

“What do I have to do?” asked Hawke, his eyes showing interest. Anders grinned then twined a leg around Hawke’s before rolling over and deftly flipping them so now Hawke was on top.

“First, I think maybe you should ride me,” suggested Anders. “If you feel like it, of course. Or I could give you a quick Rejuvenate and you could fuck me again. I _definitely_ think you ought to use the electricity trick on me. A lot,” he added with a grin as he released Hawke’s wrists.

“Oh?” said the other mage as he trailed his hands down Anders’ arms, across his shoulders and then down over the pale, scarred chest before he began to flick and roll the blond man’s nipples with his fingers. Anders’ eyes widened.

“Oh - oh, Maker, yes,” he agreed. “Mmm... harder?”

Hawke obliged, and Anders shuddered. Hawke grinned and let small sparks of electricity fly from his fingers to ground through Anders’ nipples, and the Enchanter’s spine arched off the bed as he threw his head back and gave a shuddering cry.

“Again?” suggested Hawke; Anders made an incoherent but enthusiastic sound of consent. Hawke obliged him, and Anders jerked and shuddered beneath him, gasping as he arched his back once more before collapsing back onto the bed with a faint whimper.

“Fenris is going to be sore as the Void, and so will Zevran at this rate.” Hawke said before he unleashed another round of lightning on Anders. The blond mage twitched convulsively beneath him, losing even the ability to cry out as his eyes rolled back briefly. It took him a moment or two to come back to himself, panting.

“N-no more... just yet,” he finally managed to get out. “Maker, Andraste, all the Creators - one more like that and I won’t be fit for anything, regardless of what Fenris does...”

“Alright, Alright love, let me get you something cool to drink and we can see what those two are up to unless that finally made our wicked elf pass out.” Vic kissed Anders slow and easy before he got up.

Anders was still trying to catch his breath a little but nodded thanks and managed to sit up to take the glass of water Hawke offered him. “Maker, that was -” He broke off as he felt something odd - his breath catching in his throat with what felt like alarm, even though he himself was relaxed and at ease. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his robe. “Something’s wrong. Fenris is tense and alarmed about something.”

“Go check, I’ll be along in a moment, I want to get my staff.” Hawke got his tunic on and waved Anders away.

Anders hurried down the hallway to tap at Fenris’ door, still tying the sash about his waist as he waited. The cold flagstones were icy against his bare feet; he shifted uncomfortably and knocked again.

Fenris flung the door open and yanked Anders inside. He pointed to the bed and begged him for help. “I...hurt him, I didn’t mean to. We were, were , he let me choke him and then …”

Anders realised what had happened in an instant and groaned as he hurried over to the bed. Zevran was sprawled unconscious on the bed, the bed linen in disarray; as Anders brushed the blond hair away from Zevran’s face and neck he could see the bruising imprints of Fenris’ hands about the elf’s throat.

Anders laid a hand gently over the bruises and concentrated; Zevran was stirring, his eyes fluttering open. “Don’t try to speak yet,” murmured Anders as his fingers glowed a soft blue.

Zevran glanced up at him, bewildered and confused, then glanced around for Fenris.

Who was huddled in a chair, head down as he awaited news from Anders. He was sure he’d managed to finally kill the other elf with their games.

Zevran reached a hand towards Fenris and tried to speak, ignoring Anders’ warning, but all that came out was a faint croak. He coughed then winced.

“Just lie still,” Anders told him gently. “It’s alright, Fenris; you haven’t killed your boyfriend,” he called over his shoulder, not glancing round as he continued to work on Zevran. “Just a bit of bruising. He’ll be fine in a little while.”

As he sat back, Zevran managed to sit up, one hand reaching to his throat and the faded bruises. He coughed experimentally, then cleared his throat. “That was... quite the experience,” he managed to whisper.

Fenris had pulled on pants and a sweater while Anders worked, and he was curled up and away from them both. 

Anders grimaced ruefully. “That was probably my fault. Sort of,” he admitted. He glanced over at Fenris and rolled his eyes. “Oh, do come over here and stop moping,” he chided him gently. “Look, Zevran’s fine. No harm done.”

“Get out, or better yet I’ll go.” Fenris looked around for his boots, upset and unwilling to listen.

Anders blinked and stared at Fenris, then glanced at Zevran who shook his head, a wary look in his eyes. Anders sighed silently then got to his feet, tugging the sash belt a little tighter, and padded to the door in his bare feet. He paused in the doorway to stare at Fenris; when the elf didn’t turn but kept his back to him, he sighed softly.

“You know where to find me when you feel like talking,” he said quietly, then turned away, closing the door as gently as he could before heading quietly back to his own room. He let himself back in and headed over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

Fenris remained with his back to them until he heard the door shut then he gathered his things and went to the door. “I need to be alone for awhile. I’m sorry.”

Zevran stared at him, then threw himself back onto the bed with an annoyed, frustrated huff. He stared at the ceiling and counted to three before speaking. “ _Carissimi_. Please do not run away from me.”

Fenris dropped his boots and returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I thought I killed you, I’m so sorry.”

“I do not die so easily as that, my heart,” Zevran smiled. “Come, you have killed enough men to know when one is dead or not, no? I still breathed. My heart still beat. I still breathe and my heart still beats, therefore I am alive, yes?”

“It’s not the same and you know it!” Fenris snapped. “I just wanted to have ..I can’t cope with being so tied to Anders physically. What if we’d been using knives!”

“Ah. Yes, that would have been unfortunate,” conceded Zevran as he levered himself up to lean on his elbows and looked at Fenris. “Bad enough I bear a scar from my own clumsiness. I thought it strange how you twitched like that, and then again. Perhaps I should not have encouraged you so? But then, we were not to know that perhaps Anders and Hawke would also be playing games.” He smiled a little wryly. “I wonder if friend Hawke will be as sore as I tomorrow - or perhaps Anders will be the sore one?” He dropped back onto the bed with a low groan. “Still, it was good. The, ah, the passing out - that was not so good, but the before? That was _very_ good, _carissimi_. I think you have worn me out.” He smiled up at the ceiling.

Fenris grunted in annoyance as he got up and moved to darken the room. “I’m going to wash and get something to eat; do you wish dinner?” 

“I would like to sleep, but I think food would be a better idea,” agreed Zevran as he rolled over onto his side and rested his cheek on his fist, watching the other elf. 

“I will make sure it’s a hearty meal since we set out early tomorrow.” Fenris ran from the room and was sullen even when he returned to find Zevran had changed their sheets and awaited him with wine. “Here’s your dinner.”

Zevran had dressed in his shirt and pants and had been sitting at the table waiting; he had a smile on his face as Fenris entered, but at the other elf’s ungraceful tone and words, a little of the sparkle disappeared from his eyes. The smile still remained upon his lips, though it seemed a little wistful as he poured wine for them both.

“A long day in the saddle then,” he said quietly. 

“I hope you like it, I asked for your favorites Zevran.” Fenris said a little more softly before he sat down to his own meal. Zevran’s smile grew a little wider; the fond expression in his eyes as he took his plate was genuine enough.

“Thank you, my heart,” he said gently.

“Welcome, forgive me. I...fear I will hurt you when we indulge in such things and that fear was nearly realized. I still snap like a wounded animal when scared, I’m sorry.” Fenris curled up in the chair and sipped his wine carefully.

“Perhaps then we shall keep such games for when we play with Anders and Hawke, if that would set your heart and mind at ease, _carissimi_?” Zevran suggested. “At least then, there would be less chance of... unanticipated surprises?” He glanced up at Fenris as he reached for his glass of wine.

“Until...if this bond can be broken between Anders and I, I fear what could happen.” Fenris admitted.

“It is troubling and awkward, I agree,” nodded Zevran. “Though without it you would never have known something had happened to Anders and Hal, yes? Though also... no, forgive me, I should not have mentioned that.” Zevran dropped his gaze; both Fenris and Anders had had nightmares often since their experience at the hands of the red templars and the Antivan cursed himself for even bringing it up.

“I can’t even enjoy simple pleasure with you! That...I don’t want to ever think about that again! I wish… I wish I had died rather than suffer like that ever again Zevran.” Fenris’ voice broke before he made his way to their bed and laid on his side.

Zevran pushed his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table as he let his eyes close, resting his forehead against his fists. “I should not have spoken. I was careless. I am sorry, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “That was ill-considered of me.”

Fenris didn’t answer, he just pulled the covers up and curled tighter into a ball. Finally he called for Zevran to rest. “Long ride tomorrow, we should sleep.”

Zevran remained where he was for a moment, then reached for the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass. He downed it steadily in one before he rose from the table and returned to the bed. “As you wish,” he murmured quietly as he began to strip off once more.

Once Zevran was in bed, Fenris simply wrapped himself around the Antivan elf and let the tears he held back go until he fell asleep. 

***

The following morning, Anders was stiff and sore. He woke up on the verge of screaming from yet another nightmare, to find the sky slowly lightening with the pre-dawn. Hawke was still sleeping; Anders left him to dream on and made his way into the bathing chamber for a hot bath alone. It helped relieve some of the ache, and relaxed him slowly from the surge of adrenaline that had woken him from the nightmare.

He shaved carefully, then studied the fading scar on his forehead. He had worked healing on it almost every day since being branded, and it had steadily faded until now it was only a silvery mark on his forehead, the lines blurred; still, he worked on it some more before he set the small mirror aside.

He couldn’t feel the spirit inside, but he knew she was there; the fact he could still think for himself, that he could still touch the Fade - these were all his mute witnesses to her presence. It was utterly unlike how it had been with Justice; he wasn’t aware of different thoughts from his own, an alien sense of rage overtaking him. He had spoken of not knowing where he ended and Justice began - but with healing, it was far more true. He couldn’t feel her at all - but when healing, he would feel inspiration and try things a slightly different way - and they worked. He seemed to have almost a seventh sense - above and beyond what his magic could tell him, he just seemed to _know_ what was wrong before he even touched his mana. Healing took less power and did more. It was how it _should_ have been with Justice, he reflected sorrowfully; a seamless blending of himself with the spirit. There had been only one occasion when he seemed to have a blank in his memory, and that had been when Hawke had confronted him about the spirit.

He towelled himself off and dressed, choosing warm travel robes but packing lighter garments for the Arbor Wilds as he gathered together his pack. He woke Hawke shortly after dawn with breakfast then returned to packing, putting together a healing kit with a few extra herbs and potions.

Fenris was solemn as he got ready, too quiet for anyone’s liking but he had a lot on his mind as they prepared to travel on to the Temple of Mythal. He kept to himself, even foregoing Zevran’s company as they traveled by ship to the Emerald Graves.

Hawke was worried but couldn’t get the elf to do more than speak a few words. He let it go for the time being; they had other things to worry about.

Zevran seemed to take Fenris’ silence in stride; he took to spending more time with Leliana as they travelled, the spymaster having elected to come with them at least as far as the Emerald Graves, though she planned to return to Skyhold shortly thereafter. She entrusted her ravens to Zevran; he was Crowmaster of a different ilk as they travelled on.

Hawke spent time with Anders as well as Dorian and Meneris, long nights spent mending fences, planning and just trying to figure out their best plan of attack. Morrigan had kept to herself for the voyage, sensing something was not right among the leadership but not wanting to butt in, yet.

It seemed that daily Zevran had encouraging news to share at their councils, brought on wing by the ravens. Inquisition forces were making great headway against Corypheus, and the scouts reported promising news. Their allies were in position, the Orlesians driving on hard into the territory Corypheus’ red templars had struggled to hold, whilst the Fereldens routed out yet more and reported whole troops of the enemy seeming to give up. The intelligence and plans elicited from Samson proved true and accurate, and it all heartened Meneris greatly.

Fenris had taken to working on his weapons on the deck as they traveled, it gave him time to think and few members of the Inquisition braved him in such a mood. He was tired and wanted whatever they were going to do to be over with.

“It all seems almost too easy,” mused Dorian one evening as they gathered around the camp fire after dinner. “I can’t help but feel it won’t be anywhere near as easy or simple when we get there however.”

“Of course it won’t, Void I wouldn't be surprised if Corypheus himself showed up to greet us.” Vic said.

“Good,” growled the Iron Bull. “We can finally have this business over and done with instead of having to go hunt for him.”

“I could do with a fight for a change,” Fenris muttered to himself. 

Anders was studying a small, rather old-looking book in his lap, glancing up at the others from time to time but only half-following the conversation; at Fenris’ quiet muttering however, he glanced up and gave the elf a small frown before returning to his book.

“What’s the problem?” Fenris asked.

“Hmm?” said Anders as he glanced up, his gaze a little distracted from what Fenris could see across the fire. The mage’s eyes reflected the flames, making it hard to decipher his expression.

“You heard me, amatus.” Fenris said as he sheathed his weapon.

“Fenris, don’t start this. Anders wasn’t even paying attention as he reads whatever this is. Stand down.” Vic said.

Anders glanced at the former Champion, then back at Fenris, looking confused. “ _Maer vhenal’llen? D’or hraemaeth ‘llan?_ ”

Morrigan’s head whipped round even as Solas leapt to his feet. “Where did you learn that?” demanded the elf as he stormed around the fire to glare down at the mage, who blinked up at him.

“Ancient elvhen, is there something you have to tell us Anders?” Fenris asked in curiousity.

“Yes, I am wondering this myself.” Meneris added. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dalish’s head had popped up over by the Charger’s camp fire and the mercenary mage was staring incredulously over at them.

“Ah... oh. Sorry, had my head so deep in this... if I read a lot in a particular language I start sort of... _thinking_ in it; didn’t realise I was actually speaking it though,” Anders replied, blushing as he held up the book.

“That doesn’t explain how you were able to _pronounce_ it,” replied Morrigan, narrowing her eyes at him.

“And near-perfectly at that,” added Solas.

Anders blinked. “And how would _you_ know it was near-perfect?” he asked, curious.

Solas scowled at him. “Never mind,” he growled. “Where did you get that book?”

“Oh, no, now I rather want to hear Anders’ answer myself,” interjected Morrigan with a sly smile. “Do tell, Solas, how it is you know just how ancient elvhen should be pronounced? You’re not _that_ old.” She smirked.

Solas glared at her, then stormed away from the fire as she broke up into peals of laughter.

Fenris went back to working on his weapon, while Hawke kept staring at Anders. The blond mage had returned to studying the book, eyes intent on the words. Occasionally he would close his eyes, lips moving soundlessly, then glance down at the page with a small frown.

Hawke settled in next to his human lover as they camped for the evening before heading into the temple. Anders glanced up after a moment with a distracted smile, then after a moment ducked his head self-consciously and closed the book. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s late; we should turn in.”

“Indeed we should,” replied Morrigan, though he hadn’t been addressing her. “For tomorrow we reach the Temple of Mythal.” She smiled enigmatically then walked away towards her own tent.

Anders rolled his eyes at her behind her back before turning to kiss Hawke. “Goodnight to her too. Come on.” They got up and retired to their own tent.

Quiet spread across the camp, broken only by the occasional footsteps or muffled coughs of the sentry guards.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas and the Temple of Mytha awaits, and Fenris gets an unexpected chance.

Fenris led with the Chargers as they made their way through the temple archway, and swore a blue streak as Corypheus himself blocked their path along with Calpernia, his other general. 

The ancient magister chuckled as he saw the look of dismay on Meneris’ face. “Well, well you have saved me some trouble Inquisitor. I won’t have to come calling after all.” 

“More like you saved me the trouble, shall we have it out here?” Meneris called with as he let his mark form a Rift.

“Such a brave boy to think you can take me down. Hawke failed along with his mockery of the Dalish warriors of old, and the talkative dwarf you left behind. Hello again, Champion,” Corypheus mocked.

“Oh get stuffed you relic.” Hawke called back, he didn’t dare glance back at Fenris, not until the fight was over. He was aware of Anders standing a little way off to the side, his eyes on Corypheus, his face pale; no doubt recalling how Corypheus had possessed him the last time they’d confronted him; Hawke resisted the urge to turn and look at him.

“Well this is a touching reunion and all but are you going to talk us to death or actually fight?” Fenris snarled.

“If you are so eager for your death little wolf, so be it.” Corypheus replied as if he spoke of the weather rather than facing a squad of people who wanted him gone. Before he could raise his staff, the two columns at the head of the bridge crackled and brightened behind him. 

The hum of power grew to a crackle, even glowing a bright blue as a beam formed and shattered the magister of old. Meneris and company stood there, surprised by the creature’s seeming destruction, but there was no time to cheer when he began to reform before their eyes. Calpernia called the troops to her, taking off in the opposite direction while the Inquisition watched in horror at Corypheus’ reformation.

“I’m going to be sick.” Hawke gagged. Anders was pressing a hand to his stomach and retching, his eyes wide in horror. 

“No time, his...demon is coming for us. Over the bridge, now!” Fenris called out as he ran past the rubble and bodies of the elves that had powered the strike against Corypheus. He wished he could do a portal but there was no way to risk it with their destination being a place he’d never seen. 

Hawke grabbed at Anders to go ahead and helped to bring up the rear so no one was left behind. He swore as some of the demon’s fire hit a bit too close to the end of their escape. Unfortunately a couple scouts didn’t make it, their screams the last thing he heard as they slammed the temple door shut, rolling away from the heat of the demon-dragon’s flame and dragging Anders with him as the healer tried to run back after the scouts.

“No use - they’re gone!” panted Hawke as he pulled Anders after him into the meagre protection of a pile of rubble. “You couldn’t have saved them - no-one could.”

Anders took a deep breath and nodded, a look of grim determination coming over him. 

“Where’s Fenris?” asked Hawke; Anders grinned briefly as he felt the elf igniting his brands. His flesh still burned whenever Fenris shifted into his lyrium ghost form, half in this world and half in the Fade, but Anders found he was coming to derive a curious comfort from the burning sensation; nothing could touch Fenris whilst he was incorporeal. He could feel the adrenaline surging through Fenris’ body as the warrior swung into action; with his healer’s senses, he could have pinpointed where he was even with his eyes shut, even without the bond.

“Ahead of us and fighting. Come on, he’ll need backup.”

Hawke vaulted over the rubble and hit the ground running, calling up Force magic even as he felt the tell-tale prickling across his skin of a barrier spell tightening around him like an additional layer of armour. As time seemed to slow slightly around him, he knew Anders had followed up the shielding spell with Haste.

Fenris was mixing it up with some strange elves that had decided that attack first, ask questions later was a good idea but they were hard to pin down, and the one that he was currently locked into combat with was as strong as him, matching each blow with a return thrust that forced him back.

“Venhedis! We’re not your enemy!” Fenris snapped as he finally got some breathing room. 

“You do not belong here, the red ones are seeking you out, you have brought chaos to our door.” Abelas replied as he circled Fenris, his gaze on the other elf’s markings. “You’re a mockery of our old ways as well.”

“I ...didn’t put this lyrium in my skin and we didn’t come here to bring chaos, but to stop it. Listen to us!” Fenris replied.

Anders was sprinting towards them but skidded to a stop a short distance away from Fenris and the strange elves as he realised they seemed not to be attacking, merely circling. He glanced to Hawke, then back to the strange elves, still holding his staff at the ready.

“What is Fenris saying? I can’t understand it at all.” Hawke said as he listened and watched with Anders and the others.

“He’s telling them he’s not responsible for his lyrium and that we didn’t cause all of this chaos,” said Anders slightly absently, his attention on the elf that had spoken. “They say we don’t belong here and they’re blaming us for the red templars.” He took a couple of steps closer to the group, hesitant and uncertain.

“How do you know that? Better yet how does he?” Hawke asked as he watched and hoped things got better.

Fenris continued to circle slowly his weapon ready but his steps slow as he kept contact with the armored elf. “We seek to stop the ancient Magister too, we do not mean you harm. Let us explain, let the Marked elf explain what we seek. If I sheathe my sword, will you listen?”

Anders slung his staff on his back and glanced around. “Meneris! I think they’ll want to talk to you,” he called.

Hal was staring at Anders with a dubious look, but as the older mage slung his staff on his back he did likewise, gesturing to the Iron Bull to do likewise with his massive axe; the mercenary frowned, then glanced at the others before doing so. Zevran had sheathed his knives, though that didn’t mean much; Hawke knew the assassin was capable of having a blade back in his hands faster than he could cast a spell.

Dorian glanced to Meneris. “How does he understand what they’re saying?” he whispered to his lover. “Something strange is going on here. No magic I’ve ever encountered, that is certain.”

Solas was glaring from Fenris to Anders, then at the other elves; as Morrigan took a step forward, he thrust out his arm, barring her way. “Stay where you are,” he told her quietly.

Abelas noted the others putting away their weapons and did the same, giving Fenris a nod. “How is it you are so marked with, you called it lyrium? That is not what we call it.” 

Meneris approached slowly, unsure what Fenris and the strange elf were doing but he made sure they could see he too had sheathed his weapon and let them see he was not going to do anything.

Fenris sheathed his weapon and motioned for Meneris to join them. “This is Inquisitor Lavellan, and you are…?”

Dorian moved up to stand next to Anders and Hawke, leaving Meneris to walk into the circle of strange elves as they moved aside and let him pass to join Fenris. Anders glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back to Fenris. He could feel how his lover was wound up tighter than a coiled spring, wary.

“I am Abelas, guardian of this place, commander of the warriors who remain here in service to Mythal. Why did you bring magisters to this place? Tainted ones as well?” he asked with a finger to Anders and Dorian. “They have the stench of the underdark to them. Why do you travel with our destructors little ones?” he asked both Fenris and Meneris.

Meneris tilted his head in confusion and tried to address Abelas in Dalish, hopeful he would understand. “They are not magisters, nor are the two wardens with us going to do harm. We all fight Corypheus, the magister that attempted to take this place. We seek knowledge, nothing more. We had no idea elves still remained here, if we have offended, allow us to make amends.” 

“Oh Maker,” murmured Anders as he dropped his head for a moment. “They know we’re tainted.”

“What? How?” exclaimed Dorian, just as quietly.

“I have no idea!” hissed Anders. “And they think we’re magisters. The robes probably aren’t helping. Try to look as unthreatening as you can.”

“Anders, I can’t help looking like I’m from Tevinter - that whole accident of birth thing,” Dorian hissed back. “Is this going to cause a problem?”

“Not if Meneris is good at thinking quickly on his feet,” Anders replied. “Which to be fair, he usually is, but... ugh.”

“Hush, they’re talking again and I can’t understand a word they’re saying,” muttered Dorian.

Anders glanced up, frowned, and then began quietly to translate. 

“What knowledge do you seek? How to stop the magister? Or does that bald one, he...is not, he is a mystery. Who is he and why is he ready to run in to interrupt?” Abelas asked.

Fenris glanced at Solas and shook his head no at the other elf. “He is a mage, one who has helped the Inquisition and claims to have much knowledge of the Fade and ancient magics. He insisted he could help us with text and other things that we could find in this place.” he looked back to Abelas then Meneris. 

“What would you have us do to show we mean no harm? We seek only aid in how to stop Corypheus, and will gladly leave this place to you and your warriors if we are to have it.” Fenris said as he glanced to the others.

“If anyone has any suggestions, I’m all ears,” Anders said after he’d translated the exchange between the elves. “There’s not exactly anything Dorian and I can _do_ about our taint, after all.” He glanced at Dorian.

“I’m not stripping off naked if that’s what you’re thinking,” replied the Altus. “Which is the only way I could look less Tevinter.” He glanced at Hawke. “Any ideas, Champion? You’ve dealt with Qunari and the Witch of the Wilds - surely a bunch of ancient elves should be less trouble?”

Anders groaned. “I don’t think Hawke’s brand of diplomacy is what we need. No offence, love,” he added, glancing at Invictus.

 

“None taken, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Finally some would say.” Vic glanced to his lover then back to his friends. “I think this one is on Fenris and Meneris, though I still want to know how they are understanding each other. I am hearing a mix of what you were speaking, some Tevene and some Dalish. But Fenris and this Abelas seem to understand each other perfectly.”

Fenris and Meneris were speaking rapidly before they turned to Abelas and explained what they sought, and both frowned slightly at the way the ancient elf bristled. “Is there a problem?” Fenris asked.

“Uh oh,” murmured Anders. “Abelas doesn’t like that. They’re the protectors of this temple, and I suspect the idea of us all traipsing in here is rather akin to sacrilege. Maybe if we were all elves they might not be so hostile, but... I think there’s maybe something here they don’t want us to see. That perhaps we’re not _meant_ to see.” He blinked, his gaze distant for a moment. “Only the chosen of Mythal would be permitted,” he added, his voice a little lighter and higher.

Fenris glanced at Anders then back to Abelas when the elven fighter confirmed Anders words. “Then test us, if we are chosen of Her, allow us to see this pool and learn from it.”

Meneris whipped his head to the side. “Fenris! You have no idea what it takes to be her Chosen. I barely know and I was raised to know these stories from a few summers old. We...do you know how slowly some elven rites go? We cannot do this while Corypheus attempts to destroy Thedas.” 

“Well what else do you suggest Inquisitor? I was made in a mockery of Arlathan, maybe it can be of use for once.” Fenris snapped back.

Abelas held his hand up for silence. “You are both correct, there is little time for the proper rites of old and Fenris was made in the image of warriors long past. Come, we shall take you to the Hall of Tribunal where you will be judged, and those found worthy allowed to draw from the collected knowledge of the the Lady Mythal.”

Fenris nodded and fell into line next to Meneris. The elven warriors watched impassively as Anders and Hawke joined Fenris, followed by Zevran; Dorian hurried after, along with Solas. However as Morrigan made to follow the warriors closed ranks and refused to let the others follow. As Abelas led them away, they could hear Morrigan trying to argue in vain with the warriors. 

Fenris was quiet until they were all ushered into a room with benches covered in furs, with observational areas above them, that were filling with elves attired similarly to Abelas. He wasn’t stopped when he went to his lovers to let them know he was fine, nor was Meneris when he chose to sit with Dorian. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry loves.” he said to Vic and Anders before a light repast was set before them. 

“Refresh yourselves, we will begin in an hour of your time.” Abelas said before he tilted his head at Anders. “You...you have a sense of Arlathan about you, how is this possible?”

Anders’ head jerked back a little as he stared at the elf. “I have no idea,” he said blankly. “I’m human. To the best of my knowledge there’s never been a drop of elven blood in my family. I... I really don’t know.”

“Your spirit perhaps?” Fenris whispered, and instantly sensed a surge of adrenaline racing through Anders’ body even before the mage turned alarmed eyes upon him. 

“Yes, thank you love, just out me as an abomination - again - in front of everyone,” he muttered, then covered his eyes, aware that several people - Meneris and Dorian among them - were staring at him in shocked surprise.

“I whispered for a reason, I’m sorry.” Fenris replied before he sat down next to Invictus. 

“Wait - what’s this about spirits?” said Dorian. Solas was glaring at Anders; before anyone could say anything, he had abruptly pushed passed everyone, grasped the front of Anders’ collar and slammed the startled mage against the wall.

“How dare you? _How dare you!_ ” snarled the elf, his eyes snapping with fury.

“Hands off him, right now Solas.” Fenris said as he let his hands glow bright and rest against the elf’s back. “It will hurt me like nothing else but I will end you if you don’t get your hands off him this instant.”

“What you have done is wrong, evil, sacrilege!” hissed Solas as he glared at Anders. “You have no idea what you’ve done, have you?”

“You speak as though I had any choice in the matter,” answered Anders quietly. “As though there were any other choice to be made.” His voice was soft and light, and as he spoke Fenris was aware through the bond that the mage’s heart had calmed.

Solas stared at him a moment longer, then released him before whirling and pushing Fenris away abruptly. Ignoring the others, he stalked away to the other side of the room and folded his arms, fuming, as he stood with his back to them.

“Let him go,” said Anders gently as Fenris made to move after the bald elf. “It doesn’t matter how this came to pass or who knows, now. What’s done is done.” He glanced up at Abelas.

“No, he does not get to handle you like that or shove me.” Fenris snarled until he felt a hand on his arm. “Anders…”

“Love,” said Anders softly. “I’m not hurt. And something about this place seems to have Solas seriously off-kilter. Just... please leave it for now. The last thing we need is fighting amongst ourselves in front of these elves.” 

“That he wishes to protect you is a good thing, and will not hurt his chances of the Lady finding him worthy. Go and refresh yourselves, we will begin shortly.” Abelas turned away to summon their own healer to ready him for the rite.

Fenris sat down but didn’t stop glaring at Solas until Anders asked him to be held as they drank and ate. 

Invictus was worried but didn’t say anything, he just sat between them and tried to get them to relax until whatever was going to happen began.

Dorian sat with Meneris, the two men sharing their food together. “Anders possessed... I would never have believed it,” Dorian murmured very quietly. “He shows no sign whatsoever of it. When could it have happened, do you think? It can’t be a demon or he would have become an abomination by now - what sort of spirit, do you think?”

“Leave it till later, I don’t think we were meant to really know of it. Fenris’ little slip wasn’t to let the cat out of the bag but this isn’t the time to discuss it. We’ll speak on it once we’re back at Skyhold, if we all make it there.” Meneris replied.

“Oh, quite,” agreed Dorian softly. “Wouldn’t do to have everyone talking about it in any case; likely to cause trouble and all that.” He glanced over at Solas. “Well - even more trouble,” he amended.

“We’re going to have words about him manhandling our First Enchanter.” Meneris said as he glanced around to see Fenris had Anders in his arms and seemed to be shivering as they sat together. “I worry...he seems to be unhinged as well.”

“What he was shouting about - something being wrong, sacrilege -” Dorian blinked, then glanced at Meneris. “Love - I realise maybe this is something beyond your area of expertise, but... would an elven spirit be attracted to a human? Could that be what’s possessed him?” He kept his voice very low, wary of being overheard.

“Beyond my knowledge and something I have no clue about. Come let’s speak with them before this ritual begins.” Meneris rose to join them, hopeful that things were not beyond repair. As they approached, Zevran glanced up from where he sat near Fenris and Anders. The Antivan had been silent ever since they had encountered the strange elves, and though he seemed to eat and drink as the others did, Meneris’ keen eyes spotted that the assassin was merely making a show of eating, his eyes restlessly scanning the line of elves upon the observation gallery overlooking the room. He spared the Inquisitor a brief glance before returning to his scrutiny of their observers.

Fenris reached over to take Zevran’s hand silently and give him a smile. “It will be fine, don’t worry carissimi.” 

Zevran turned to him and flashed a brief smile. “It had best be,” the Antivan replied. “I would be most vexed were harm to come to you, my heart.”

“As would I, now stop glaring at everyone and eat.” Fenris kissed him briefly before he rose to greet Abelas who had returned in a dark robe over his armor, and was trailed by another elf garbed in a dark blue tunic and leggings that stared at Fenris with curiosity. 

“Is it time then?” he asked.

Anders got to his feet then stood there, watching helplessly as the strange elf nodded. Abelas glanced at the others.

“You will remain here,” he said, then turned and left the room with Fenris and the other elf. 

Anders stared at the closed door, then dropped back down onto the fur-covered bench, still staring at the door as though he could somehow see through it if only he tried hard enough.

Fenris gave them a brief smile before he turned and followed Abelas, the clang of the doors closing behind them made him flinch. He found himself in a circular room a similar size to the one they’d left, but unadorned and empty. He halted in the center where a small octagonal pool sat, clear, deep and blue. 

Abelas knelt before it and waited for the healer to take their spot to his left. “Disrobe and enter the pool. I am going to activate your markings, and let Her weigh your worthiness. I will not harm you. However it is a test of the mind as She works through me. You may be confronted with things you have locked away, or even had taken from you by the one who did this to you. Are you willing to let Her judge you?” 

Fenris stared at the water, then slowly nodded. “I am,” he said simply, then began to undress. He stacked his armour neatly to one side, leaning his massive sword against the wall, then began to strip off his tunic and leggings. He fought to calm his racing heart and sought to calm himself. It would not do to have Anders panic; the resulting feedback would do neither of them any good.

Abelas waited until Fenris was in the pool before he did the same and joined him. He gently brushed the other elf’s hair aside to show the three white dots on his forehead. He pressed his fingers to them, closed his eyes and let Mythal guide him. The last thing he heard was Fenris’ screaming before She took over.

Hawke jumped as Anders suddenly stiffened with a loud gasp.

“No, no, stop - something’s wrong, it - Maker, it _hurts!_ ” he cried out. “Make it stop!” He hugged himself and doubled over with a pained groan.

“What hurts? What’s happening?” Hawke asked as he sat with Anders, worried for what was going on with their lover.

Fenris had been thrashing under Abelas’ hold until his eyes opened wide, seeing nothing but the light of his markings as they made the chamber dance in blue streaks. He fell still with a gasp as Mythal worked her will upon him, making him see his past with a clarity that hurt him. He didn’t know what was real or not as he found himself alone, in a room that should have been familiar but wasn’t.

Fenris glanced down to see he was at least clothed but without armor or weapon in this strange place. “Mythal?....Abelas?” he called out, and was answered by a light, lilting, voice that calmed him as soon as he heard it. 

“Be at ease, Fenris; you are safe here. None will touch you,” answered the voice. It seemed somehow familiar, though Fenris couldn’t quite touch on why, until he turned and saw a figure walking slowly towards him. The head was bowed, the long golden hair loose, but Fenris would have known those robes, the way they walked, anywhere.

Or at least, he would have; until the figure lifted their head and something was... different. It was somehow Anders, and yet not; the face a little softer, the cheeks smooth, and there were curves hinted at beneath the robes that Anders had never possessed.

“Anders? But...I am confused. You look like, him or are you his spirit? I…” Fenris stumbled over his words, confused by the person before him.

She cast her gaze to the side, seemingly a little discomforted. “In a way, I am both Anders and not,” she admitted. “He and I are one now, and... I am not entirely sure where I end and he begins. His thoughts are so like my own that I cannot truly say.” Her gaze lifted to hold his. “But yes, I am... ‘his spirit’, as you say. I am Llyria; I am - or was - a priestess of Mythal. My Lady felt that perhaps it would be of a comfort for you to speak with her through me.”

Fenris nodded as he stopped before her, hand out automatically. “Apologies, this is so strange. I should be used to these things with the men I am with but you are so like Anders, yet not. Does this mean I am not worthy of meeting Her? I’m unsure what to do.” 

“Oh Fenris,” she said gently, reaching for his hands. “You are not unworthy; far from it. My Lady seeks only to minimise your discomfort. She speaks through me. We felt you would be more comfortable speaking with one who seemed familiar to you. My Lady is saddened that this is even necessary; you are known to Her, and she is familiar with your travails. You have long been one of Her favourite children, though you knew it not.”

The elven warrior swallowed and made to sit down, even though it seemed they were in the middle of nothing. He felt a fur covered bench under him as he sat. “I...have not known Her, if she knows of me, I was not allowed to know the Dalish ways or even those of other elves.” Fenris held Llyria’s hands gently, confused at the idea Mythal knew of him.

Llyria smiled sadly. “Mythal grieves for all Her children, Fenris; even those who do not know her. Perhaps, most for them of all.” She lifted a hand to trail the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “You were consecrated to Her from the moment lyrium first touched your skin, though neither you nor Danarius knew it.” She nodded as Fenris jerked, startled. “Oh yes, my Lady knows of the name of your tormentor. She knows of all those who would perverse Her rites. The lines upon your flesh are sacred specifically to Mythal; they mark you as one of Her chosen, though he knew it not. In that moment, She was aware of you; and your plight grieved Her sorely, Fenris.”

“What must I do to show she found me worthy? We only seek to stop Corypheus Llyria. This news...scares me in a way. I am not destined, I cause more---” his recrimination was stopped with a gentle finger to his lips. 

“Abelas knows. I have told him. His remorse is great, and - oh.” She sat up, looking somehow guilty. “Oh dear. He is aware now of me, and of Anders. Your love will be discomforted I fear, when he awakes.” She regarded Fenris sadly. “You must assure others that Anders is no threat. He is terrified they will think him an abomination. He does not fully understand; that was never a risk. He will never lose himself. I have been with him from the moment he was born. Fenris, when you awaken, you must understand. Corypheus is the greatest threat Thedas has ever known. Nothing matters but stopping him. I will aid Anders as far as I can, but we need _you_ to act. We will place the means in your hand, but we need yours to be the hand that strikes. You will know the moment.” She smiled gently and cupped his face with her hand. “Have trust, and you will not fall.”

“As Lady Mythal orders, it will be done. What of Inquisitor Lavellan? it’s his mark that Corypheus seeks to take back or destroy.” Fenris held her hands for comfort as he let her voice keep him calm and settled. 

“Meneris will destroy Corypheus. To you will fall the dragon. Hold steadfast, and we may all live. Falter, and all may be lost. It does not fall to me to see the future, only possibilities; but this I know, Fenris - your heart is stout and true, and if you but set your feet to the right path then you will not fall.”

“I will not falter, I can’t.” Fenris pressed a kiss to her hands and rose. “I am ready to return.”

Llyria nodded and rose to her feet. “Mythal smiles upon you, Fenris. You are Her Chosen.” She lifted her hands, and suddenly Fenris was blinded by brilliant blue-white light; when his sight cleared, Abelas was staring down at him with an awed look.

“Fenris? My apologies. We did not realise,” murmured the elf as he helped Fenris sit up.

“Neither did I.” Fenris replied as he pulled himself together and started to dress. “I hope they are alright, I ...remember screaming before I went under.” 

Abelas glanced to the other elf, who looked grave. “I heard one of your companions cry out, and I think there has been much consternation since you departed their company.”

“Anders...he, he might have taken my cries the worst. He is a healer as well.” Fenris drew his bangs down and straightened up. “Let us reassure them, and be on our way to the well. I’ve been given instruction but it is there I can gather the last bit of knowledge.” 

Abelas frowned a little at Anders’ name. “This companion of yours... he is also known to Mythal. He bears within him an elven spirit.” 

“Is that a problem?” Fenris asked warily.

The two elves exchanged glances. “We do not understand why an elven spirit would seek to join with a human,” said Abelas slowly.

“Nor do I, the ways of these things is beyond me.” Fenris shrugged. 

The two elves stared at each other, the Abelas turned to Fenris. “You are of Mythal’s Chosen; that much is clear. The spirit harboured by your companion is known to us. On that basis, I must accede to Mythal’s clear wishes: you will be led to the pool, and we will aid you as needed. Your enemy is our enemy; this much, Mythal has shown me.”

“Thank you I am grateful for your help.” Fenris gave them both a bow before Abelas led them back to the greater Hall. 

He found Hawke and Zevran trying to rouse Anders whilst Meneris and Dorian watched with concerned frowns; Anders was sprawled on one of the fur-covered benches with his head in Hawke’s lap whilst Zevran hunted through his satchel of vials for something to bring Anders round. The blond mage was stirring slightly, his eyelids fluttering.

Fenris ran over to them, and took Anders hands in his “Come back to me, to us.” he called to Anders and Llyria.

Anders opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris, his gaze slowly focusing on the elf. “Love?” he said, bemused. Suddenly his eyes widened and he sat up. “Fenris! but - you’re... alright? They didn’t hurt you?” He stared at Fenris anxiously.

“No, that...scream was, it was a reaction to the other pain I was experiencing. It, I heard it before I went, I spoke with her chosen. I have passed Mythal’s challenge, and there is much to discuss once we are back at the fortress. For now, we will be allowed to take of Her knowledge so we can defeat our common enemy. Can you stand?” 

Meneris sat with them, worried for both the mage and his warrior. “We could hear your screams as if you were here, then nothing. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine...better than fine actually. Come, we have work to do.” Fenris waited to see if Anders could rise before he made another move.

“We are satisfied that Fenris is indeed Mythal’s Chosen, and we acknowledge and respect his companion who is blessed of Mythal for she whom he has been chosen by,” said the elf standing beside Abelas. “It is rare that one who has passed returns to us; rarer still that one of the shemlen should be favoured thus. You walk in Mythal’s light; bring Her honour.”

Zevran had watched all of this without moving, but as the elf spoke of Fenris being Mythal’s Chosen he surged to his feet and turned away, pacing restlessly, his gaze on the ground as his fists clenched.

Fenris turned with a sad look at Zevran. He left Anders in Hawke’s hands and went to the Antivan. “Talk to me.”

Zevran turned to stare at Fenris. “What is there to say?” he said stiffly. “You talk with legends and myths and they know your name, it seems. What have I to say to that?” he said. He glanced at the floor to one side. “Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” he said, quieter. “You did not see or hear what I did. I am... I do not know what to think.” He glanced back at Fenris, then caught his hands up and kissed the fingers lightly. “Tell me you are unharmed? Those screams I heard, that affected Anders so - the pain he was in; tell me they did not hurt you, my heart?”

Fenris hugged his lover close and kissed him until he needed air. “I’m fine, I’m better than fine _amatus_. I do not know how this happened, believe me I will fall apart later, probably get very drunk and talk about this once I no longer feel like it’s unreal. For now, know I am fine, I am here and the screaming...I am sorry to have frightened you my heart. I love you Zevran, and this won’t take me from you.” 

“Anders begged for the pain to stop,” murmured Zevran. “ _Carissimi_... I did not know what to think. I thought my heart would stop from fear for you. For us all. And now... I still do not know what to think.”

Fenris tilted his chin up so he could stare into the other elf’s eyes. “I have a feeling of what is bothering you but right now isn’t the time to talk of it. When we are next in camp we can rest together and speak of it alright? Will you be ok until then?” 

Zevran glanced away for a moment, then nodded. He glanced back at Fenris. “But there is something we must all talk of, and soon. Fenris, this spirit within Anders. What is it?”

Fenris leaned in to whisper what little he knew, before he drew away for one more kiss. “Forgive me my heart, time is short to do what we came here for. Be at my side, please?” 

Zevran’s eyes had widened as Fenris briefly mentioned what he had experienced, but nodded. “Always, my heart,” he replied. He glanced at Anders, who had sat up and was rubbing his hands slowly over his face as though he’d just woken up after a deep sleep as Meneris and Solas appeared to be arguing over something again. “I think perhaps the sooner we get this business over and done with, the better, yes? We should be tearing down Corypheus, not tearing at each others’ throats, I think.”

“Exactly.” Fenris kissed him again before he rejoined their group. “Is everything alright? Can we get moving?” 

“I’m fine,” Anders was insisting to Hawke as he got to his feet; he seemed embarrassed. “We need to get moving.” He glanced around for Fenris.

“We do, and the sooner the better.” Fenris nodded to Abelas who had shed the dark robes for his armor and arms once more. He rallied the other elven warriors to follow them towards the stone outcropping they could see as they exited Mythal’s temple for the short trek upward. 

“Will we make it before nightfall?” Hawke asked as he kept Anders upright next to him. The mage had given up trying to persuade the former Champion to stop fussing.

“It is not far,” answered Abelas. “We will have time, if we do not tarry.”

“Then let’s get going.” Meneris said as he and Dorian fell in next to Anders and Hawke with Zevran and Fenris right behind the ancient elf, with Solas a few paces behind the group. It didn’t surprise any of them that Abelas kept a fast pace until they were all at the top, with only a few flagstones between them and the pool that held Mythal’s knowledge. 

They stared around themselves at the ruins of the temple, though their eyes were drawn back always to the pool. As they gathered at the edge, Solas drew close to the water and stared down into it, then turned suddenly. “Do not touch it,” he warned them. “Do not drink of it. You cannot understand the danger here.”

Fenris gave him a smile before he turned to Abelas and then the others. “That’s not what Mythal said for me to do. Why do you claim it’s such a danger?”

Meneris and Dorian looked at each other then to Solas, curious as to why he was so sure it would be dangerous. “Yes, and while you’re at it, explain why you were so furious with our First Enchanter.” 

“You cannot know what forces you are dealing with here,” said Solas as he drew himself up. “There is more here than meets the eye. He has ensnared a spirit; one he should never have touched, much less enslaved like this! You cannot imagine the torment of an elven spirit bound to that of a mere human! To take such a being and entrap them within mortal flesh - it is wrong, a great sacrilege and travesty!”

Anders ignored the impassioned words of the elven mage as he studied the clear waters of the pool. He sat down to one side, staring at the pool as he began to slowly tug loose the laces and buckles of his old, worn boots.

Fenris glared at Solas, much as Abelas and Meneris were doing as the mage ranted. “Do not speak of enslavement to me, nor act as if Anders is some maleficar that snagged the first unwitting spirit he could. Stop this foolishness and let us do what Mythal has commanded.”

“You have no idea what Mythal wishes; you are all but children here,” retorted Solas as he threw up his hands and turned away. “This is a sacred place; these humans should never have been allowed to set foot here! You have no idea what you are despoiling with your very presence!”

“I’m sure if Mythal had an issue with the presence of Anders, Hawke and myself, she’d be capable of doing something about it herself,” drawled Dorian as he rolled his eyes. “Presumably, as Abelas and his companions have led us here, Mythal has no such objection.”

Anders had set aside his boots and rose to shrug off his robes, leaving himself clad only in his pants and shirt. He rolled up the hem of his pants legs then turned to look for Fenris.

Meneris had gotten in Solas’ face as the bald elf made the mistake of disparaging his lover; before Fenris could leap back into the argument, Anders caught his hand and led him towards the pool.

“Trust me,” the mage said gently, his voice soft and lilting; and the objection died upon Fenris’ lips as Anders led him slowly into the pool.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythal has her way and gets her due. Zevran is in crisis and Fenris ...well he's got new things to deal with after the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: threesome, light D/s

As Fenris stepped into the pool, the water was cool and pleasant against his skin through his leggings. The water rose to his waist as Anders led him deeper in, towards the centre of the pool. A calm, gentle smile played across the mage’s lips, his eyes light gold as he held Fenris’ gaze; the argument of the Inquisitor and the elven mage became a mere background whisper.

As they reached the deepest point, Anders halted and released Fenris’ hands. He dipped down and scooped water in his hands, then held it out to Fenris. 

“Drink, and do not be afraid,” he said softly; and in his light voice, Fenris heard Llyria.

The elven warrior dipped his head to drink, he had no fear from Llyria or her host. He closed his eyes as he drank of the pool, ignoring the bickering behind them, his only stray thought was how sweet and cool the water was as he swallowed.

As he straightened, Anders bent and scooped up more water; his hands were glowing bright blue as he carefully let the water in his hands pour over Fenris’ head; then he set his hands upon Fenris’ shoulders and the elf felt the warm, soothing touch of healing magic slowly flooding through him. He felt a little dizzy, light-headed - almost euphoric. He could hear Llyria’s voice in his head, though Anders’ lips never moved. He slowly realised she was whispering to him in ancient elvhen - and he understood it, every word. She was whispering to him the history of Arlathan, of the Warriors of Light; and suddenly everything made sense in a way it never had before. He finally understood what it was to be Mythal’s Chosen.

“Stop! Stop, what are you doing - no, this is sacrilege, how dare you!” screeched Solas. “You profane the waters!”

Abelas put his arm out to keep the mage from his ranting. “Did you not hear me before mage? He is chose of Her and has every right to be in the waters of her knowledge. You will not disrupt them, or I shall bloody her waters with your life.” 

Meneris and Hawke gawked at the two elves, surprised at how vehemently Solas objected, and at Abelas’ expression. They then turned to see Fenris with the most peaceful look on his face either had seen while Anders lit them both in the healing glow of his power. Anders’ eyes were closed, a serene smile upon his face as his magic flowed into Fenris; a light silvery blue that illumined them both.

Zevran lingered by the edge of the pool, watching incredulously. 

Solas snarled, his lip curling, wolflike as he cursed almost silently in elvhen. “You will rue this day,” he muttered. “There will be a reckoning for this. You have no idea what you’ve done - none of you!”

Anders’ eyes finally opened as the light died away, and he smiled at Fenris. “It is done,” he said quietly, as Fenris’ brands lit up.

Something was different about the brands; that much was instantly clear. The lines which had been deformed by the red templars’ attempts to strip it from his body were smooth and unmarred, restored to their original configuration; and slender additional lines seemed to glow beneath Fenris’ skin, curling out between certain lines and connecting others in a delicate tracery that no human art could have matched. His skin was no longer inflamed or scarred around the brands, and there were light, delicate additional lines upon Fenris’ face about his eyes and forehead that had not been there before. The three dots upon his forehead were now joined in a v-shape.

Anders’ hands fell from Fenris’ shoulders and he blinked as though only slowly becoming aware of their surroundings.

Fenris opened his eyes and gave Anders a brilliant smile. “It’s done...you’ve, you both healed me and told me what to do.” He stared at his arms as if he was seeing himself for the first time before he turned to check his reflection. “I’m whole once more, and changed...by Her.”

Anders put a hand to his forehead. “I... I can’t feel you any more,” he said slowly. “The bond... it’s gone.”

“But...that’s, what does it mean?” Fenris asked as he faced his mage, a slight frown when he realized he could not feel Anders either.

“It’s... I guess you truly are fixed?” said Anders. “The lyrium is bound truly now, and... I guess that part of my life force that I used before is... it’s returned to me?”

“I hope so.” Fenris grinned before he pulled Anders down for a kiss and a word of thanks to Mythal. “Guess I’m truly touched now, huh?” he laughed. 

Anders grinned. “You’re you,” he replied. “Oh Maker -” He checked himself then blushed. “I should say, oh Mythal, shouldn’t I? This is... this has rather turned my world view a bit upside down,” he confessed as he looked down at Fenris.

“You... are not the only one,” said Zevran as he sat down suddenly and somewhat gracelessly. He put a hand to his forehead.

Fenris ran over in time to catch Zevran before the former Crow tipped over, nearly landing on his face. “Carissimi?” 

Hawke and Meneris had their hands full arguing with Solas as he continued to rant about the sacrilege done until Meneris had enough of him. “I’ve heard enough of your complaining. You think yourself above other elves, you act as if the Dalish, my people are nothing more than lost children clinging to a past they don’t understand. Shut your damned mouth unless it’s to say we’re under attack or to apologize. Creators above and bloody Dumat below you are an insufferable prick!” 

As both men lifted their hands as though to take their fight into something physical, Anders’ voice rang out, loud and clear.

“You will not profane this sacred place with violence! There will be no bloodshed here; Mythal commands you to cease. _Now._ ”

Everyone turned to stare at the blond mage, who still stood in the centre of the pool, hands upraised before him, his eyes ablaze with power as unseen eddies and curls of wind stirred his hair.

Zevran stared at Anders as though he looked upon the Creators themselves; and perhaps he did - or one, at least, as they stared at the mage now possessed by some higher being. Zevran’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped in Fenris’ arms, everything suddenly becoming too much for the Antivan assassin. Fenris let Zevran stretch out before he rose to enforce Mythal’s edict. “I dare say neither of you will provoke Her anger by making this into more than words? Not here, not now. We need to activate the eluvian and return to Skyhold before Calpernia’s forces make it here. Abelas, will you aid us further?”

Meneris glared at Solas for a drawn out moment but finally let his hands drop to audible sighs of relief around him. Hawke had scooped up Zevran as he waited to see what Solas would do.

The bald elf had lowered his hands and turned to face Anders. He had a strange expression upon his face; regret, remorse, and a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he bowed towards Anders, who had lowered his hands.

“Forgive me my trespass, my Lady,” the elf said softly. “I forgot myself.”

“You are forgiven, old friend,” said Anders quietly, a serene smile upon his face as he walked towards them through the water. Solas reached to take the mage’s hands as Anders stepped from the pool; the moment he stood on dry land, the blond mage’s face went blank, and then his knees crumpled as his eyes rolled back. Solas caught him deftly and gently laid him down, folding Anders’ hands upon his chest.

“Hands off him.” Fenris snarled as he came to his lover’s aid. 

“Dorian help Fenris with him, and hopefully one of you can activate that damned mirror.” Meneris said as he turned to Abelas, hopeful he would join them.

“We would welcome you and your forces in the fight against Corypheus.” he offered.

Solas had moved back as Fenris dropped to one knee next to the unconscious mage. Dorian moved to crouch down next to them.

“I hope you know how to activate the eluvian,” confided the Tevinter Altus. “Because I haven’t the faintest clue, I’m afraid.”

Abelas nodded to Meneris. “Our duty here is done; this much Mythal has shown me. We will join you; this Corypheus is an evil such as has not been seen in Thedas since the fall of Arlathan.”

“If Abelas cannot, perhaps I can? Something has changed with me and my markings, I don’t know if it will help but I can try.” Fenris said as he tapped Anders face to get him to open his eyes.

Anders groaned faintly and turned his face away before slowly opening his eyes. “Where am I? What’s happened?” he asked dazedly, confused. “Why am I on the ground?”

“You collapsed after healing me and ...warning off those two from fighting. Can you stand? We need to activate the eluvian and go.” Fenris asked. Anders slowly sat up with Dorian’s help and considered Fenris’ question for a moment then nodded.

“I think so,” he said. “I don’t remember anything after healing you. It’s all just a blank from that point.”

“I’ll fill you in when we’re back. Hawke has Zevran, Solas is sulking and Abelas will join us. I think we got what we needed here, let’s go.” Fenris helped him to his feet and gave Dorian a nod. “I can practically hear you thinking Pavus, we can talk about the change in my markings later, much later.” 

There was a sudden stir amongst the elven warriors. “They have broken through to the temple!” one of them shouted.

“Maker - the others!” exclaimed Anders. “Hal, Iron Bull, the rest of them - we left them behind!”

“They’ll be fine, the other warriors will get them out and fight with them. Abelas, can you call them to us?” Fenris asked 

Abelas turned to one of the warriors. “Get to the others. Order them to withdraw with the strangers and go with them to -” He turned and frowned. “Where did you say we shall travel to? Sky...?”

“Skyhold,” said Anders. He glanced to Meneris. “Bull can lead them back, can’t he?”

“Yes Skyhold, old elven fortress in the mountains. Bull and the Chargers will get your people there.” Meneris said right before he scowled at the tall blonde magistra making her way to them. 

“Go!” commanded the warrior. “Tell them to follow Bull to Skyhold.”

The warrior disappeared swiftly as the other elven warriors moved to block the woman who carried her staff in her hand, red flames flickering and dancing about her other hand.

“Well, well, well. Quite the gathering we have here,” she remarked, her voice harsh and strident.

“Calpernia,” said Dorian as he left Fenris to handle Anders and moved forward to stand in front of the others.

“Dorian?” she replied, a small frown upon her face. “What foolishness is this? I always knew you were softhearted and a fool for lost causes. Gereon taught you nothing I see.”

“And did you learn nothing from your master Erasthenes, Calpernia?” asked Dorian gently. “You of all people should understand that things are rarely as they seem. Do you not know what Corypheus did to him?”

“Erasthenes?” said Calpernia, startled. “What of him? I left him long ago.”

“He was good to you, as masters go, was he not?” said Dorian gently. “The life of a slave is hard, I know, but Erasthenes was a better master than most, yes?”

“He was, but - why do you speak of him? He matters not! I am more powerful now than even he!” said Calpernia, drawing herself up.

“You do not know what Corypheus has done to Erasthenes,” said Dorian urgently. “He bound and betrayed him, possessing him - as he will do to you also.”

“How do you know this?” exclaimed Calpernia. Dorian glanced back at Anders, then grimaced. 

“Before we left Skyhold, I received word. Two magisters had been assassinated for speaking out against the Venatori... and Magister Erasthenes had gone missing. We returned from the Hissing Wastes to a report from our scouts; they had found... what was left of Erasthenes.” His expression turned sad and sympathetic. “I am sorry, Calpernia. But if you remain with the Venatori - if you stay with Corypheus, he will do the same to you. He will betray you, as he betrays all.”

“Prove it,” said Calpernia sharply. “Why should I believe what you say? You’re just as bad as every altus I ever met - why should I believe you?”

Dorian reached inside his tunic and pulled out a scroll. “Here, read it for yourself,” he said darkly. “I was given this by the scouts.”

She snatched it from him, and her eyes scanned the first few lines, her eyes widening. “This... this is a ritual. To bind....” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dumat take me... it is true. He used this to bind Erasthenes.”

“I’m afraid so,” nodded Dorian. “Calpernia... come with us. We have Samson. It is not too late to put right what you’ve done.”

She stared down at the scroll, then up at Dorian, who held a hand towards her.

“No,” she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. “I will confront him.”

“Calpernia -”

“No. You must go,” she said firmly. “We will leave the temple to you and withdraw.” She grinned briefly. “You have earned yourself a respite, Inquisitor. Use it well.” She turned and stalked away, calling the red templars to her.

Meneris watched her go then gave a grateful smile to Dorian. “That silver tongue of yours came in handy today. Let’s go home.” 

Dorian nodded. “Thank the Maker, the Creators and every god that ever existed that Harding gave me that parchment - and that I kept it on me,” he replied. “I’m not sure why I did - only that it might prove useful; thankfully it did.”

“I’ll be sure to raise a flagon to Mythal and the rest of the Creators tonight. Abelas, gather your troops; we can go through the Eluvian with Calpernia’s withdrawal.” Meneris turned to find Fenris giving Dorian an odd look but he’d worry about it later.

Abelas strode towards his warriors, calling them together as Anders turned towards the eluvian. Zevran was standing groggily with Hawke’s help, one hand rubbing at his forehead.

“Easy there Zev, let’s get you home yeah?” Hawke said as he glanced down to see Morrigan, Bull and the others making their way up to them. “Thank ...Mythal we don’t have to figure out how to activate this damned thing.”

Dorian moved up to stand beside them as Hal sprinted up the hill towards them, his eyes wide with alarm. 

“Fenris! Tell me you’re all alright?” he shouted as he spotted the group. “The red templars overran us - we had to retreat, we thought -” He came to a halt, out of breath and panting as he stared at the white-haired elf, his eyes widening further. “Your - your markings, they’re different!”

“I’m fine Hal, and yes...I...guess I am a bit different now.” He gave the young mage a hug before he stepped back to address Morrigan. “If you would be so kind Lady Morrigan, so we can all go back to the Keep?” he gestured at the eluvian behind them, hopeful she wouldn’t argue or make a fuss over the changes to him. 

Morrigan regarded him with a thoughtful look. “There is an interesting tale to be told here, I see, and a pretty little mystery. But our curiosity can hold for now,” she mused. “Stand back whilst I open the way.” She moved forward towards the eluvian and gestured.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then suddenly the glass went dark. Swirling lights and mist could be seen deep within the darkness, and then the black swirled away like vanishing mist to show the room of the eluvian back in Skyhold. Morrigan stepped back and gestured grandly to Meneris to enter.

“Thank the Creators for an easy way home.” He said as he entered, followed by everyone, with Solas lingering at the back, his gaze going to Mythal’s pool often until he was called none too gently by the Inquisitor. 

“I’d leave you there but who knows what havoc you’d wreak left to your own devices. Let’s get you back here, now Solas.” Meneris said.

Solas gave the pool one last look of wistful longing, then gave Morrigan a distrustful look before passing through the mirror. She merely smirked.

**

Anders had retreated straight to his room the moment it seemed polite to do so, declaring he was exhausted and needed a couple of hours’ sleep, but not before having elicited a promise from Hawke to come wake him in time for dinner. Zevran had expressed a wish to go fall over shortly afterwards; the Antivan had seemed groggy and out of sorts ever since recovering from his faint by the pool, and still looked rather paler than usual and not entirely with it, as though slightly in shock.

Fenris wanted to go with Zevran but he was beset by Dorian and Hal about his markings and what he’d experienced at the temple. Though he wanted to be irritated, he felt better than he had in a long while so he indulged them as long as he could before he feigned exhaustion and headed right to his room, hoping to talk with Zevran while Hawke held court in their absence. 

Meneris had declared he was taking a long bath and if anyone other than Dorian came to his door until dinner, there would be murder. 

Solas had stalked away like an indignant cat, all stiff back and haughty demeanor, no doubt to disappear to his rotunda to be alone with his books, his painting and his foul temper. Morrigan had continued to smirk at him until he was gone, before disappearing off to her own guest quarters.

Anders was so deeply asleep when Hawke knocked at his door that the former Champion had to enter his room and then gently shake him for some minutes before he slowly awoke; Hawke was beginning to think he might have to use a Rejuvenate on him until Anders finally opened his eyes.

“Hey love, you still up for some dinner?” Hawke asked as he watched the other mage wake up slowly.

“Hmm? Oh, yes - sorry, I did ask, didn’t I?” Anders sat up, still blinking groggily. “I think I was dreaming, though what it was about I cannot for the life of me remember now.”

“Good dreams I hope, you deserve it after all that we’ve been dealing with. You remember anything about healing Fenris?” Vic offered him a cool flannel to freshen up with as he waited.

“Yes, I remember that part,” said Anders as he accepted the flannel. “Oh, thank you love. It’s the bit after that which I can’t really remember. It’s just a blank - as though I fainted straight afterwards, though given that I didn’t wake up feeling half-drowned then I’m guessing I must have fainted out of the pool rather than in it?”

“Yeah, Solas and Meneris were about to go toe-to-toe and your...passenger stopped them. Then you collapsed.” Vic leaned in for a brief kiss, glad they were alright. “Just glad you and Fenris are ok, I think my heart damn near stopped when you two lit up.”

“When we got to the pool, I just... knew what we needed to do,” shrugged Anders. “My spirit, I guess. It’s strange - we feel far more... complete than I ever did with Justice. Maybe it’s because she was the first healing spirit that came to me, back when my magic first started showing. She’s always been there, so I suppose in a way we were already in tune.” His expression turned wistful and sad. “If it had been that way with Justice, things could have been so different. Maybe Ella wouldn’t have died.”

“Don’t go down that path, it is lined with regret. Believe me I know all too well about would have, should have. Come on, let’s get you fed and then we can spend the night together, maybe get Fenris and Zev to join us in a couple of days when Zevran doesn’t seem to have gotten the shock of his life.”

Anders frowned as he rose from the bed and moved to the wardrobe to pick out clean clothes. “What happened to Zevran? I noticed he seemed even more out of it than I was, but not why.” He fingered the dark blue damask of an Orlesian set of robes Vivienne had gifted him, then tugged them out and laid them on the bed.

“I don’t know. If I had to guess, seeing his lover speak with deities may have been more than he could take?” Hawke shrugged as he fingered the fine robes as Anders washed up. “Seems the Iron Lady has thawed towards you, if these robes are anything to go by.”

“Funnily enough, being made First Enchanter - and thus her equal in terms of rank - seems to have changed her opinion of me on a lot of matters, though I think it was just before the siege that she started changing. She was against the whole idea of the college at first - she was really set upon bringing back the Circle - but she’s gradually come around to it as it’s proven itself. I think being involved in planning and teaching helped there.” Anders smiled a little. “I don’t think she and I are ever likely to sit down over a beer in the Herald’s Rest together, but... I think we work well together. You should have heard her after Cullen used Smite on me. I think she was probably the most outraged one in the college - she beat Leliana for sheer vitriol.”

“Hmph, interesting. I still don’t know what to make of her however. She strikes me as fickle when it suits her aims. Be careful of her love, alright? I know Fenris doesn’t trust her at all, especially since she’s been nice to you. I think she reminds him too much of magistras he knew in the Imperium. I’m still shocked he’s friendly with Dorian.” Vic waited until Anders was done before he took a moment to freshen up as well.

“That still surprises me too,” Anders confessed. “though I’m glad he is - it does make life so much simpler now he’s not constantly at the throat of the Inquisitor’s partner - who happens to be one of my colleagues now and a rather good teacher in the college. We seriously have no-one else who can touch him for his sheer grasp of magic theory.”

“Regardless, it...makes me a bit annoyed considering how he flagellated me over my dalliance. Yes, it comes to mind on occasion, I’ve gotten better but I’m still human.” Vic sighed as he watched Anders dress. “Don’t mind me, I’m just tired and hungry.”

Anders tightened the sash belt of his over-robe then crossed to Hawke and wrapped his arms around him, claiming his lips for a long, smouldering kiss until they both had to part for breath. “It’s over and past now, love,” he reminded him gently. “Come on, I’m starving. If we don’t get dinner soon, I’m likely to keel over again from sheer starvation.” He winked to show he wasn’t entirely serious.

“I know, I know love. Just being insecure for a moment where it’s safe to do so.” Vic returned his kiss until he needed air again then took Anders’ hand to lead him to the dining hall. 

***

Fenris had gotten away from Dorian and Hal eventually to find, to his surprise, that Zevran had picked his bed to fall asleep in rather than his own. He was quietly pleased, though concerned about the other elf. He’d napped with him, not really tired as such, until it was time to wake Zevran for dinner. Zevran seemed very quiet and withdrawn when he awoke, excusing himself to go wash in the bathing chamber. He returned a short while later, cold water dripping from his damp hair as he made his way to the side table and reached for the nearest bottle of wine.

Fenris took the bottle away gently and tipped Zevran’s chin up so they were eye to eye. “What is it? You’ve been withdrawn and eerily silent since the temple of Mythal.” 

Zevran made a futile attempt to reach the bottle and take it back, before giving up and turning away. He sat down at the table, his face turned away and hidden by his hair. “You will think me foolish,” he said quietly.

Fenris folded his arms and looked to his lover with a smile. “Zev, why would I ever think you foolish?”

Zevran dropped his gaze to the ground. “Nevertheless, perhaps in this you will think me the fool,” he said quietly.

The Tevinter elf knelt before his lover and gave him a reassuring smile. “Zevran, we’ve literally hopped between worlds, fought demons, we’ve done a lot of unbelievable things together and separately. I doubt there is anything that make me see you as a fool. Talk to me, remember it’s what we agreed to so we didn’t keep fighting?”

Zevran slowly nodded. “I remember,” he agreed, then sighed. “Fenris, I have always thought myself a pragmatist. Romantic on occasion, yes - but at heart I have been a realist. It is necessary when one is in the line of work of killing for a living, yes? Talk of gods - of the Maker, Andraste, Creators - they are all very good I am sure for others, but they were only fairytales that people told themselves to comfort themselves during dark nights, no?” He sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. “And now... I do not know what to believe. Have I now looked upon a goddess, heard her voice through Anders? Or was it merely some deception by a capricious spirit, possessing our friend for its own ends? And yet... you are healed.” 

He lifted his head. “ _Carissimi_ , something happened there that I do not understand. And... I am afraid. If that was truly Mythal, then everything I have always believed is a lie. And if the myths of the Creators are true... then where does that leave a lowly assassin such as myself?” He regarded Fenris with troubled eyes.

“You are not a lowly assassin, stop that.” Fenris said before he pulled Zevran to his arms and held him. “Sometimes….things just have to be taken on faith my heart. You know what you saw, yet you cannot accept it, or it’s shaken what you believe to no end, am I right?”

Zevran nodded his head. “My mother died when I was very young, but I know she was Dalish. I was not raised to believe in any god. I do not know what to think of what I saw. It is... outside of anything I have ever experienced or understood.” He smiled a little wanly. “It is perhaps rather late for me to suddenly be concerned about the state of my soul, but there it is. I do not think the way I have lived my life would find much favour with the Creators. My soul is too stained with the blood of the lives I have taken and the things which I have done. Each life I have taken has taken a little piece of my soul with it, I sometimes feel, and I wonder if there is anything left that Mythal would deem worth troubling over.”

Fenris kissed him slow, easy before he pulled back and sat before him on the floor. “I was...trained to believe that the Maker thought me beyond redemption, that my place in life was to serve. I had no connection to the Dalish, as far as I know. My mother...was always a slave, but I know not of my father. I knew of the Creators, even hoped sometimes they were real and would save me when I was enslaved. I don’t know if I truly ever had faith or if it was beaten into me. Regardless, you saw what you saw and you know I and Anders are here and whole again. If nothing else, can you accept that and not let the rest destroy you?” 

Zevran clung to Fenris’ hands. “I can but try, my heart,” he said softly. “This is... difficult for me. I have rarely troubled myself to consider what might be out there beyond this mortal existence, save when deep in my cups or close to death - at which point, it seemed almost futile to worry, for what would come, would come, yes? But... _carissimi_ , if I have truly heard the voice of a goddess....” He closed his eyes. “I feel such fear and uncertainty as I have rarely felt, my heart. This... I do not understand it, and men fear that which they do not understand.”

“Do you fear me? I am Hers Zevran, and I know She spoke with me. Does that worry you?” Fenris asked quietly.

“A little, my love,” Zevran confessed softly. “I do not know how I will face Anders. You are her Chosen - but she spoke _through_ him. I am worried about you - but I think perhaps I am afraid now of him.”

“Do not fear him, or Her. She is gentle and kind, and if I can be found worthy of Her protection you have nothing to fear my heart.” Fenris pulled Zev to the rug with him, and carded his fingers through the other elf’s blond hair as he pondered what to say. 

“You know Anders is a healer by nature, gentle and one who saves lives. Do you think She would make him change his very self, even if She spoke through him?”

“I do not know,” said Zevran. “How can I know what is in the power of a goddess? She healed you through him, and you are changed - and I do not know what she may have done to him. Mortals are not meant for such things!” He clutched at his hair. “I do not want to think on this; it will drive me mad. Wine - I need wine; I cannot bear to think on this further. I am not used to being - to being tormented like this. I do not like this, _carissimi_ \- I am lost, as though I had set my foot upon a missing step and I am falling.”

Fenris didn’t stop Zevran when he went for the wine again, he simply sighed and rose as well. “Forgive me, I did not mean to distress you. Will you join me for dinner please? I would like your company carissimi.”

Zevran strode to the side table and snatched up the bottle, opening it swiftly with the tip of a dagger. He glanced at the glass then ignored it in favour of drinking directly from the bottle. He had downed half before he lowered it finally, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before finally he nodded. “I will go with you, my heart.”

“May I have a kiss, I fear that I have upset you when I merely tried to help ease your worry.” Fenris realized he was a tad bit taller than before, he couldn’t always see so far over the top of the other elf’s head. He said nothing as he waited for Zevran’s answer.

Instead of speaking, Zevran set aside the bottle and walked slowly back to join Fenris. He tilted his face up for the kiss, then frowned, a little confused. He had to rise up on tiptoe to reach Fenris; he flung his arms around the warrior’s neck and closed his eyes as Fenris bent down to kiss him. When finally they parted, Zevran looked up at Fenris, confused. “ _Carissimi_... are you wearing new boots?” he asked, puzzled. “You were not so tall before, I swear.”

“No...I’m not wearing boots at all.” Fenris replied as he looked down to his lover. “I guess more than my markings changed?” 

Zevran’s eyes widened and he snatched back his arms, backing away swiftly from the other elf. “What else?” he whispered. “No - no, no, I... no, this is too much. I cannot - _carissimi_ , forgive me, I can’t - can’t -”

“Don’t ...please Zevran, please don’t pull away from me. I can’t, I need you.” Fenris approached the other elf only to have the Antivan back away like a scared cat. “Zev?” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” whispered Zevran, shrinking away until his back was pressed against the wall. He flattened himself against the wall and turned his face away.

“Do you want me to get someone then since I frighten you now?” Fenris asked as he backed up to the door, crushed at how Zevran had turned from him.

“Sorry, I am sorry - _mi dispiace, mi dispiace!_ ” breathed Zevran, slipping back into Antivan without realising it.

“ _Lo siento, es bien mi cariadad._ ” Fenris replied before he slipped from his room and headed down the hall.

At a loss for who to turn to, Fenris found himself climbing the stairs up to Leliana’s rookery. She was an old friend of Zevran’s, after all; perhaps if anyone in Skyhold might be able to reach the distressed assassin, it might be her.

Leliana was busy with a stack of reports when one of her staff let Fenris in; she glanced up at him and arched one eyebrow - her only outward sign of surprise at being visited by him, of all people.

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t know where else to seek help. Zevran...he, he needs help I cannot give him. I know you two were.... companions, friends perhaps, from your time together with the Warden, and I thought....” Fenris bowed his head, crossed his arms behind his back and waited, half expecting her to tell him to go.

Leliana’s eyebrow arched a little higher. “Zevran? What is wrong with him?” She rose from her desk and set aside her quill.

“It is a crisis...of belief. He is having trouble with what happened at the temple of Mythal and in the changes that have happened to me. I only upset him further when I tried to talk of it. I beg your help, but I understand if you will not aid me.” Fenris looked up to note he now was a bit taller than her as well and sighed.

The change in his height was not lost on Leliana either, to judge from the way her eyes narrowed before flicking down to his feet then back up to his hair before settling on his gaze. “Hmm,” was all she said. She inclined her head slightly towards him, then gestured towards the door. “By all means, let us go find Zevran and I shall see what I can do.”

“He is in my room, I don’t think he wishes to see me right now. The door should be unlocked.” Fenris gave her a nod of thanks, but didn’t move to leave until she did.

She gave him another measuring look then opened the door and headed down through the tower. She turned down the corridor that led to Fenris’ rooms; though Fenris was now taller than the spymaster, he still found himself having to almost trot a little to keep up. He lingered by the door as she entered and made her way across the room to where Zevran had slid down to sit against the wall, downing a bottle of wine; the first bottle rolled empty by his feet.

Leliana crouched down to talk to him, her voice low. Zevran replied, his answer too quiet for Fenris to catch, and then Zevran laughed - a sharp, almost hysterical sound that had Fenris wincing.

The Tevinter elf covered his mouth so he wouldn’t let Zevran hear him, it was bad enough someone else was seeing his lover brought so low. He remained silent so Leliana could get through to him.

Zevran was weeping softly now; he was saying something indistinctly, his voice slurred by wine, but after the first two or three repetitions Fenris realised what he was saying.

“I don’t know him. I do not know him anymore, Leliana! I just... I do not know him!” The Antivan swiped at the tears that ran down his face with the back of his hand, then took another swig of his bottle.

Leliana murmured something, and he pulled away roughly. “No! I do not wish to be sober. I have had enough - _finito_ , do you understand me? No more! I do not wish to think. I do not wish to be awake!”

Leliana said something sharply, and then Zevran began to cry brokenly. “Please - the wine, at least leave me the wine,” he begged. “I do not know him and I cannot... Leliana, it is too much!”

Fenris left the room and slid against the wall, his hands over his face as he tried to not fall apart in the hallway. Zevran’s pain was too much for him.

“Come,” Leliana’s voice carried to him. “That’s it. One foot after the other. You need rest.”

“Where are we going?” Zevran replied, his voice soft and breaking, exhausted.

“To the rookery. You can lie down and sleep there. I have reports to finish; no-one will disturb you. We will talk after you have slept.”

“Very well,” said Zevran in the hopeless tone of one who had reached his limit and given up.

Fenris didn’t move, or even breathe when they went by, he waited until they were out of sight before he straightened his bed, then yanked the sheets off to put new ones on, and curled up to sleep. He didn’t have the strength to deal with anyone else, nor his own worries. 

***

Zevran and Fenris were missed at dinner; the inner circle dined together with Meneris at the head table, the two empty chairs conspicuous by virtue of their missing occupants.

“Have you spoken to either of them? Fenris made it sound like he was going to gnaw his own arm off if he didn’t eat soon when I saw him.” Hawke frowned at the two empty chairs, his own sense of worry climbing in this throat.

Anders glanced at the empty chairs, his expression troubled. “Without the bond, I have no idea what he’s feeling or what’s wrong,” he said. “Maybe they’re asleep?”

“I don’t think so. You know how Fenris gets when he is hungry, he wouldn’t miss a meal and no one has said he’s had food sent to his room. I’ll check on him, I just feel like something is wrong.” Hawke said softly.

Hal glanced up from his own plate. “Maybe there’s something wrong with Zevran?” he suggested. “He seemed rather out of it earlier.”

“There’s a lot wrong with Zevran, I suspect,” said the Bull. “He looked like a man wrestling with some big questions - and like he didn’t enjoy the likely answers one bit.” He looked thoughtful.

“Possibly but he’d at least have sent for a meal to be sent to his room, he hasn't’ done that. I’ll be back, I’m going to check on them.” Vic gave Anders a kiss on the cheek before he headed for their lover’s rooms. He found the door shut but not locked, which was odd if neither elf was there. 

“Fen?”

There was a faint sound from within; after a moment, there came a rather muffled, “Go away.”

“Why should I go away Fenris? You’ve been healed, and you and Anders lost that bond that was driving you spare. What happened?” Vic asked as he shut the door and approached slowly.

Fenris’ head appeared from beneath the down comforter and he glared half-heartedly at the mage.

“Zevran,” he said succinctly.

“I need a bit more than that love. What exactly happened with Zevran to have you in here alone and brooding.” Hawke said as he stopped in the center of the room.

Fenris regarded him for a moment then threw off the covers, rising from the bed to walk over to confront Hawke, staring him in the eye. It took the mage a moment or two to realise what was different; as he saw Hawke’s eyes suddenly widen in realisation, Fenris nodded.

“You see it?” he said quietly. “Zevran is not taking my... changes... at all well. I fear he has reached the limit of what he could deal with and I....” He turned away with a grimace. “I could not comfort him. He is... alarmed, afraid of me. And I could not send for Anders; he is terrified of him. He has gone with Leliana; I can only pray she can bring him out of his present hysteria.”

“Why would he be afraid of either of you? I don’t understand.” Hawke wasn’t trying to be obtuse, he really couldn’t get why Zevran would fear anyone let alone his lover and friend.

Fenris sighed as he ran a hand through his hair; with a start, Hawke suddenly realised Fenris’ hair was brushing past his shoulders to fall down his back, though the elf seemed oblivious to this. 

“Zevran has never had any faith to speak of, from what I understand,” said Fenris as he began slowly to pace. “Not the Maker, not the Creators - nothing at all. Being suddenly confronted by the undoubtable existence of Mythal has rather broken his worldview and he... did not take it well. I am the Chosen of Mythal - and Anders was, at least briefly, possessed by Mythal Herself, right in front of his very eyes. Zevran can no longer deny the existence of one god, at least - and it troubles him greatly. Coming on top of everything else... well.” Fenris waved a hand helplessly, and turned to face Hawke. He frowned.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Uhm...well, you realize you are staring me in the eye now? And your hair, it’s braided but still brushing past your shoulders, it’s probably mid way down your back once you take it down. You’ve changed quite a bit, and it’s ...I can see why he might have freaked out a bit.” Vic admitted.

Fenris stared at Hawke in disbelief then whirled to go stare at himself in the mirror in the corner, pulling one of his braids forwards to stare at it. He stared at his reflection then turned and hurried back to Hawke, pressing himself against the mage as he stared up at the top of Hawke’s head and then placed his hand upon the top of his own head before measuring himself against Hawke and realised that they were very close in height - less than an inch difference, Hawke only slightly taller. 

He suddenly realised that he must be quite likely the equal of Anders in height; he turned away in stunned amazement. He had always been tall for an elf but this was unheard of.

“Abelas,” he suddenly realised. “He is your equal in height, is he not?” He turned back to Hawke.

“I think so, he didn’t exactly stand there for me to compare. Are you going to be alright?” Vic asked as he watched Fenris carefully.

“I... do not know,” said Fenris, looking slightly stunned. “No wonder he seemed so afraid of me. I heard him tell Leliana that he did not know me, and I cannot fault him for that.” He returned to the mirror and pulled the braid forward again; somewhat distractedly, he began to undo it, loosening the strands with his fingers.

“Love? Stop that, it took me a while to braid that. Come here and let me undo it properly if you want it down.” Vic wasn’t sure if he should approach Fenris or let him continue to unravel.

Fenris turned away from the mirror and moved to the side table, pouring himself a glass of wine before he sat down at the table. “Please,” he asked Hawke. “I... I need to see just how far it has grown. This... I do not understand. What has happened to me? Mythal did not reveal this to me; nor did Llyria. She said nothing of any physical change.”

“Alright, sit on the floor in front of your bed, bring the wine and I’ll take care of it.” Hawke let Fenris get settled between his legs before he undid the braids he’d put in just a few days before they’d breached the temple. He finished quickly, his eyes widened a bit at how far down his lover’s hair landed against his back. It fell in loose, snow-white waves to just below halfway down Fenris’ back, and Hawke knew that once the braid-waves smoothed out it would be longer still.

Fenris twitched as he felt the hair brush his arm a little above the back of his elbow, and Hawke knew from the way the elf went still then abruptly stiffened that he had mentally compared how long his hair had been whilst they were in the Arbor Wilds to how long it was now.

“What does this mean?” Fenris asked quietly. “Am I now become one of the Arlathan elves of old? Has Mythal... _remade_ me?”

His head suddenly whipped round as he stared up at Hawke, a thought occurring to him. “Anders! Has he - is there any change in him? Mythal possessed him, however briefly - has She wrought any change in him, or only in me?”

“I...I have not seen such changes in him Fenris. I think it’s just you that has changed, I’m sorry my heart.” Vic didn’t know what to do for him, worried as he was for the look in his lover’s eyes.

Fenris turned away again, and stared at the ground, his thoughts awhirl. Slowly, he nodded. “Now, I understand Zevran’s fear and distress,” he said quietly. “And I find I... cannot fault him for that. It hurt, when he shrank away from me, so afraid - but I cannot say I would not have done the same in his shoes.” He glanced at the barely-touched glass of wine by his feet, then reached for the glass and steadily downed it to steady his nerves and regain his composure.

“What do you need right now Fenris? Do you want to join me and Anders tonight? Not be alone with this on your mind?” Vic rested his hands on the elven warrior’s shoulders lightly so he’d know he wasn’t alone.

Fenris pondered the offer for a moment, then nodded. “Zevran is safe with Leliana,” he answered. “And I do not wish to be alone.”

“Come on then, I’ll have something sent to our room and you can relax there. If Anders isn’t back, I’ll send for him.” Vic helped him up, sure to hold Fenris for a moment before he kissed him. “I love you no matter what.”

Fenris leaned into Hawke’s embrace, marvelling at how easily they fitted together even with his new gain in physical stature. It seemed so strange however to be able to rest his head upon Hawke’s shoulder whilst both men were standing.

“Come; I wish to be with you both,” said Fenris.

“Good, it’s been too long since we’ve relaxed together.” Hawke led him to his room and let Fenris get comfortable while he had food sent for. They sat together, with the elven fighter sipping wine as they waited for Anders and hopefully more food to show up.

Anders arrived shortly after the servant delivering food had departed. He opened the door and hurried in.

“Sorry, love, Vivienne waylaid me to ask a question about a course at the college and I -” He broke off and stared. “I... didn’t realise we had company, love? Where’s Fenris?”

Fenris turned around in his chair and regarded Anders without a word. Anders stared at him in return.

“Your... your hair,” he finally managed. “It’s... how is it... I’m sure it wasn’t that long before?” He glanced to Hawke for confirmation before staring back at Fenris, slowly closing the door behind himself and leaning against it whilst he took in the change in Fenris’ appearance.

Fenris got to his feet, and Anders’ eyes widened.

“Hi.” Fenris glanced down as he wrapped his arms around himself and tried to be smaller somehow.

Anders opened his mouth but was speechless. He couldn’t take his eyes off Fenris; he seemed to be held upright only by the support of the door at his back. He managed to lift a hand and wordlessly gestured at Fenris, his expression changing from shock to incomprehension.

Vic tried to get Anders attention so he could say or do something before Fenris panicked and ran out of the room. The elf seemed moments away from that or sinking into a chair so they’d stop staring at him. Perhaps Anders himself realised the effect he was having upon Fenris; he dropped his gaze to the floor, swallowing hard.

“Please excuse me,” he managed, faintly. “I’m... Just give me a moment here. I... wasn’t expecting this.”

“I’m… going to go this was a bad idea. Excuse me.” Fenris said as he waited for one of them to move out of his way. He didn’t want to shove Anders from the door but he was nearing his own meltdown at their reactions and his realization of how much he’d been changed.

Anders lifted a hand. “No... please, just - it’s been a long day, and it was just a bit of a shock is all.” He lifted his head. “Please, as you were - but I’d like a glass of wine.” He smiled hesitantly.

Fenris sat on Hawke’s bed and started to laugh, “a long...day, a long day he says. A bit… a bit of a shock!” he giggled until he fell on his side and devolved into sobbing with swears in Tevene mixed in when he took a moment to breathe.

Anders stared at him. “I’ve just had a rather drunk Dorian describing to the rest of the council at length about how I was apparently possessed by Mythal Herself, so yes - it’s been a long day and I really could use a little less hysteria. I suppose everyone’s reaction to that news made the revelation that I’m an abomination possessed by a dead elven priestess just a little easier to swallow though.” He walked over to the table and reached for the wine. “I’d have quite cheerfully have wrung Dorian’s neck for that, except I rather got the impression Meneris would do it first.”

“A little less hysteria?” Fenris snarled. “I’m almost someone else, Zevran went into hysterics and you didn’t recognize me!” 

Anders set the bottle of wine back on the table and covered his face with a hand. He stood silent for several long minutes until Fenris felt on the verge of jumping up and shaking him to make him speak; finally Anders shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m not really thinking straight right now. I think about half the templars who were in the hall were seriously trying to work out if it would be possible to make me Tranquil just through sheer willpower alone, if the looks they were giving me were anything to go by. It was... rather unnerving. To walk in and find you looking so... different....” He lifted his head and drew a deep breath. “I feel like I fell down a rabbit hole and woke up in one of Varric’s stories. I’m wondering when I’m going to wake up.”

“Make that two of us, I’m going… I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be alone but I’m not doing well right now, here either.” Fenris kept tugging at his hair as if he could shear it by force alone. 

Anders pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “This is going to take some getting used to,” he said. “I think you’re as tall as me now. That’s... hmm. That will make things interesting in all sorts of ways.”

Fenris sat back on the bed with a pillow in his arms, eyes closed as he tried to calm himself. “I’d give it back to be myself again. Zevran’s scared of me now.” he said softly.

“Zevran will come round,” said Anders gently as he glanced over at the elf. “Just give him time.”

“I hope so, I think I just want to lie down for a while, if either of you can stand to touch me now.” Fenris said as he curled up on his side, face in a pillow that smelled of Hawke as he tried to stop the breakdown he felt was coming.

Anders’ eyes flicked from Fenris to the bed, then back to Fenris before he suddenly hastily turned his attention to his cup of wine, a blush slowly stealing across his face.

Fenris was oblivious but Hawke caught the look on Anders face, and was curious as to what had him looking like that. “Something on your mind love?”

Anders kept his eyes on his cup of wine, not sure he could face Hawke and admit the thoughts that had crossed his mind suddenly. Fenris had always been heavier than he looked; the warrior was built of wiry muscle to begin with, but the weight of lyrium in his skin made him heavier still. Fenris was also far stronger than Anders, physically, even without the added advantages which the lyrium granted him. As Anders had glanced at Fenris, his mind had begun to idly try and work out how much heavier the elf must now be at his current height, not to mention his strength with the corresponding increase in muscle mass... and then he had inadvertently found himself imagining himself being pinned down to the bed beneath that weight, Fenris’ hands pinning him effortlessly, his equal in height, able to manipulate Anders however he wished and Anders helpless to resist.... And his mind had gone _there_ and he suddenly found himself unable to move for the sudden surge of interest in his groin. If he moved, he was certain the tenting of his pants beneath his robes would be screamingly obvious.

“Leave him be Hawke, just let me sleep here and I’ll go back to my room tomorrow, so neither of you have to deal with these changes. I’ll sleep on the floor if that will help.” Fenris said as he rolled over, intent on finding a chair to rest in until they fell asleep so he could go back to his room and sulk.

Anders swallowed hard. All the things he wanted to say were wildly inappropriate right now. “You - you don’t have to do that,” he finally managed. “Really. You don’t. I want to sleep with you.” It suddenly hit him a split second after the words left his mouth just exactly what he’d said.

“I don’t want a pity fuck.” Fenris groused from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

Anders turned and stared at him, then wordlessly shoved his chair back from the table and turned in his seat, tugging his robes apart to show the very obvious bulge in his pants. “Does this look like pity to you?” he asked frankly. He dropped his gaze to the floor, then abruptly tugged his robes closed. “I’m sorry. This is wildly inappropriate and I’m sure it’s the last thing you care about right now and I’m sorry and... oh fuck.” His face was bright red.

Fenris’ head snapped up and he stalked over to Anders, dropped to his knees in front of him before he pulled the mage’s robes open again. “It’s what I need, something to keep my mind, and mouth occupied.” he stared up at Anders in challenge. “Going to taunt me with that or put it to use?” 

Anders stared down at him incredulously. “Maker, I’m, I... Fenris, you could do anything you want to me right now, and I’d be powerless to stop you - and you have no idea how much that is turning me on,” he admitted. “But... are you sure you really want to do this? A moment ago you were practically falling apart. I mean - I’m willing to do whatever you want love, I just-”

Fenris’ eyes flashed silvery-white for a moment before he grinned savagely at the man before him. “Vic is going to get me ready then you’re going to fuck me until I can’t remember my name. Then I’m going to nail you to the wall.” 

Invictus was about to protest but it died in his mouth at the expression on Fenris’ face. “Ser, yes ser.” was all he said as he locked the door and got the oil ready.

Anders stared at Fenris and felt his mouth go dry at the expression on his face. He tried to make a quip about hoping the nailing would be figurative and not literal, but the words died on his tongue. He felt, truth be told, a little scared - but also even more wildly turned on than before, if that were possible.

Fenris stood up and wrapped his hand in Anders’ hair as he rose. “Get out of those damned clothes, lie on your back and Invictus is going to tie you to the bed. I think I want to ride you for a while before you get to fuck me… unless Vic takes you while I’m on top. So many possibilities running through my head right now.” 

Hawke whimpered at the visual that gave him as he started to disrobe as quickly as he could without tripping over himself.

Anders was forced to get to his feet hastily or risk Fenris ripping his hair out; his hands flew to the sash holding his outer robe closed and swiftly he tugged it loose and shed the heavy damask garment, his fingers already at work on the buttons of the under-robe as the other garment pooled at his feet. He stumbled a little as Fenris dragged him by the hair towards the bed, frantically trying to shed his clothes.

“What...whatever you want,” Anders managed as he wrestled to get the garment off, whimpering a little as his wrists were caught in the fabric of the sleeves.

Fenris let him go so he could strip, his gaze on both men full of need and fire. “Good boys, both of you.” he rumbled as he rested his hands on Anders’ waist with a leer, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Anders’ pants. “Shall I help you out of these? Assuming you don’t care if I shred them?” 

“Maker...you’re in a mood and I’m glad to see it.” Vic breathed as he watched them, almost wondering if he should leave them to it. 

“Good boys don’t speak unless spoken to Invictus.” Fenris called over his shoulder.

“Yes..ser.” Vic whimpered.

“Would there be any use in my begging you not to destroy them?” asked Anders. He had other pants, but he still wasn’t used to having more than the clothes he wore and one other set, and the thought of a perfectly good pair of pants being ruined almost pained him.

“Hmmm” Fenris drew his fingers down over Anders cock with a leer. “You have two minutes, only because I don’t want you to hurt your cock if you rip these off too quickly. Go.” 

“Thank you, love,” Anders breathed. He hastily tugged off his boots then unlaced his pants with fingers that trembled in their haste to get the pants off before Fenris could grow impatient and start ripping them apart.

“Thank me later, when you're done screaming.” Fenris said with a smile as he pushed Anders down onto the bed before he straddled his mage and leaned over him. “Once Vic gets me open, he’s gonna tie you up or just hold you down while I use your cock. That what you wanted?” he asked before he kissed Anders like he needed it to live.

Anders merely groaned assent. He wasn’t sure if he were allowed to touch Fenris; with the elf in this mood, he had the feeling that unless he were expressly told he could do something then maybe he shouldn’t. He let his hands fall to the bed either side of his head as the elf claimed his mouth. Fenris’ weight upon his hips had him very effectively pinned to the bed; he knew that there was no way he could have fought the elf off short of using magic - and he couldn’t help but wonder just what other changes had been wrought in Fenris. Maybe even magic wouldn’t save him.

“Good boy, very good boy.” Fenris purred before he turned to see what was keeping Invictus. 

“Get me ready, then hold him down.” he ordered before he leaned down to resume kissing his mage.

Anders closed his eyes briefly as Fenris kissed him; they flew open again as he felt the elf sink his teeth into his bottom lip. Fenris merely grinned at him. Anders’ breath was coming quicker, his heartbeat growing faster.

“That ok?” Fenris asked before he tried to bite him again. Anders stared up at him and managed to nod, then drew in his breath with a faint hiss as Fenris’ sharp teeth closed upon his lip again. He closed his eyes as he tasted a hint of copper upon his tongue; the elf had drawn blood. Anders didn’t think it were possible to be any harder than he was right now; almost painfully hard. He couldn’t quite quell the faint whine that escaped his bloodied lips as Fenris sat back up again.

Vic was busy fingering the elf to get him opened up. “More ser?” 

Anders licked his lips briefly as he stared up at Fenris. Maker, he half-wished Hawke _had_ tied him down; the urge to touch Fenris was almost overwhelming. He tongued his swollen lip and fought down the impulse to whimper.

“Yeah a little more then hold him down so I can ride.” Fenris moaned.

Anders groaned at the wanton tone of Fenris’ voice. He deliberately bit his own lip, the pain serving to ground him and push back the overwhelming feeling that if anyone so much as brushed his stiff, weeping cock then he would explode.

Hawke reached down with his free hand and curled his hand tightly around the base of Anders’ cock, and the mage groaned appreciation as he felt the wave of urgency recede. He didn’t want to come the moment Fenris sank down onto him and ruin this for all of them.

Fenris nudged Vic’s hand away and slid down on to Anders fast and hard with a moan that nearly undid both his lovers. Anders’ eyes flew open wide at the sensation of Fenris’ body, tight and hot around his cock; he nearly came right there and then, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to fight down the urge. He was unaware he had sunk his teeth into his lip again, intent only on holding off his impending climax and pushing back on the feeling. He drew a slow, shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

He felt Hawke’s hands close about his wrists, yanking his arms above his head and then pinning him to the bed; he struggled briefly without thinking, reacting out of pure instinct before he forced himself to stop and relax. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes to see Hawke staring intently down at him.

“I’m OK,” he managed.

“Alright love” Hawke snuck in a kiss before he turned his attention to Fenris who’d closed his eyes and thrown his head back as he rode Anders, paying little attention to either of them.

Anders groaned, wondering if he dare move, or if he were supposed to merely lie still whilst Fenris fucked himself on his cock. He wanted to move.

The elf finally looked at them as he sped up, and grinned wolfishly. “Move. Now.”

Anders groaned again, this time in heartfelt relief as he braced his feet against the bed and thrust his hips up to meet each downthrust of the elf, the cords in his neck standing out as he strained to meet the elf and the punishing pace he’d set. If he were aware of the blood slowly seeping from his torn lip, he gave no sign, so focused was he on obeying Fenris, determined not to come too soon even though he could feel the heat coiling hot and insistent in his groin once more. He was close; very close.

“Yes! Yes... “ Fenris shouted as he was bounced against Anders’ cock and he got closer to coming. “Mythal… fuck… Maker… gonna… close.” he moaned.

At Fenris’ shout, Anders redoubled his efforts, bracing himself against Hawke’s grip upon his wrists as well as his feet braced against the bed, trying to angle his thrusts to hit Fenris’ sweet spot; as Fenris yowled, he knew he’d hit it. He canted his hips to hit that spot on every thrust. His legs were beginning to tremble under the strain of keeping up the pace.

“Make me… make me come...please, please Anders,” Fenris whined as he bounced harder and faster. 

Anders’ breath came faster in explosive pants, his heart pounding in his chest as he strove harder to give Fenris what he wanted yet somehow hold off his own impending climax until Fenris had come. It was so hard without his hands free; he knew if he could have touched Fenris it would all be so much easier.

He closed his eyes and picked up the pace, thrusting up to meet Fenris’ body, each stroke pushing Fenris closer and closer to the edge.

“Come…. with me…” Fenris growled as he finally felt his own orgasm claiming him. Anders’ breath exploded from him in a loud cry as he clenched his eyes shut and came hard, his body shuddering and jerking beneath Fenris as his climax rolled through him until finally he collapsed limp beneath Fenris, his heart still racing and his legs trembling.

Fenris leaned down to kiss Anders slow and easy as he came down from his climax. “Good, so good Anders. I love you” he whispered.

Anders’ chest was still heaving for breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. “Love you too... love you so much,” he managed to slur, opening his eyes slowly.

“I know.. now Vic is gonna get his turn while I rest up.” Fenris kissed him again before he slipped off the bed to watch them. “Make him scream again.”

Anders watched as Hawke rose to finish undressing himself; by the time Hawke had returned to the bed, his breathing was easier. He watched as Hawke picked up the sash from his robes then eyed Anders thoughtfully; a grin slowly crossed the former Champion’s face, and he straddled Anders’ hips before leaning forward.

Anders made no effort to pull away or stop Hawke as his hands were pulled together and Hawke bound him firmly with the sash, then tied his wrists to the bedstead. When he was done, Anders tested the knots and found he was quite firmly held, though not tight enough to cause harm.

“Spread ‘em and let me have fun.” Vic said with a dirty grin before he reached down to spread Anders a bit. Obediently, Anders spread his legs, drawing his knees up a little.

“Are you going to be rough?” he asked, his voice a little husky.

“Definitely, I just wanted you open enough to get in and not tear you.” Vic spread Anders’ legs and started to thrust hard, but not hard enough to hurt his lover. “Beg me.”

Anders gasped, his eyes flying wide open. Though Hawke had stretched him a little with his fingers, he still wasn’t quite prepared for the burn as the other man thrust into him. “Maker, fuck, _Hawke_!” he managed to gasp.

“Just Invictus will do, don’t blaspheme love.” Vic laughed as he thrust deeper until he saw the way Anders’ eyes widened in pain not lust. “Oh fuck.. sorry, sorry!”

“Just... oil, need oil... slower, please!” Anders begged. “Wasn’t - wasn’t quite ready, I’m sorry....”

“No I’m sorry love. Give me a little slick yeah?” Vic leaned in and kissed the tears away before he took the slick from Anders’ palm.

Fenris had jumped up to see what was wrong. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Anders managed to nod. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t prepared - wasn’t ready for it to be quite that rough,” he answered. He glanced up at Hawke and managed a reassuring smile. “I’m OK, love - these things happen sometimes, just - just go a little slower? Just - just at first.”

“Of course, sorry love.” Vic made sure to slick him up even more than he normally would before he tried to enter him again.

Anders exhaled slowly as he felt Hawke slowly slide into him. He held still as his body adjusted to being filled again; after a moment, he nodded to Hawke to move. “I’m alright, I - _ohhhhhh._ ” His voice tailed off into a low groan and he let his head fall back as he felt the head of Hawke’s cock graze his sweet spot. “Oh... yes....”

“Good, that’s so good love.” Vic moaned as he moved faster.

“Oh... Hawke... yes, there, that’s - “ Anders jerked and cried out as Invictus rolled his hips and hit just the perfect spot. “Oh Maker!” he managed to gasp. “Harder - there, please, harder!” He tugged futilely at the silk sash binding his hands and groaned.

“Ser...want me to go harder?” Vic asked with a devious grin.

“Hard as you want, make him scream, then you can come.” Fenris waved at them lazily with a glass of wine in his hand.

Anders cried out as Hawke obediently began to pound into him harder. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes as he felt each thrust hit harder, deeper; he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Hawke’s waist, crossing his ankles to help keep himself there and enabling the other mage to drive even deeper. Soon every exhale was a panted cry and he was beyond the power of speech, feeling himself filled deeply by every thrust as he felt his own cock twitch, neglected and hard once more, between their bodies. His hands twisted and pulled helplessly at the sash.

“Wanna come… ask nicely.” Vic said between pants and thrusts.

“P-please... oh please, Hawke, please,” Anders begged breathlessly. “Need... need to... oh Maker, _please!_ ”

“Since you asked so sweetly…” Vic sped up his thrusts until the headboard smacked the wall in sync and they could hear Fenris’ low moans as he watched them together. He restrained himself from coming, barely as he heard the way Anders begged and moaned under their lover.

Anders was whimpering now, unable to touch himself and feeling himself so close yet not quite there. He could almost have wept from frustration as he writhed helplessly. “Hawke... Vic... _please_ , I need... need.... oh _please, please!_ ” he begged. His face was flushed, his eyes half-lidded; his hair had come loose from its tie and lay in a dishevelled mess across the pillows, and as Hawke pounded ceaselessly into his willing body, he was struck by how deliciously wanton and debauched Anders looked beneath him, so helpless and bound and begging so beautifully. He almost couldn’t wait to see just what Fenris would do to their lover next. That slight crack in Anders’ voice as he pleaded and begged for release almost pushed Hawke over the edge right there and then.

“Come for me… don’t hold back now Anders.” Hawke hissed as he tried to let his lover come first before he lost it entirely.

Anders managed to open his eyes. “C-can’t,” he gasped. “N-need.... S-something more....”

Vic grinned before he leaned down and sunk his teeth into Anders shoulder, almost enough to draw blood but not quite.

Anders threw his head back and screamed as he came, hard. Hawke felt warm, sticky wetness suddenly against his belly as he thrust into Anders’ twitching, shuddering body.

“That was what you needed huh?” Vic panted as he reached up to untie Anders and rub his arms as they relaxed. He turned to find Fenris at their side with glasses of cold water and a pleased expression.

“Oh Maker, yes,” groaned Anders. He was limp and floppy; none of his limbs seemed keen on obeying him any time in the next few minutes. “That was ... ohhh.” He closed his eyes briefly and tried to will his heart to stop racing. “Maker. You two are going to be the death of me,” he breathed.

“Not our intent love.” Fenris said before he scowled at the pounding on their door. “For Maker’s sake.”

He pulled on a robe before he wrenched open the door and glared irritably at the intruding...

... commander. He was face to face with a rather alarmed Cullen with (from the looks of it) about half the keep guard and a rather angry-looking Cassandra.

“We heard Anders screaming,” said Cullen grimly.

“In pain,” added Cassandra.

Fenris grinned at Cassandra as he drew himself up to his new, full height and stared them in the eye. “He’s fine, you can go now.”

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged startled glances. “Fenris, what - hang on, wait, this is...” spluttered Cullen, taken aback by finding Fenris’ eyes were on a level with his own. The guards behind the Commander and the Seeker were exchanging startled looks.

The warrior’s grin widened. “A gift from the Lady Mythal, and we were busy enjoying ourselves, enjoying other gifts she granted me. You can go now, we’re fine Anders was just enthusiastic in his...praise is all.”

Cullen stared at him steadily for several long heartbeats. Finally he leaned closer. “May I suggest a silence spell then, before half the college turn out, convinced someone is murdering their First Enchanter?” he suggested quietly. “Or else I can heartily recommend a gag.” He straightened and turned. “Go on, back to your posts; nothing to see here!” he called.

“Commander!” exclaimed Cassandra. “Are you going to -”

“Seeker, I’ll explain over a cup of wine, if you’ll just come with me?” suggested Cullen, with a last pointed look at Fenris over his shoulder before leading her away.

As Fenris closed the door firmly, Anders said quietly, “Will someone please kindly just kill me now and spare me the humiliation of facing everyone in the Great Hall in the morning? Just - just do it quickly. Hawke? Please?”

“No, we’re just gonna take a break and gag you later.” Fenris sauntered back to their bed with some wine and a evil grin.

“You could just fuck my mouth,” said Anders without thinking; his eyes suddenly widened as he realised just how far Fenris might take that in his current mood. “Or, well, start with that, before the whole, you know, nailing me against the wall thing, because that had definite possibilities,” he added hurriedly.

“We could do that, first let’s take a break clean up and start over. The night is young after all.” Fenris laughed evilly as he poured them more wine.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran and Fenris talk, and the Antivan tests his - and Fenris' - limits.

Anders moaned faintly as Fenris leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Anders had slumped against the wall, pinned there by the elf; he had the feeling the blond man’s legs would give way the moment he released him.

“We need to sit down together or one of us could wind up with a broken leg.” Fenris huffed, exhausted as much as he’d done to his lovers.

“Or I could hold Anders up while you crawl to the bed.” Vic said as he slid his arms around Anders so Fenris could make his way to the bed. Anders slumped in his arms, his head lolling down like a broken marionette puppet as Hawke lifted him away from the wall; only the very faint moan that escaped his lips told Hawke the Enchanter were even half-conscious.

“I think we broke him love.” Vic said as he carried him to bed and stretched him out.

“Broke myself, ow.” Fenris muttered.

Anders’ eyes drifted half-open as Hawke laid him out; they roved over Hawke without a flicker of recognition before he closed them again. His face was flushed, his lips red and swollen, a smear of blood across his chin where the cut in his lip had reopened at some point when Fenris’ cock had been deep in his throat. He lay sprawled across the bed where Hawke had laid him, exhausted to the point of almost unconsciousness by what he had willingly allowed both men do to him.

“Help me up when he’s settled. I strained something.” Fenris mumbled. Hawke stared down at Anders and brushed an errant strand of hair out of the mage’s eyes.

“I think he’s pretty much out for the count,” replied Hawke. He wasn’t entirely surprised; both he and Fenris had had him again since the interruption from Cullen - first Fenris, taking up Anders’ suggestion and fucking the mage’s throat whilst Anders still sprawled in the bed, then Hawke had taken him again after a quick Stamina potion, and then finally Fenris had nailed Anders against the wall as he’d promised. Hawke was impressed Anders had held up right up until that last round, Warden stamina or no. 

Fenris let Hawke help him up so he could fall face down next to Anders and close his eyes with a groan. Anders didn’t stir as the elf sprawled next to him, his head rolling bonelessly on the pillow as the mattress dipped beneath the heavier elf.

Hawke shook his head and made his way towards the table and the remaining bottle of wine, wincing as his back protested the evening’s activities. He wasn’t getting any younger; none of them were.

He smiled serenely as he crawled into bed with them and fell asleep with no problems, none of them stirring until well into the next day.

When he finally awoke, Hawke found that Fenris was already up before him. Anders still sprawled in deepest slumber, not even snoring for once, one arm flung up above his head and the other resting upon his chest as he slept deeply, the lines on his face smoothed away.

“I wonder if Fenris had to face them after last night?” Vic mused before he got up to bathe and get lunch. If only he could have seen the look on Cullen’s face when the elven warrior entered the dining hall that morning.

“Face who?” asked Fenris as he pushed open the door with his foot, carrying a tray laden with food. “Anders still asleep?”

“Oh just Cullen and Cassandra if you saw them this morning?” Hawke asked as he took a mug of tea from the tray before Fenris even had sat it on the table. Fenris merely arched one eyebrow, saying nothing as he took a mug for himself.

“Cullen and Cassandra were not at breakfast,” said Fenris quietly as he sat down and sipped his tea. He glanced over towards the bed. “He is still sleeping?”

“Love we made him come so many times I’m surprised he didn’t faint under you that last round.” Vic said with a glance towards the bed. “I hope you brought some water.”

Fenris looked a little disquieted at that. He gestured at the full carafe of water on the tray. “I am not fully certain he did not, at the end,” he confessed. “He went limp so very quickly. I think perhaps we tested his warden stamina a little too strenuously.” He glanced over at the sleeping mage again.

“I’ll cast a bit of rejuvenate on him so he can eat and not sleep in such an awkward position. It’s going to be alright Fenris.” Hawke set aside his mug and nudged Anders until the blond opened his eyes just to shut them again. “Come on, it’s past noon.”

Anders groaned faintly. After a moment he made a vague attempt to roll onto his side but gave up. “Go ‘way,” he managed to slur, twitching a finger.

“No, get up First Enchanter. Our Chosen one has been kind enough to bring us breakfast. Get up Anders or I’ll freeze your ass to the bed.” Vic nipped at his ear just enough to make the other mage jump. Anders jerked as his eyelids fluttered again. 

“You wouldn’t be so cruel,” he breathed, half-opening one eye to focus on Hawke with difficulty. “Not after all you two did to me last night.”

“If he didn’t I’d spank you.” Fenris quipped between sips of tea.

“Just... just give me a little while to actually wake up,” Anders moaned, trying to persuade his eyes to actually open properly as he made another futile effort to roll onto his side.

“You get 10 minutes then I will spank you.” Fenris said with a grin.

Anders managed to shift onto his side and rubbed his eyes blearily, still trying to disentangle himself from the last fleeting remnants of his dreams. “Would you really spank me?” he finally asked, drowsily, still not much more than half awake though he’d managed to at least open both eyes at last.

Fenris just arched a dark brow and grinned.

Anders groaned and tried to sit up, not getting very far before he fell back against the pillows with another low groan. “Fenris, please,” he said plaintively. “Wasn’t I good for you? For both of you?” He gave Hawke a pleading look.

“Oh you were very good for us last night, but right now you’re being rather a brat.” Vic said as he noticed Fenris getting up to stand in front of Anders with a filthy smile. 

“One would think you’re gagging for it soon as you wake up Anders.” 

Anders managed to push himself up onto one elbow as he stared at Hawke before finally glancing at Fenris. “I’m... I’m not a brat!” he said, a little indignantly. “Hawke, you’re not going to let him actually _spank_ me, are you? I - I’m the _First Enchanter_ , for Andraste’s sake!” 

Vic just shrugged as he looked at them both. “You can argue with him if you want.” Anders gaped at him, then stared at Fenris in apprehension as the elf began to slowly remove his belt.

“Fenris,” he whispered. He stared at the elf, his eyes widening as the warrior merely grinned wider.

“On your stomach,” Fenris ordered. 

Anders stared up at him wordlessly as the elf wrapped a loop of the belt around his hand, then slowly rolled over on his stomach and lay there, his eyes wide.

He jerked as the belt snapped across his bare buttocks, yelping. At the second strike, he cried out louder, shuddering. “Fenris, wait -” he began, but fell silent as he felt Fenris’ hand lightly caress his burning flesh.

“Shhhh,” the elf murmured. Anders buried his face in the pillow; as the belt struck the back of his legs, he bit back a sob.

By the eighth or ninth stroke, they had begun to blur into one warm feeling of heat and sensation across his arse and the backs of his thighs, and he was no longer aware of the sounds he made. He writhed slowly, helplessly as Fenris brought the belt down once more, unaware he was quietly begging for more in between soft moans.

Fenris laid the belt aside and began to spank Anders with his hand; first one buttock cheek, then the other, alternating between hard and soft blows until Anders was an incoherent, writhing mess beneath his hands. The mage was barely aware when the spanking had stopped; however when Fenris slipped an oiled finger gently into his body, Anders made a low moan of enthusiastic consent, pushing back onto Fenris’ fingers. The elf added a second and third finger, and shortly Anders was on all fours, rocking back and fucking himself on Fenris’ hand whilst begging Fenris to fuck him.

“Maker, that’s so hot,” muttered Hawke as he moved around the bed, unfastening his pants. Anders was moaning, his face flushed and his eyes half-lidded as Fenris fucked him steadily with his fingers. The former Champion slid himself onto the bed just in front of Anders and reached for Anders’ head, grasping a fist of the long blond hair and dragging the mage’s head down towards his groin and his waiting erection.

Anders opened his eyes a little more as he felt Hawke’s hard cock against his cheek; at Hawke’s urging, his lips parted, and Hawke pressed on the back of Anders’ head until the blond mage swallowed him down, even as Fenris oiled himself up and then slid smoothly into Anders with one hard thrust.

There was silence in the room for a time as Fenris fucked Anders steadily from behind whilst Hawke fucked his mouth, broken only by their panting breath and low moans from Hawke and Fenris.

“Gonna come,” Hawke finally grunted as he felt himself getting close.

“He’ll swallow it, won’t you, Anders?” Fenris panted. Anders made a faint sound that might have been agreement; with a hoarse cry, Hawke came down the blond Enchanter’s throat. Anders’ throat worked as he swallowed Hawke’s load down.

Fenris’ thrusts sped up as he pounded harder into Anders, who panted a small, breathless cry with each thrust as the elf chased his own orgasm. Hawke smiled and slid a little further down the bed so he could reach one of Anders’ nipples with one hand, whilst he wrapped his other hand around Anders’ throat. 

“Make him come, Vic,” ordered Fenris, panting.

“Just what I was doing,” grinned the mage as he squeezed Anders’ throat lightly then let a spark of electricity fly from his other hand.

The effect was immediate, as Anders shuddered and came hard, with a small cry. A moment later, Fenris’ rhythm stuttered and then with a low groan, the elf spent himself deep inside the blond man.

After a few moments in which they all tried to catch their breath, Hawke slid out from beneath Anders as Fenris slipped out of him, and between them they laid him down in the bed.

“Good boy,” smiled Fenris as he stroked Anders’ reddened arse. “You’ve earned yourself another couple of hours in bed.”

Anders’ answer was a faint, weak moan.

***

Fenris was sound asleep, curled around Anders as Hawke went about his day, not even stirring when the Champion returned to rouse them for dinner. He slapped at whoever was trying to wake him before he muttered something vile in Tevene.

Anders was face down, sprawled as much as he was able with his lover wrapped around him like a sloth. 

“I give up, you two are out for a while.” Vic left a note where to find him and headed to the Herald’s Rest for socializing.

He found Hal sitting in the Iron Bull’s lap, resting his head back against the kossith’s shoulder as he squinted up at Sera who was balancing on the rail of the balcony above.

“Evening all, mind if I join you for a couple of rounds?” Hawke asked as he warmed himself by the fire. Something bounced off his head; as he glanced up, Sera chucked another cookie at him.

“Oi! Hawke! Buy us a drink!” she called down.

“Evening, Hawke,” Bull nodded; Hal glanced over at him and smiled, raising his glass of wine in silent toast. 

“The only round I’m buying is for people not throwing things at me.” Hawke remarked as he sat across from Bull and Hal. “How’s thing been for you since our return?”

“Pretty good,” said Bull, ignoring the baked goods that were bouncing off the wall behind him. One bounced off his horn; Hal calmly fished cookie crumbs out of his wine with a forefinger without looking up.

“For an archer she has bloody poor aim,” the kossith added. Hal hummed agreement, picking up a piece of cookie and nibbling on it before pulling a face and putting the rest of it down on the table. Both ignored the swearing and insults that rained down on them along with the sub-par, it seemed, cookies.

“Care to move this to where we won’t get pelted with cookies and…” Hawke ducked a rather large, overdone chunk of apple raisin cookie that missed him. “Pathetic insults?” 

“She’s pissed because the Boss gave her her marching orders this morning,” shrugged the Iron Bull.

“Dorian mentioned something about wine earlier,” Hal said casually, dusting cookie fragments off his robe sleeve. “It should be more drinkable than what’s on offer here.”

“Good point,” said the Bull.

“Let’s go then, and on the way back I’ll check on Zevran.” Hawke gave Sera a dual finger salute on the way out.

 

**

Zevran wasn’t in his room; from the looks of the bed, it hadn’t been slept in since they left for the Arbor Wilds.

Hawke frowned, unsure where he’d find the elf if he wasn’t with Fenris. He decided to check with Leliana, before joined Hal and the Iron Bull in Dorian’s quarters.

At first, he thought the rookery deserted save for the birds. The loft was dark, the lanterns all extinguished; the birds eyed him with unfriendly eyes in the half-dark, illuminated only by the moonlight. Hawke was about to leave when what he’d assumed at first was simply a discarded cloak upon a couch suddenly shifted, and he realised there was someone lying on the couch, their face hidden by the shadows. A raven was perched upon the back of the couch; it eyed Hawke with an alien gaze and ducked slightly, spreading its wings as though ready to launch itself at him.

“Who’s there?” the figure on the couch murmured drowsily. “Hawke? Is that you?”

“Yes, I was looking for you since you had not returned to your room or Fenris’ in the last couple of days. Do you wish to speak?” Vic said as he approached noisily so he wouldn’t startle Zevran.

The elf sat up slowly as the raven launched itself from the back of the couch, narrowly missing Hawke’s head before it swooped away towards the serried ranks of perches with a harsh _caw!_

“Ignore her; she swears at everyone,” said Zevran, waving a hand in the direction of the raven. He glanced up at Hawke. “I have been here, mostly, though not always sleeping,” he added. “Is Fenris... well?”

“As he can be yes, he had a bit of a panic himself once he realized the changes you saw. He is… worried you do not wish to see him as he is now. I am worried for your state of mind; though we have not always been friends, we occasionally share a bed and I care for you Zevran.” Hawke sat down on the ground in front of him with a grunt. “Will you see him soon?”

Zevran had dropped his gaze to the ground by his feet at mention of his reaction to Fenris’ changed appearance, but at Hawke’s question he lifted his head a little. He studied the Champion; his golden eyes had lost their colour in the twilight of the raven loft.

“I did not mean to cause him hurt or to trouble any of you,” said the Antivan softly. “What happened in the Temple of Mythal... I was not prepared to have my world shaken up quite so thoroughly.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I am a fool, no? We live in a world filled with dragons and ancient magisters who seek to overthrow the very gods themselves. I should not be so surprised when those gods choose to reveal themselves a little more... _directly_ than some poor boy from Antiva could ever have dreamed.”

“We know that Zev, we know. You are no fool, you wouldn’t have been Crow Master if you were one. Come with me, I’m sure Fenris would be happy to see you tonight. He’s in his own room again, last I checked.” Vic offered his hand, unsure if the Antivan would take it.

Zevran studied the proffered hand then slowly took it and allowed Hawke to pull him to his feet as the taller man rose.

“Are you sure he will wish to see me, after I turned away from him?” asked the former Crow dubiously.

“Yes, he loves you Zev and this didn’t change it.” Hawke put his arm around the elf and led him back into the Keep, even keeping Zevran occupied with idle chatter until they were at Fenris’ door.

Zevran stared at the door for a moment. “Perhaps this is not such a good idea,” he murmured quietly and made to pull away from Hawke.

“Zevran Arainai, are you really telling me you won’t go in there? He’s alone, I promise.” Vic said as he opened the door, leaving no room for the elf to run. “See you later.”

Zevran felt the door close firmly behind him; he leaned against it and dropped his gaze to his feet. “ _Carissimi?_ ” he asked softly, uncertain of how Fenris would take to having the assassin unceremoniously shoved into his room after having avoided the warrior for two days.

“I’m here, come in and join me if you wish. I was just ...thinking.” Fenris called out as he sat up, clad just in sleep pants that were a bit too short on him. 

Zevran looked up then slowly nodded; he pushed himself away from the door and crossed the room to stand beside the bed. He couldn’t help himself; he reached a hand out to gently stroke the long, snowy-white hair that tumbled halfway down Fenris’ back. It had become dishevelled as Fenris lay in bed, tossing and turning; Zevran tucked an errant strand back behind Fenris’ delicately upswept ear.

“So much hair; it is longer than mine now,” murmured the Antivan. “It should be braided or it will become tangled, _carissimi_. Let me braid it for you?”

Fenris stared at him, then nodded as he straightened.

“Come sit in a chair. You were too tall even before, for me to reach your hair when standing,” said Zevran quietly as he turned away to hunt for a comb.

Fenris sat on the rug before his bed and closed his eyes as he waited for Zevran to speak or start combing his hair. 

The Antivan found a small ivory comb upon the dressing table; he turned to see the other elf sitting on the floor and frowned slightly, but said nothing as he returned to the bed and seated himself behind Fenris on the edge of the bed. He began to slowly and carefully tease knots and tangles from the warrior’s hair with nimble fingers and patience, starting at the ends and slowly working his way up.

It was only when he had parted Fenris’ hair into sections and begun braiding it that finally the Crow spoke.

“I am sorry, _carissimi_ , for how I reacted before. I... have had much to think on. I am still not wholly certain what to think of this matter of goddesses, but... I hurt you by turning away, and I am sorry for that,” he said quietly.

Fenris’ breath hitched as he answered. “It’s...it’s ok. I think I understand why. Even Anders didn’t recognize me at first. I don’t want to scare you.” 

Zevran’s fingers paused for a moment, then continued braiding the soft white hair. He tied off the braid then took up three more sections of hair and began to braid those. “You are... quite changed, my heart,” he said, striving for a diffident tone. “You were always taller than me, but I think now you could look Anders in the eye - and he is not a small man, hmm?” He suddenly smiled. “Even Meneris looms over me, and he also is an elf - but now you can loom over him. I wonder how our Inquisitor will react to that? I should wish to see that.”

“I would give it up to not have you frightened of me.” Fenris admitted with a sniff. He couldn’t move his head while Zevran worked on braiding his hair. “Forgive me, I should be grateful I am healed not continue to whine about your reaction.” 

“Let us say, I would be a fool to accept a challenge to wrestle you now, _carissimi_. Even taunting would not give me the strength to match you, I think. Certainly I shall not be attempting to dominate you in our bedroom games anymore; it would seem... ludicrous, no?” Zevran bound off that braid then reached for another section, his fingers working swiftly.

“What if I want you to dominate me still? This...don’t take that from me please, carissimi. I let you do those things because I trust you as no other. I could have always taken charge if I’d wanted but I like those games.” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran was weaving the braids together; he paused and bowed his head. “You were always stronger than I, my love,” he murmured. “Now, I fear you could break me all too easily. I have never thought myself a weak man, but next to you my strength would be as that of a child. I may as well try to dominate the very stones of the mountain.”

Fenris turned around and stared at Zevran. “Our games have never been about strength, you know that. Please, don’t...I would never hurt you. The bond with Anders is gone, I wouldn’t ...I won’t hurt you Zevran.” he blinked quickly, ashamed he felt tears forming. 

Zevran bent forward and pressed a kiss lightly to the top of Fenris’ head. “There; it is done. Now your hair will not be in your way when you fight.” He slipped off the bed to sit behind Fenris and wrap his arms loosely around his waist and rest his head against Fenris’ back. “I still love you,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

Fenris didn't answer, he dropped his head to his hands and fell silent as they sat there together. He eventually rose to use the privy, and wash his face so Zevran couldn’t see the tear tracks on his face. He poured himself some wine, and sat a glass out for his lover. “Join me in a drink?”

Zevran rose from the rug and walked to join Fenris, accepting the wine with a nod as he glanced at the taller elf. He had to tilt his face up now to meet Fenris’ gaze, and it was a most disquieting feeling. He noted the expression on Fenris’ face, and his own fell. “Ah, _carissimi_ ,” he groaned. “What can I do to undo this thing between us? Now, I think, you too are afraid, no? You are afraid that you might hurt me inadvertently, I think.”

Fenris poured himself more wine and shrugged. “As usual I am afraid my words will do more harm than good. Drinking is safe, and hopefully put me to sleep so I cannot open my fool mouth and make things worse.” 

Zevran sipped from his glass then set it aside and walked slowly towards the other elf. He stepped into Fenris’ space and slipped his arms around his waist, pressing himself against the taller elf and gently pressing light kisses between the swirls of lyrium around Fenris’ heart.

“Put your arms around me, my heart,” he said quietly. “I would feel them around me, holding me close.”

Fenris did as he was asked but he simply stared over Zevran’s shoulder, unsure what he would do with the other elf afraid of his new strength. He kept quiet, sure anything he would say would make the situation even worse.

“Tighter,” whispered Zevran. He could feel how timidly Fenris cradled him, as though Zevran were spun of fine glass and not flesh and blood.

Again, Fenris complied but remained silent. He finally rested his head against Zevran’s shoulder while he hoped he wasn’t asked to speak.

“Tighter,” Zevran repeated as he closed his eyes, feeling Fenris’ muscles tense before cautiously the other elf obeyed, tightening his grip a little more. “More,” breathed Zevran.

“No, I’m not going to hurt you.” Fenris said shakily. “Please, don’t.” 

“You will not hurt me,” Zevran answered. “But... I need to know... to feel... please, a little more. I shall tell you when I cannot stand it, my love, I promise.”

Fenris stared at Zevran for a long, drawn out moment before he hugged him again and hoped he didn't hurt the smaller elf. 

Zevran ran his hands over Fenris’ arms slowly. “I can take a little more,” he said softly. “Just a little more, _carissimi_.”

“Stop, stop!” Fenris backed away from Zevran. “You...stop pushing. I don’t want to hurt you, you said you didn’t want to risk ...please don’t do this.” 

“Fenris... I need to do this,” Zevran said softly. “I need _you_ to do this, for my own peace of mind. I... I need to feel this. I will tell you when to stop, and I swear I will not allow myself to be hurt. Only... love, I do not want to be afraid of your strength. And for that I need to feel it, feel the control you have of it. Do you understand? I swear I will tell you when I cannot take any more, and that will be before you could possibly hurt me.” He stared up at Fenris. “Please, love, I am trying to get past this fear. I need you to help me.” He lifted his arms and beckoned to the elf. “Please.”

“Why do you torment me so?” Fenris said before he reluctantly went to Zevran and did as he was asked, hating every moment of it and terrified he would hurt the smaller Antivan elf.

Zevran rested his hands upon Fenris’ shoulders and closed his eyes as he felt the strong arms tighten about him until his ribs gave a warning twinge and he knew much more and he would not be able to breathe. “Enough,” he whispered softly, and instantly Fenris froze. Zevran stood still, merely running his hands slowly across the toned muscle of Fenris’ biceps, feeling how it was tense and hard. He knew Fenris could easily have crushed him - but the elf had obeyed and halted the moment he asked.

He rested his head against Fenris’ chest and exhaled, a little shakily. “Oh _carissimi_ ,” he sighed. “Forgive me. I had to know.” He held still, and it suddenly came to him that far from feeling trapped and helpless in Fenris’ grip, he actually felt safe, protected. It was a novel feeling. He did not recall ever having such a feeling of safety and security in his life. “I could almost stay like this forever,” he mused softly. “Fenris... I love you. I trust you.” He turned his head and pressed a light kiss to the lyrium-marked chest.

The Tevinter elf didn’t feel safe, he just wanted to get very, very drunk now that Zevran had proved he wouldn’t hurt him. “I love you too. I’d like a drink now please.” he hated that his voice waivered even a bit but Fenris was more unnerved than he wanted to admit.

Zevran pressed another kiss to Fenris’ chest then nodded his head. “Of course, _carissimi_ ,” he agreed. As Fenris released him and stepped away, he felt somehow colder without the other elf’s warm arms close about him.

He turned and reached for his own glass as Fenris reached for the bottle. “I am sorry. I pressed you, and you were not comfortable with it. But... you have helped me quell my own fears. That is good, no?” He glanced up at Fenris, a little worried for how the warrior was reacting.

Fenris was too busy getting acquainted with a fresh bottle of cool, white wine to answer. He had taken a seat facing the fireplace and simply drank. He was not far from showing how badly Zevran had unnerved him. The past few years had given the Antivan assassin more than a little insight into his lover’s ways however. Silently he made his way over to Fenris’ chair, and seated himself upon the floor near the warrior’s feet, close but not quite touching, and sipped his wine slowly as he watched the fire.

Without realizing it, Fenris had shifted so he was turned away enough for his face to be hidden, or he hoped. He didn’t want Zevran to feel pushed away but he was on edge, unsure what to do or say. He felt like he’d undo the safety his lover had found if he spoke, so he remained quiet.

After a little while of sitting in silence, Zevran reached up and tugged his hair loose from the high braided half-ponytail it was bound in, his fingers deftly unweaving the small braids until he could shake the whole lot loose to tumble around his face and made a little small groan of appreciation as the tension in his scalp eased. He glanced to the side and slowly looped a hand around Fenris’ calf before leaning in against the elf’s leg in companionable silence. After a moment, when Fenris showed no signs of pulling away, he hesitantly laid his head upon Fenris’ knee.

The other elf flinched but caught himself before he jerked away. He hesitantly let his hand rest on Zevran’s head for a while before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not think on it,” said Zevran quietly as he stared into the flames. “This must all be very strange for you also.”

“Worse than strange, it is unnerving me in ways I do not want to think about any more tonight.” Fenris said before he finished off the bottle.

“I am sorry if I have made it worse by my words and actions,” murmured Zevran, gently running his hand up and down Fenris’ leg soothingly. “Is there anything I can do to ease your mind, my love?”

Fenris pondered the fire for a while then shook his head no. What he wanted was no longer an option, at least by Zevran’s earlier words.

Zevran sighed. “I wish I could ease your heart, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. After a little while, he asked quietly, “May I... stay here tonight? Or would you prefer I go?”

He pondered the question for a moment, actually unsure if he wanted Zevran to stay for what remained of the night but finally agreed. Fenris wasn’t sure if he would do better alone or not so he might as well have Zevran’s company. “Yes, stay.”

Zevran turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to Fenris’ leg. “Thank you, my heart,” he whispered. He found himself almost wistfully wishing for the feel of Fenris’ hand in his hair once more; it had been pleasant, reassuring. He closed his eyes, and wondered briefly if he should hate Hawke for having forced this confrontation upon them both when they were so obviously neither of them ready for it. But it was not in his nature really to hate, and Hawke was not to know what could follow.

He’d been afraid Fenris would tell him to go, to leave him be. He would have done it; of course; but he was glad that the warrior had not turned him away. The air felt tense, and something felt wrong, but he was helpless to put it right.

“I’m going to turn in, come to bed when you are ready.” Fenris said as he slowly pulled himself up and free of Zevran’s grasp. He didn’t bother with snuffing candles, he just stretched out on his stomach and closed his eyes, hoping sleep or the wine would put him out sooner than later.

Zevran stared into the fire as he heard Fenris climb into bed; after a few minutes, he got to his feet and turned. Fenris was sprawled upon his stomach with his face turned away from Zevran. The Antivan moved towards the bed and swiftly shucked his clothes until he stood naked beside the bed, staring down at the other elf. He was fairly certain that Fenris was not yet asleep, but everything felt so off-kilter that Zevran was not entirely sure what to make of his behaviour. He was not acting as though he wanted Zevran there, despite saying he could stay.

Finally Zevran made his way around the bed to the opposite side and crept into the bed, pulling the comforter up over himself. Despite the warmth in the room, he felt cold. He shifted himself as close to Fenris as he dared then closed his eyes, curling up slowly in the bed which felt very lonely, for all it held the both of them.

Eventually his mind quietened enough for sleep to steal over him, unaware the other elf had opened his eyes and was watching him in the low light of the fire. Fenris knew better than to touch Zevran in case he wasn’t deeply asleep, even with his physical changes, his lover could kill in a heartbeat without effort. Instead he watched his elven lover sleeping until he finally felt tired enough to join him. He rolled over and cautiously wrapped his arm around the Antivan before he drifted off into an uneasy slumber.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran proves to Fenris just how accomodating he can be, and talks with Anders' spirit.

Zevran drifted half-awake towards morning to find himself pinned to the bed; Fenris had rolled over at some point during the night and lay half a-top Zevran, his arm around the Antivan, pinning Zevran’s arms by his side and his leg pinning Zevran’s down. In sleep, Fenris had relaxed his weight fully, and Zevran realised just how much more the warrior now weighed. He realised there was no way he could possibly free himself; oddly, though once that thought would have made him almost instinctively panic, instead he felt almost comforted and protected.

He managed to shift himself so that he was lying on his back; Fenris responded by holding him a little closer and tighter. Zevran’s eyes widened as he felt himself very firmly pinned and trapped now. He turned his head to stare at Fenris; the warrior was deeply asleep.

This was unexpected. Also slightly uncomfortable; Fenris’ thigh now lay between Zevran’s legs, pressing slightly against the Antivan’s groin, and a certain part of the former Crow’s anatomy had noticed and was starting to pay attention.

Zevran groaned very softly, and tried to shift himself a little, but it was no good. He couldn’t move, but that part of him was getting rather interested and Maker, Mythal - whatever gods existed - he was feeling aroused, and there was nothing he could actually _do_ about it. With his arms pinned, he couldn’t even touch himself to deal with the problem.

He whined very very faintly, and closed his eyes. He shifted a little more and then managed to cant his hips against Fenris’ weight enough to start frotting very slightly against the sleeping warrior’s thigh.

Void, but this was _maddening!_ The urgency in his groin was getting almost unbearable. He desperately needed to get himself off but Fenris seemed dead to the world and Zevran was completely immobilised beyond the very small range of movement he could manage - and there just wasn’t enough friction afforded him by Fenris’ sleep pants.

He stared at the ceiling and drew a deep breath, drawing on his Crow training to try and wall away the (maddening, desperate, _urgent_ ) sensations and demands from his groin.

Fenris had felt the slight shifting against his leg, but didn’t really wake up until Zevran’s squirming registered in his not quite awake state. He turned his head and opened his eyes, curious as to what had his lover moving around so much that he actually woke him from a dead sleep. “Zev?” he mumbled as he gazed sleepily at the other elf.

Zevran had closed his eyes but they snapped open at the sound of Fenris’ voice. He turned his head to find Fenris frowning sleepily at him.

“My apologies, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “Would you move your arm a little? I have a... little problem I need to take care of quite urgently.” He gritted his teeth; now he knew Fenris was awake, the sense of pressure building in his groin was much harder to ignore, and he couldn’t quite keep himself from straining to frot against Fenris’ thigh once more.

The taller elf rolled over to his back and stretched. “I didn’t mean to trap you.” he mumbled before he closed his eyes again. He started to say something but drifted off again mid-sentence.

“I did not mind being trapped; far from it,” Zevran managed to get out as he rolled onto his side and took himself in hand. “That... that was the problem,” he managed to gasp out as the urgency built. He bit his lip and his hand began to move faster as he tried to deal with his little problem as quickly as possible.

Fenris felt the motion against him and the way the bed moved under them. He rolled to his side and nuzzled against Zevran’s neck with a low rumble of his name. “Would you rather your hand than me, though we share a bed?” he asked softly.

Zevran bit his lip and then swore roundly in Antivan. “I... I am open to... _fuck_... to suggestions,” he managed as his movements slowed.

“I asked a question. Am I so ...do you prefer your hand over me now? Even though I am next to you?” Fenris asked, his voice betraying the hurt he tried to hide.

Zevran was shuddering slightly as he rolled over onto his back and stared at Fenris. “No, no, I -” He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, _so close, so close!_ \- then opened them again. “Forgive me, I need - didn’t want to wake you -” He broke off, and then managed, “Fenris!” his voice tailing off into a needy whine as he writhed, desperate for release.

The taller elf nudged his lover’s hand away and took over stroking him, his gaze locked to the Antivan elf’s as he watched each moment of pleasure he brought him. “Isn’t that worth waking me up for?”

Zevran was steadily coming undone before his eyes, his face flushed, eyes half-lidded as he writhed helplessly beneath Fenris’ ministrations, his body shuddering as he crested closer and closer to the edge until he came, jerking and keening Fenris’ name as he threw his head back, eyes closed. He shuddered as the climax rolled through him until finally he lay still, sweating and chest heaving as he panted.

“Look at me.” Fenris requested before he began to lick his fingers clean slowly, as he stared into the other elf’s eyes. He didn’t even break contact as he finished. “Next time, wake me.”

Zevran couldn’t take his eyes off Fenris licking his seed from his fingers. “Very well,” he managed huskily. “And you... is there anything...” He stared into Fenris’ eyes.

The Tevinter elf stared at him a little longer, before he shucked his sleep pants and carefully rolled over to straddle Zevran. “Let ...let me be with you, please?” he asked.

Zevran’s eyes dropped to Fenris’ erection and widened slightly. “So, _carissimi_... it is _all_ of you that has grown?” he murmured.

“Is that a concern?” Fenris asked as he tried not to feel self-conscious about the other places he’d grown. 

Zevran merely grinned. “I can take all of you that you can give, _carissimi_ ,” he promised him.

“This will sound silly, but...I want, I need to know I can be gentle with you. I want to make you happy, and not be scared I’m going to hurt you.” Fenris sat up slightly and tugged at some of his braids. “I don’t want to just fuck you, I want to make love to you Zev.”

Zevran’s eyes softened. “I can take you, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “I have been taken by large men before; it takes a little more oil, a little more care, but you will not hurt me if you go slowly. I trust you.”

Fenris nodded before he stretched over Zevran to retrieve the oil, then seemed to remember the door. He padded over to make sure it was locked before he returned to find Zevran with the oil in hand, a look of concentration on his face as the Antivan slowly stretched himself. He glanced up as Fenris rejoined him.

“ _Carissimi_ , your hands are larger; would you...?” He held out the oil, then shifted so that he was on all fours, his knees spread as he leaned over.

Fenris sat next to him, and slipped two fingers in once he’d oiled them, a little grateful he could still kiss Zevran as he stretched him. “Ok?”

Zevran nodded. “A...a little more oil,” he managed.

“Of course.” Fenris said before he added more oil and tentatively nudged a third finger in.

Zevran groaned as he felt himself being opened wider, then slowly pushed himself back onto Fenris’ hand. He exhaled slowly. “Oh... oh _carissimi_.... good. Stretch me. Deeper....”

Fenris obeyed and paused before he put more oil on his hand. “May I try a fourth finger or do you want me in you?”

Zevran held still for a moment, then shook his head. “I want you, _carissimi_ ,” he said. “But please use more oil than you think you will need, and go very slow. If I ask you to stop, please hold still until I nod my head.”

“Alright.” Fenris nudged him to turn over. “I want...I need to see your face.” 

Zevran rolled over onto his back, drawing his knees up. “Gently, my love,” he said as he stared up at Fenris.

“I know.” Fenris hoped the slight irritation that had crept into his head stayed out of his voice as he oiled himself and Zevran again just to be sure. He kept contact with the slighter elf as he began to slowly ease into the Antivan, pausing if he so much as thought Zevran was uncomfortable.

Zevran held his breath until the head of Fenris’ cock was seated just inside him. “S-stop,” he panted, and then breathed slowly through the burning sensation as his body adjusted to this large intrusion; after a few moments, he nodded his head for Fenris to continue. Slowly, he was steadily filled until Fenris was seated fully inside him, his cock sheathed in Zevran’s flesh, tight and hot about him. Zevran’s head dropped back, his eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing.

Finally he nodded for Fenris to move.

“Are you sure? You seem uncomfortable.” Fenris was ready to pull out and stop if he’d hurt Zevran.

Zevran opened his eyes and looked up at Fenris. “Would you like me to beg?” he asked quietly. “I beg very prettily, I am assured.”

“No, I don’t want to hurt you. You look uncomfortable, and ...just tell me if this is hurting you.” Fenris said with a slight scowl.

Zevran made a faint whine of frustration then reached up to grab at one of Fenris’ braids. “Move. _Now,_ ” he hissed. “Or else roll over so I may at least move!”

“As you wish.” Fenris started to thrust his hips slowly until he could see the expression on Zevran’s face, to be positive he wasn’t hurting him. Zevran’s head dropped back onto the pillow as Fenris’ braid slipped free from his grasp and he groaned. 

“Oh... oh Fenris... so good....” He bit his lip, eyes fluttering closed briefly. He lifted his legs and wrapped them around Fenris’ waist, canting his hips a little to change the angle Fenris entered him at, trying to reach his sweet spot. “N-need... can you....” He wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase what he wanted.

Fenris tilted his head down to kiss Zevran before he shifted a little to get a better rhythm. “Pull my hair again.” he whispered against the Antivan’s lips. 

Zevran reached up and grabbed at Fenris’ braids, tugging at them, then gasped as the warrior’s slight shift in position meant he could thrust deeper. 

“Ha-harder,” he begged, feeling that tantalising sensation of urgency begin to build low down in his groin once more. 

Fenris put one of Zevran’s hands around his neck and smiled before he began to thrust hard and deep into his lover. “I...trust...you.” he moaned as he stared into the Antivan’s eyes.

“C-can’t,” Zevran managed to gasp. Suddenly he looped both hands around the back of Fenris’ neck and used the leverage to swing his legs up so he could hook them over the warrior’s shoulders, practically bending himself double; then he cried out as Fenris’ next thrust hit his sweet spot perfectly.

Fenris didn’t break his stride at all, he leaned down enough to give Zevran what he wanted, him, harder and deeper. He wanted to kiss the other elf but couldn’t manage it with the pace he was going. “My...mytha...Maker… fuck.” he moaned as he finally let his eyes close as his climax started to build. “Clo...close.” 

Zevran was swearing steadily, punctuated by a cry upon each thrust as he was pushed closer and closer to the edge, until finally he came with a loud, hoarse, ragged cry and fell back, spent, his seed smeared across his stomach and Fenris’ chest.

Fenris kept up the pace until he started to come, but he didn’t stop. He merely grinned at Zevran when the other elf realized there were some other benefits to how his lover had changed. “Can….I...go again?” he asked as he slowed but didn’t stop or pull away.

Zevran had closed his eyes, his hands falling from Fenris’ shoulders as his legs slipped down, held in place speared by Fenris; it took him a moment to open his eyes and glance up at Fenris, confused and not really fully comprehending how or why Fenris was still hard and that he were still going.

“Love? Did I come too soon?” he murmured. 

Fenris stopped and rested on his elbows over Zevran so he wouldn’t pin him down. “No...I, um. Well I have a lot more stamina now, but we can stop if you need to.” he leaned down to kiss his lover and nuzzle at his neck and ears instead of continuing to fuck him, no matter how slow and easy he wanted to go.

“I do not have a warden’s stamina, my heart,” Zevran pointed out. “We may joke on occasion about fucking each other unconscious, but I do not think you would like to do that to me in truth, hmm? And I -” He suddenly winced and hissed. “I am sorry, my heart, I do not think I could go again so soon.”

“Nor do I, at most I’ve got one more in me now. Rest, I’ll take care of myself.” Fenris pulled out slowly and frowned at the way Zevran winced once he was out of him. He washed up then brought a soapy flannel over along with a small bucket of water. “May I?”

Zevran shook his head briefly as he sat up slowly then managed to get to his feet; he patted Fenris reassuringly on the shoulder as he made his way, limping, towards the bathing chamber and headed for the privy.

Fenris waited until Zevran limped back in and stretched on the bed. “I hurt you, you’re limping.” 

Zevran merely smiled. “A sign of a good night, my heart,” he demurred as he lay on his stomach and closed his eyes. 

“No...see I was worried I’d hurt you and I did!” Fenris backed away until he landed in a chair with a thud.

Zevran opened his eyes and glanced over at him then sighed. “Fenris. I am not hurt. You may come and inspect me if you wish. I am not hurt, I am not bleeding, I am warm and comfortable and -” He broke off and yawned. “And you have tired me out, but I feel good. Do I _look_ like a man who is in pain?” 

In truth, the Antivan looked rather like the cat who had gotten the cream - a rather sleepy, tawny-skinned cat.

“You were limping.” Fenris said as he remained in the chair and glared at Zevran. 

“It happens,” Zevran shrugged. “We were rather energetic. I shall sleep, and when I awaken I will not be limping, hmm?” 

“I am not amused.” Fenris said before he left for the bathing chamber and a long soak so he could calm down.

Zevran closed his eyes and listened to the faint sounds of splashing and sighed. He had told Fenris only the truth; he’d figured that if he dismissed it as minor and unimportant, Fenris would realise there were nothing to worry about. Unfortunately it seemed the other elf was determined to find _that_ reason enough to worry.

He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. The man was infuriating beyond belief at times. It seemed there was nothing he could do right at the moment. He considered gathering his clothes and making his escape whilst Fenris bathed, but in his current mood no doubt Fenris would take that in the worst way possible too. He tugged the pillow away, rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The lovely warm muzzy feeling that had been settling over him had been stripped away very thoroughly.

He swore to himself quietly in every language he could think of.

Fenris eventually came out of the bathing chamber, head down as he approached and sat down next to Zevran. “I’m being stupid again aren’t I?”

Zevran glanced up at him and realised there was a faint, embarrassed grin playing about the other elf’s lips. He smiled a little, in spite of himself. 

“A little,” he agreed. 

Fenris crawled into bed with Zevran and nuzzled him. “Love you.”

Zevran snuggled into Fenris’ arms and grinned. “And I love you, my heart. What did I do to deserve such a handsome, strong, virile lover? And it is not even my name day!”

“When is your name day anyway?” Fenris asked softly.

Zevran blinked. “I do not know,” he shrugged. “People rarely bother keeping track of such things with brothel brats; there are so many of us, after all. I was born sometime in the spring, I think.”

Fenris tugged the cover over them and sighed. “I know when mine is only because I have my sale papers.” 

“I was sold to the Crows for a very good price, I was told, but they were not concerned with such things as papers and name days,” replied the assassin. “It does not matter, in truth.”

“Shall we give you one? Or we could share mine.” Fenris said as he trailed his fingers over Zevran’s face gently. He squirmed a bit as he tried to ignore his persistent hard on.

“Is yours in spring?” asked Zevran quietly. “I do like the spring.”

“Fifth day of Cloudreach.” Fenris said. quietly. Zevran smiled.

“Ah, yes; the little blue Andraste's Kisses are blooming around Denerim at that time of year,” the Antivan reminisced fondly. “They are very pretty. I would be honoured to share your name day, my heart.”

“Thank you.” Fenris closed his eyes and smiled.

Zevran leaned up and gently kissed Fenris’ cheek. “You are so sweet, _carissimi_ ,” he smiled. His lack of a name day had never bothered him, but it was amusing and gratifying how pleased Fenris seemed to be over the idea.

“One day… maybe we can ...no, I won’t make this weird again.” Fenris mumbled as he started to drift off.

“Hmm?” Zevran was halfway towards sleep himself; he was comfortable and warm, held safely in Fenris’ arms; and though for a little while he had been afraid things were about to turn difficult once more, Fenris seemed to have realised his own foolishness and they’d moved on. Perhaps a year ago, things would have gone a different way. He was glad they hadn’t. He tilted his head back and nuzzled against Fenris’ neck, his eyes closed, his breathing already slowing.

Fenris fell so deeply asleep, he didn’t feel it when Zevran got up at the sound of persistent knocking on the door. He normally didn’t sleep so soundly but he was worn out by the time he’d drifted off.

The Antivan was still half-asleep himself as he opened the door to Hawke; he pulled the door open, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, oblivious to his own nakedness.

“Friend Hawke. What time is it?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Well past noon bell, and neither of you showed up for breakfast or lunch so we were worried.” Hawke came in and shut the door to find Fenris had sat up as well. “I take it your talk went well?”

“You could say that,” smirked Zevran, still limping slightly as he made his way over to the pile of his clothes and bent over to reach for his pants.

“Hi…” Fenris yawned as he watched Zevran dress before he looked to his other lover. “How’s Anders?”

Zevran tugged on his pants then wandered to the bathing chamber; the sound of water splashing drifted out a moment later.

“Are you alright? Both of you seemed ...upset to put it mildly over all the changes with you.” Vic asked as he watched the wistful way Fenris’ gaze followed Zevran.

Fenris nodded. “We are now, I think,” he said slowly. “Though I was an idiot earlier - but we... talked. Amongst other things. I think Zevran feels a little more comfortable with my changes. Well, mostly,” he amended with a smirk he couldn’t quite repress as Zevran returned, cold water streaming down his back from his long, wet hair and still slightly limping but looking rather more awake if a little out of breath.

“Alright, I just worry for both of you. Whenever you’re up to it, come to our rooms; we miss you both.” Vic said as he sat on the bed and took one of Fenris’ hands. He noticed that the elf was practically his equal in stature but didn’t mention it. 

Zevran threw back the curtains then blinked at the bright sunshine before throwing the window open and leaning out to glance around before he perched gingerly on the windowsill, bracing himself with a foot against the window frame as he wrung his long pale gold hair out over the flowerbed below, glancing up into the clear cloudless sky.

“It’s only been a couple days at most.” Fenris rubbed his thumb over the back of Vic’s hand, then kissed it. “We’ve probably scandalized half the wing anyway.” 

“I do hope so,” Zevran remarked over his shoulder as he stared down at the flowerbed below. “I did try to scream loud enough to at least scandalise the maids.”

Fenris felt his face warm at the memory of earlier and he gave Zevran a warm smile. “Next time, make sure it’s my name so they know which one of us is making you lose yourself.” 

Zevran glanced back over his shoulder and a devious smirk crossed his face. “I could scream it clear across the courtyard right now if you like,” he offered.

“Not unless I was actually making you want to scream.” Fenris replied with a lazy smile. He heard the way Vic whimpered next to him and turned. “You must like that thought.” 

Zevran straightened with a small pout. “That is unfair of you, _carissimi_. You know full well that if you were to try with me again right now, it would not be the kind of screaming you wish, no? I do not wish you to make me wish to scream for _that_ reason.” He grinned again. “But I would enjoy making people _think_ I was screaming for the other reason. And after your performance with Anders, you will have quite the crowd of admirers.”

“If you scream like that, I want it to be for real and because I can make you feel that good Zev.” Fenris said as he felt Vic’s hand on his leg while they sat there. He was suddenly aware that he was still naked and he’d never… taken care of himself when Zevran had begged off earlier.

“You always make me feel that good, _carissimi_ ,” shrugged Zevran. “Sometimes I simply have to remind myself to show the appreciation in a way you expect. If I scream with you, it is genuine, even if I have to remind myself to do it. I would never fake such enjoyment with you - why would I?”

Fenris picked at the comforter as he considered what Zevran had said. “You don’t have to, if ...you don’t want to. I was trained to be silent too.” 

Invictus squeezed his hand gently. “It’s ok love, you know we all care for you.” he held their hands up and kissed the back of Fenris’ hand gently. “Don’t get too dark, not on such a nice day.”

“Fenris... I _want_ to,” said Zevran. “Why should I not let everyone know how good you make me feel?”

“Never mind, I’m being stupid again. I should clean up and eat something, maybe it will fix that gap between my brain and mouth and what I should say.” Fenris wanted to run and hide but he knew neither of his lovers would let him off that easy if he did bolt.

Zevran straightened and swung his leg down to the floor as he stood and made his way over to his pile of clothes and began to dress. “We should go to your rooms, Hawke,” he said as he tugged on his shirt. “I want to talk to Anders.”

Invictus was confused but didn’t argue. “Come join us soon love.” he said to Fenris before he rose.

“He is coming too,” said Zevran; as both men stared at him, he waved a hand at Fenris. “Come, get dressed!” He turned to pick up his boots.

“I need to wash up first, I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Fenris said quietly before he headed for the bathing chamber.

Invictus was sure he’d missed whatever was going on between the elves, and wasn’t sure he should ask. Zevran had sat down on the floor to tug on his boots, then reached for his leather jerkin. He glanced up as he felt Hawke’s eyes upon him.

The former Champion waited until Fenris had shut the door, then asked what in the Void had happened that he’d missed.

“You missed nothing, my friend,” said Zevran, glancing up as he laced the side of his jerkin. “I can assure you that Fenris is as perplexed as you.”

“Care to let me in on it then? He looks like someone kicked him all of a sudden.” Vic whispered.

Zevran’s hands fell away from the laces and he stared at the floor, looking suddenly uncertain. “There is... something I need to talk to Anders about. And I wish you both to be there.” He glanced up at Hawke, and the Champion realised the assassin was nervous.

“Couldn’t you have said that? He’s not going…” Vic fell quiet as the pieces fell into place. “You’re still scared of him. Anders.”

Zevran slowly nodded. “I am. And I do not wish to be. Anders is my friend and I do not wish to be scared of my friend.” He lowered his gaze.

“Alright, I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Vic said as Fenris came out and dressed in silence. He’d hoped they’d gone ahead and he could have dawdled but he didn’t have that kind of luck. The taller elf was quiet as Hawke led them back to his rooms and frowned when he saw Anders was still out.

“Love, get up.” Hawke said with exasperation. When the blond didn’t budge, he resorted to a Rejuvenation spell. Anders jerked awake with a gasp and recoiled away from Hawke with a low cry, bringing his arms up to cover his head until he seemed to recall where he was and lowered them slowly, panting hard.

As Anders cried out, Zevran had jerked back and flattened himself against the wall, a blade suddenly appearing in his hand which he swiftly sheathed before glancing away. He straightened slowly, then turned back to look at Anders.

The blond mage was running a hand through his hair and murmuring to Hawke that he was alright. “You just woke me in the middle of a dream - a not very pleasant one.” He rubbed the faded, silvery scar upon his brow with a faint frown.

Fenris had noticed the way Zevran reacted and frowned a bit, but didn’t speak on it. Whatever the former assassin was up to, he’d let him lead.

Hawke handed Anders a mug of tea as he joined him on the bed. “Sorry love, but it’s well past our usual wake up time. Also, Zevran wanted to see you.”

Anders cradled the mug in his hands. “It’s alright; I really didn’t want to be asleep and see what came next,” he said, and shuddered. “Had that one too many times and I’m quite glad to be awake.” He glanced up at Zevran, who had wandered over to the cabinet where Anders kept various bottles of alcohol, and was studying the labels intently.

“I know I slept late, but not _that_ late, Zevran,” Anders called to him. Zevran gave a half shrug and turned away from the bottles.

“Maybe a drink after we’ve had something to eat?” Fenris said as he tried to get comfortable in his usual chair, which he found almost too small after the changes Mythal had caused. 

“Do you want me to get something sent up love? Neither of you have eaten today have you?” Hawke offered.

“I’ll wait, I should show my face around the Keep so rumors don’t get worse than what I’ve heard starting to circulate.” Fenris glanced at Zevran then back to Anders, curious as to what was up.

“I think I’d prefer to eat here - at least until after Cullen’s had a chance to squelch the more antagonistic templars,” said Anders gloomily before taking a sip from his tea. “Maker, this is needed,” he added. “I can feel myself actually starting to feel more alive now.”

Fenris bit back the response on his tongue, he knew he was getting irritable since he was confused, tired, and hungry and didn’t want to take it out on the others. 

“Ok, I’ll get something light for the rest of us until we’re done talking. Zevran, you wanted to visit, so the floor is yours.” Hawke said before he stuck his head out to catch a passing servant with his request.

Anders glanced up. “Zevran? What’s up?” he asked.

The Antivan shrugged seemingly nonchalantly as he took a chair. “I was... concerned for you, my friend,” he said. “What happened at the Temple... it was... strange, no?”

“Very,” agreed Anders. “I barely remember most of it, to be honest. There are a couple of gaps in my memory. But we seemed to accomplish what we went there for, and Fenris was healed - the other changes were... unexpected, but I think we’re all getting used to them. They even have some... unexpected benefits.” He grinned.

“You do not remember what happened after you healed Fenris, no?” said Zevran quietly. Anders shrugged.

“Not a thing,” he said then took another mouthful of tea, swallowing before he glanced up. “Why, what happened that has you bothered?”

“You were... possessed. By what appeared to be... a goddess,” said Zevran slowly, haltingly, as though the words were being dragged out of him unwillingly. “An... _angry_ goddess.”

“Ah. That,” said Anders, suddenly finding the contents of his nearly-empty mug incredibly fascinating.

“Meneris and Solas were about to come to blows, Mythal spoke through you to stop them, that’s why She was angry Anders. You collapsed the moment you left the pool.” Fenris explained.

Anders glanced up at Zevran. “Well, you can see I’m fine now,” he said and tried to smile. “No changes. I’m still just me. Just plain old Anders.”

Zevran lifted his head and stared at Anders with an almost unnerving intensity. “Are you?” he asked softly. Anders fell silent, uncertain of what to say to that.

“He’s just him Zevran, do you think Mythal is still in him, just kind of being there? He’s not carrying a goddess around.” Hawke said while Fenris stared at his lovers, silent as he considered what was happening.

“Maker, I should hope not!” exclaimed Anders, a little aghast. “Not after what these two did to me the other night and then again the following morning! I still have bruises across my arse and legs, I’ll have you know,” he added, waggling a finger at Fenris who merely grinned suddenly, unrepentant and amused at that particular memory in spite of what else was going on. “Not that I’m necessarily complaining,” Anders added hastily. “But Mythal still lurking? It would be like - like having Andraste in the corner of the room watching! I’d die of embarrassment!”

“But you do not _know_ Andraste and your Maker actually exist,” said Zevran gravely. “We _know_ Mythal truly exists - and that She possessed you at will. What is to say She would not do so again?”

“Andraste exists - well, existed,” said Anders matter-of-factly. “Matter of historical record.” He turned back to his mug as though the matter were at an end.

“But do you truly _know_ that the Maker does? That she truly _was_ his prophetess?” pushed Zevran.

“Zevran, it’s a bit early in the day for an in-depth, weighty discussion of theology,” complained Anders. “Can’t it at least wait until I’ve eaten?”

“Love...think about it for a minute, this isn’t just about theology.” Hawke prompted before he went to answer the knock, grateful it was the tray he’d requested.

“I don’t understand,” Anders said slowly. “I’m missing something here. What’s going on? What is this all about?”

“Anders...what if you didn’t believe in Andraste or the Maker then saw them manifest through one of us? Or, if you found out Vic or I were Chosen by them early and saw this change before your very eyes? Think about it, and how you’d be shaken up.” Fenris finally said before he scooted by to get a plate. 

Anders stared at him, then at Zevran, who glanced away. Anders stared down at his empty mug, his eyes wide. After a few minutes, his lips moved as he attempted to find words, but all that he could manage was a small, quiet, “...oh.”

Fenris nodded in agreement before he glanced at Zevran. “So now you understand?”

Anders glanced at Zevran. “You’re afraid of me,” he said quietly.

Zevran stared at the windows; without turning, he merely nodded his head slightly.

“Oh,” said Anders again, clearly bothered and troubled by this revelation. “But... but I’m just... _me_. Just... Anders. Not Mythal, or anything like that. Just... me.”

Zevran slowly turned his head to stare at him. “No. You are not.”

Anders stared at him, then hung his head. “No. You’re right. I’m... not, any more, am I? I’m an... an abomination again.”

“Stop.” Fenris got up and snarled at them. “You are not an abomination. You are you with a bit of extra healing ability. If you were an abomination you’d have turned on us by now. Zevran, he’s not carrying around Mythal, not any more than I am. He’s just Anders.” 

“Fenris...stop, you’re not helping.” Vic said before his lover turned his glare on him. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re not helping. Look at them.”

Anders had dropped the mug and covered his face with his hands, shuddering silently. Zevran had turned away, his gaze on the windows once more, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he held himself still.

Hawke sighed as he moved to get Anders to sit down and have something besides tea, and left Fenris to try and talk to Zevran. When the warrior didn’t move he went as far as he pushing him towards the Antivan elf. 

“Anders, sit and eat then, you tell us if you want to have this talk or come back to it later, much later.” Hawke said as he put a plate in the other mage’s hands and waited for him to eat.

Anders took a shuddering breath and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he murmured, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, his breath rather shaky still. He reached for a morsel of food with his other hand. “Is there... is there any more tea?” he asked in a small voice.

Hawke poured him more tea and passed him some honey while he was at it. “You’ve barely eaten in two days and you’ve been shagged senseless by both of us. I woke you in the middle of a dream and you’ve been asked a huge question when you weren’t expecting it. So eat, just ...have something to help clear up your mind.” 

Fenris was behind Zevran, unsure what to say to the other elf that wouldn’t let his annoyance show at how things were going. 

“I am sorry,” said the Antivan after a moment. “This was not how I wished this to happen.” He turned and then took a half-step back, his breath catching in his throat as he found Fenris looming so closely over him. “ _Carissimi_ , it... it is not good to startle me just now,” he said softly. To his credit, he had managed to catch himself before he could instinctively draw blade on Fenris.

The taller elf stepped back and went back to the table, his expression closed off. He wanted to just leave, go practice in the ring, anything but be part of the awkward discussion happening around him.

Anders had calmed as food and hot tea began to take effect, a little of the colour returning to his cheeks and the haunted look slowly fading from his eyes. After a while, Zevran took a seat at the far end of the table from Anders, his eyes on the wooden surface.

“I... apologise,” the Antivan said stiffly. “This is not how I intended this discussion to go.”

“Zevran, what do you want of me?” asked Anders. “I have no way of proving to you one way or another that I am not somehow carrying Mythal around with me. I can ask Hawke to - to bring my healing spirit out....” He glanced at the other mage. “I don’t know if she can help? But I can’t think of any other way to reassure you.”

Fenris shoved his plate away and put his head on the table. He knew if he said anything it would make things worse. He glanced up when he felt Hawke’s hand in his hair but stayed quiet.

“Would that help? She could assure you she’s the only one in Anders but would that freak you out more?” Vic asked as he let his fingers trail down the parts between Fenris’ braids as he tried to think of a way to settle the other elf’s fears.

Zevran stared at the table top, then slowly nodded. “Perhaps... she... may settle my fears,” he agreed quietly. He lifted his head. “But would that not hurt you?” he added with a small frown.

“Believe me, I am quite willing to accept that if it means you’ll accept that I am not carrying an elven goddess around in my head,” said Anders firmly. He glanced at Hawke. “If you are willing, love,” he added quietly. He glanced to Fenris, uncertain what his reaction to all this would be.

Hawke leaned over to kiss the back of Fenris’ neck before he turned to them. “If we absolutely must do this, fine. You will wait until he’s eaten however.” 

Zevran nodded. “Of course,” he acceded. He was silent a moment, his eyes on the table surface once more. “And... forgive me... but I must ask one more favour.” He glanced up at Anders. “That you permit yourself to be bound to your chair or, if he will agree, then restrained by Fenris.”

Anders went still for a moment as he returned Zevran’s stare. Abruptly he straightened. “Agreed,” he said briskly then turned his attention back to his food.

Fenris sat up and glared at Zevran for a long time before he got up to pace. He didn’t want to participate in this even if it meant the other elf would be at peace. He had circled the room a few times before Anders called to him.

“Love, it’s alright,” the blond mage said as he reached for his mug. “I can be tied to my chair. You don’t need to do this. Just... don’t leave me bound too long after I come back to myself.” He kept his eyes on his tea, not looking at any of the other men.

“I have a feeling you’d rather not be tied to the chair at all.” Hawke said as he watched Fenris continue to pace like a caged mabari.

“I’ll restrain you, I don’t...I’d rather not tie you.” Fenris said as he passed by them. He was having a hard time restraining the urge to just leave and hit things in the practice ring.

Anders drained his mug then set it down. “Then let’s get this over with,” he said tersely. He rose to his feet and waited.

Fenris came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his lover. “Is this alright? I’m sorry Anders.” he said quietly.

“I know,” he said quietly. He glanced to Hawke, swallowed hard then nodded.

As Hawke’s spirit bolt hit him hard in the stomach, he cried out in pain and then suddenly his body stiffened as his eyes suddenly blazed with golden light. He struggled briefly in Fenris’ grip but went still as the elf merely tightened his grip until the mage stopped struggling, his chest heaving.

Zevran had leapt from his chair and backed away hastily as light blazed from Anders’ eyes; he halted only when he realised Anders was helpless in Fenris’ grasp.

Anders - or rather, the spirit possessing him - stared at the ceiling for a few minutes as the Enchanter panted for breath, then slowly lowered his head to stare at Zevran.

“ _Anders has willingly allowed himself to be hurt for you,_ ” the spirit said in Anders’ voice, light and soft. “ _Is his pain worth this?_ ”

“Who are you?” hissed Zevran. “I heard you before, speaking with his voice yet not him. Speak true! Are you spirit or demon - or are you _Her_?”

“ _I am no demon_ ,” replied the spirit. “ _Nor am I Mythal. I am called Llyria; I am a spirit of healing._ ”

“Why do you possess him?” demanded Zevran. “Can you not leave him be? Could you not see his distress, his tears at thought of being an abomination?”

Anders’ face took on a sorrowful look. “ _I wish I could, but alas that cannot be. He and I are one now. We would not have chosen this, but he was dying. The healing his friend performed upon him did not work, and the injury he received at Adamant was killing him. If I had not joined with him, Anders would have died. He and I cannot be parted, or his life will end._ ”

“Truly?” said Zevran slowly, as he hesitantly took a step closer. “He - he would have died?”

“ _I speak only the truth,_ ” Llyria answered softly. 

“Why you?” he asked, taking another step forward. “Spirits do not have names.”

“ _Spirits of healing are... not like other spirits,_ ” she answered. “ _Justice, Faith, Wisdom - these are virtues taken form within the Fade. But healing is not a virtue in that way, to be embodied by a spirit. Instead, many of us were once healers ourselves, drawn to those few healers who can hear us; we help them. Anders is a spirit healer, and I was once a priestess of Mythal. I have been with Anders since his birth, and I guided him on the day he first reached for magic to heal. I could not let him die. I will not let him die. I would not see him harmed, save he submitted himself to this for your sake._ ” She paused, and Anders tilted his head upon one side, his blank golden eyes never leaving Zevran. Suddenly he smiled slightly. “ _He is very fond of you, Zevran Arainai,_ ” she said gently.

Hawke glanced at the Antivan elf then at Fenris before he went to Anders’ side. “Are you satisfied now?”

Zevran stared at Anders for a moment longer, then slowly nodded. “I am,” he said quietly. “And... I am sorry... my Lady.”

Anders smiled a little wider. “ _He forgives you,_ ” she said softly. Anders’ eyes slowly closed, and suddenly he went limp in Fenris’ grasp as his head fell forward.

Fenris picked Anders up gently and laid him out, his expression worried as he awaited a sign Anders was back to himself. 

Vic poured himself a stiff drink and readied one for Anders if he wanted it. Zevran had turned away, one fist pressed to his mouth as he bit his knuckle, head bowed.

Anders stirred, his eyes opening slowly as he lifted one hand to rub his stomach before he slowly rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he curled up a little with a low groan. “Andraste’s flaming arse, that hurts,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Fenris simply got a bucket and handed it to the mage as he rubbed Anders’ back in circles slowly. He was furious but didn’t want to explode in rage at the others, he’d take it out on the dummies in the yard. If he ever left the damn room.

Anders managed to sit up once he’d finished retching, and glanced at Hawke. “Your spirit bolts have gotten a lot stronger, love,” he told him. “Have you been practicing?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to discuss my newfound strength in casting it. Do you want some tea or mint leaves?” Vic asked. Fenris had escaped to take care of the bucket and was taking a long time getting back.

“I’d rather have something stronger,” Anders confessed, still rubbing his abdomen gingerly. He closed his eyes for a moment as his hand glowed a pale blue, then exhaled in relief. “Better,” he said quietly.

Zevran was leaning against the window, staring out unseeing as he worried his knuckle with his teeth, ashamed of his fear and what Anders had had to put himself through.

Fenris finally returned but didn’t seem like he wanted to stay. “I’m going to ...work off some ...something. I’ll be by later to check on you Anders.” he said to his warden lover. 

“I’ll be fine, but it’ll be good to see you later, love,” nodded Anders. “Come by and join us for dinner if we haven’t seen you by then?”

“As you wish, I’ll be back after I take out my anger in the yard.” Fenris kissed him on the cheek before he left for his rooms. He was borderline furious and the way he could feel his markings flaring up, he knew he’d terrify Invictus and and Zevran until he’d gotten some of this out of his system.

“I don’t need the bond to know he’s furious,” said Anders softly. He affected to not notice the way Zevran had visibly flinched when the door almost slammed behind Fenris.

“Let him be until he comes to us, you know how he is. This change to his power, to him can’t be helping.” Vic said with a rather unsubtle glance at the Antivan elf still with them. “Come and eat Zevran, you’ve got your answers and we’re not upset with you. Well, Anders isn’t, I’m not happy but it’s done.” 

Zevran turned away from the window slowly and let his hands drop to his side. “I am not hungry,” he said as he retook his seat at the table once more. “I am sorry,” he added. “And... ashamed. That is twice now that I have let my fears get the better of me.”

“Twice? What was the first time?” Vic asked as he nudged a mug of tea at the elf.

Zevran reached for it and cradled it between his hands, staring down into it. “I... reacted poorly when I realised how much Fenris had... changed. I was afraid of him. I thought we had moved past that, but... he is so angry now.” He hung his head, unwilling to look up and meet their gaze.

“Why would you be afraid of him? I mean he told us but I don’t understand, unless I woke up on the dull side of the bed today.” Vic said. 

“Because he has changed so much, outside, and I am afraid for what that means... inside. Up here.” Zevran tapped his own temple. “He is so much stronger now, and I do not think he knows his own strength yet. I have felt but a fraction of it, and I know he was not putting even a quarter of his effort into it. He could crush me without a thought if he so chose.” He lifted his head and regarded Anders nervously. “He held a possessed mage in his arms and did not break a sweat, but you could not move. Even with your spirit in control, you were helpless.”

Anders blinked, slightly unnerved by that himself, though he carefully schooled his expression to neutrality. “But Zevran, he’s never shown the slightest sign of wanting to hurt any of us,” he pointed out gently. “He’d be horrified to know you’re afraid of him.”

“He is also very angry that I caused you to be hurt,” answered Zevran miserably. “And he loved you long before he and I ever met.”

“Zevran, I _asked_ Hawke to do that. No-one else made me do it; I asked him of my own free will, and I was willing to allow him to tie me to the chair if it meant you would feel safer,” Anders pointed out. “It’s not the first time Hawke’s done it either - and I asked him that time too. And I will willingly submit to that as many times as necessary if it helps reassure people that I am not a threat - that _Llyria_ is no threat!”

“Love, relax.” Vic said as he passed Anders a strong drink and took one for himself. He looked to the forlorn elf with a sigh. “Zevran, give him time to cool off and go talk to him. Do you not realize how much he loves you and will forgive? He’s probably going to be fine once he works it out in the yard. Do you honestly think Fenris would hurt you, especially with how broken he was when you disappeared? He ...fuck I shouldn’t tell you think but maybe it will help you get it through your head he’s not to be feared by us.” 

Zevran frowned slightly. “Shouldn’t tell me...?” he echoed slowly.

Vic sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as he contemplated what he was about to reveal. “Look, you know Fenris can be insecure, we’ve all experienced it. But you leaving? It damn near destroyed him Zevran. He was sure he was beyond forgiveness, beyond you ever looking at him like he’s the only person in the world ever again. The way he broke down undid me, and if he can feel so much for you, reveal how shattered he was at the thought of never seeing you again, loving you… do you honestly think you’re right to fear him? He fears failing us more than anything and the thought you scare him? Brought a lot of that back.” 

Zevran stared down into his mug of tea and was silent. He slowly closed his eyes, holding still.

“Zevran?” asked Anders quietly.

“My friend, if you have any brandy in that marvellous cabinet of yours, I would greatly appreciate it,” murmured the Antivan.

“Here, we even have some Antivan brandy on hand since we heard you favor it.” Vic said as he took a seat. “Help yourself, you’re not some visitor to be served.” 

Anders shot him a reproving look. “Vic,” he said warningly as he rose from his seat to fetch the bottle and a glass. He set the glass down in front of Zevran, filled it, then placed the bottle beside it and returned to his seat.

Zevran studied the glass for a moment before he picked it up, swirling the liquid in the glass and then inhaling it.

“Antiva,” he whispered softly, and then smiled a little wistfully before he drank.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris scratches a couple of itches and indulges an exhibitionist streak he didn't know he had. Very much X-rated.

“I think it’s dead,” remarked Bull as he leaned on the wall and regarded the shredded remains of the training dummy that Fenris had demolished. He cast his eye over the others. “In fact I think they’re all dead.” He folded his arms and stared down at the elf. “So. You ready to talk yet? It’ll take a week before the carpenters have built you any more to smash.”

Fenris kept his back to Bull, his sword pointed tip down in the dirt as he tried to catch his breath. “What...do you think I need to talk about?” he finally asked before he dumped a bucket of water over his head to cool off.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Bull as he began ticking points off on his fingers. “The fact that one of your boyfriends is scared shitless of you? The fact he’s _also_ scared shitless of your _other_ boyfriend? The fact you’re also pretty freaked out by this whole ‘growing a foot in height practically overnight and suddenly in need of a haircut’ business? How am I doing, or would you like me to keep going?” He arched his eyebrow at Fenris. “The fact that your blond boyfriend has just shot to the top of the ‘public enemy’ list of about half the templars, all of whom are just itching to find out if a branding will work if they just do it enough? Or the fact that there have been three poisoning attempts on his life already?” He watched the expression on Fenris’ face change. “Oh, whoops, my bad. You didn’t know about that one.”

“Care to tell my future while you’re at it? Or is that not part of the Ben-Hassrath training program?” Fenris asked as he grabbed his sword and whetstone so he could work on all the nicks and scratches he’d inflicted on it.

“Don’t do the future; that bit’s up to you,” said the massive kossith as he sat astride the wall and watched Fenris working on his sword. “Also up to them a certain amount - but mostly up to you. Of course, your biggest problem right now is there’s something you want from them that you’re afraid they’re never going to give you again, and it’s something you badly want right now.”

Fenris glanced up at Bull for a minute then went back to his weapon. “What would that be, since it’s clearly lay Fenris bare day around the Keep.”

The Iron Bull leaned in a little closer. “Pretty clear to me that you want someone to take care of you and be in charge for once, the way you always do for others. You don’t want to have to be the big strong one all the time. Sometimes you want someone else to take over for a bit.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm as it ghosted over Fenris’ sensitive ear. “You look down at Anders, so sweet and submissive, shivering and messy beneath you, tied up and begging as you fuck that tight little ass of his, make him call you ser, and it does things to you. You want to be someone’s sweet little thing as they make you come undone, that pretty hair of yours all mussed, your lips red and swollen from swallowing cock - that big cock that’s now balls deep in _your_ tight ass as you call someone else ser and beg them to let you come. You want someone else to dominate you for once and make all the decisions. And you’re getting so hot at the thought of someone doing that to you right now that you stopped polishing that blade about two seconds after I started talking, and if I told you to drop to your knees and open up I think you’d about come in your pants, wouldn’t you?”

Fenris turned to look Bull in the eye and merely nodded, he couldn’t make words form if he wanted to them to. He felt his sword slide off his lap and heard the thud but he couldn’t break Bull’s gaze.

The Iron Bull merely grinned. “I’ll let you go think about it, Fenris. And if that’s still what you want when you’ve had time to really think about it, then come find me tonight. My door will be open. OK?”

“Don’t...leave, please ser.” Fenris asked as he stared at Bull, eyes wide as he fought every urge to drop in front of Bull and beg, public space be damned.

Bull’s grin grew. He set his massive axe down in the sand in front of them, then reached down for Fenris’ sword. As he did so, he reached his other hand to grip and fondle Fenris’ hard cock through the front of his pants. “Hmm, what have we here?” murmured the Bull. “You _are_ interested, aren’t you?” He continued to fondle the elf as he regarded Fenris thoughtfully, what he was doing hidden from view by the massive blade of his axe as they sat side by side on the wall.

“More… than interested ser. Take me, I...need, what you said.” Fenris said before he bit his lip and tried not to beg to come even as a squad of soldiers marched by. 

Bull released Fenris. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet,” said Bull. “But I can give you a little something. Pull your pants down to your knees, then kneel down behind my axe, your head resting on your forearms, ass in the air.”

“Yes...ser.” Fenris complied eagerly, glad he couldn’t see the rest of the yard and hopeful no one saw them yet, excited at the prospect of being caught.

The Iron Bull shifted behind Fenris and reached for the bottle of sword oil. Fenris couldn’t see what he was doing, but a moment later he felt a thick, oil-slick finger slowly push in one smooth motion into his entrance whilst a large, warm hand cradled his cock and balls, fondling and stroking them. The finger thrust down inside him then withdrew in an almost corkscrew motion, teasing against his sweet spot.

Fenris caught himself before he shout out loud. Instead he leaned back into Bull’s touch and prayed he didn’t make a spectacle of himself.

“Now now, no sound,” the Bull said reprovingly. “Or I might have to just walk away and leave you like this.” He belied the point by easing a second finger in. The huge mercenary’s fingers were thick and strong; two together were almost like being fucked by Zevran, and Fenris couldn’t help but wonder what three would feel like or - Void take him - the Bull’s massive heavy cock.

Then the fingers deep inside him twisted and touched him just _so_ as the hand around his cock pumped steadily, and he nearly exploded.

Fenris used every single bit of willpower he had to not scream and fill Bull’s hand. Instead he bit his lip and clawed at the ground in an effort to remain quiet. He just hoped anyone who saw the didn't come over to actually talk or he’d die of shame, or not being allowed to come before he died on the spot.

“Hey, Boss,” called Krem. “You got a minute?”

“Busy with this sword,” Bull replied, jerking his head down towards his hands. “It’s a bit rusty and needs some work. What’s up?”

Krem spotted the hilt of the greatsword sticking out from the side of the Iron Bull’s lap. “Hey, isn’t that Fenris’ sword?” he asked.

“Just giving it a bit of attention,” shrugged the Iron Bull. He’d slowly eased a third finger in beside the first two, and Fenris felt stuffed full and tight. The elf had started rocking back onto the Bull’s fingers now, fucking himself on the kossith’s hand as the Iron Bull pumped faster at the elf’s cock.

“Fenris ought to be more careful where he sticks that thing,” said Krem, shaking his head. “Anyway, no worries, Boss, it can wait. Just wanted to know if you’ve seen Hal around?”

“Was in the infirmary last I looked,” said the Bull.

“I’ll check there, then,” nodded Krem as he walked away.

Fenris thought he deserved a damned medal for not screaming and begging for Bull’s cock as the kossith calmly chatted up Krem while he finger-fucked him. Instead he tried to do everything he could to get Bull to get him off while remaining silent. 

Then the Bull’s fingers thrust harder and faster into his body as his fist pumped faster at Fenris’ cock; and on every backpull the thick fingers brushed the elf’s prostate - over, and over, and over.

The elven warrior couldn’t hold back his climax as he came hard and coated Bull’s hand and the dirt under him. He managed somehow not to whimper as he felt Bull continue to pump his fingers fast and hard through his orgasm. He did gasp when he felt them finally sliding from him. He was shaking, and if not for Bull’s arm under him he’d have fallen face down in the dirt.

“Now look at the mess you made over my hand,” rumbled the Iron Bull quietly. He held his dripping fingers up in front of Fenris’ face. “I think you ought to clean that up, don’t you?”

The elf opened his mouth and lapped every bit of his come from Bull’s hand as he stared into the kossith’s eye. He finished quickly and was rewarded with his pants being tugged up so he wasn’t bare assed in the yard, but he was enthralled with Bull and if he’d suggested fucking him on the head table over dinner, he’d have run to do it. “Did I please you ser?” he asked very softly as he continued to stare at Bull.

The Iron Bull grinned and patted Fenris gently on the cheek. “You did very well,” he answered. “Tonight I’ll gag you so you can scream all you want. The only time the gag will come off will be when my cock is down your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d love that ser, may I...may I ask for it now? I don’t know if I’ll...if I can make it till tonight.” Fenris said as he let his mind wander to what it would feel like for Bull to totally dominate him and how much he wanted it.

The Iron Bull shook his head. “Not now. Tonight.” 

He got to his feet, reaching for a rag to clean the hand he’d used to finger-fuck Fenris with, then he reached for his axe and paused. “If you’re _very_ good, maybe I’ll let you fuck Hal whilst I fuck that sweet ass of yours.” He grinned as all the breath seemed to escape from Fenris’ lungs at once. “I’ll have him tied up and waiting. He needs to be a very good boy too.”

He swung his axe onto his shoulder and strode away, leaving Fenris kneeling in the sand, his sword resting on the wall.

The elven warrior got up eventually and headed in for a bath, but he was distracted by the thought of what he was going to do that evening with Bull and maybe Hal, if he proved himself. The redhead was nowhere to be seen so Fenris wondered if he was already bound and waiting on his lover.

He had dinner with the others but watched Bull like a hawk for a signal that he was allowed to join him. At the slight beckon from the other warrior, he slipped a note into Vic’s hand and left the dining hall at a hurried clip.

Invictus raised his eyebrows at the elf’s exit but smiled when he read the hastily scrawled note, and whispered in Anders ear. “He’s got an itch to be scratched, like you in the Hissing Wastes. We’ll see him tomorrow.”

Anders chuckled. “He’ll get to find out just what it’s like to get fucked so hard you can barely walk,” Anders murmured back. “Speaking of which... feel like playing a little tonight, love?”

“Of course, you know I enjoy it when we break out the toys” Vic kissed him before he got more wine and waited to see if Zevran would show up, or if the Antivan was still sulking.

When Fenris got to the Bull’s quarters, he found the door unlocked. He found Hal already there. The redhead was kneeling on the floor, face hidden by his hair. His wrists were bound up between his shoulderblades, a loop of rope running from his wrists around his throat, and his knees and ankles were bound together. As Fenris entered, he was greeted by the sight of Hal’s backside; he could see the Bull had obviously been preparing Hal ahead of time and had left him filled with a toy.

Hal didn’t move as Fenris entered, keeping his head bowed.

The elven warrior saw Bull reclining in a large chair that faced where Hal knelt. He shut and locked the door before he dropped to his knees next to Hal and bent his head. 

“Hal’s been a naughty boy,” said the Bull quietly. “Haven’t you, Hal?”

The redhead nodded, not lifting his head.

“Hal’s going to stay there and watch whilst I fuck your mouth, and then we’re going to make him face the other way before I take you to the bed,” continued the mercenary. “He’ll be able to hear everything but not see anything. What do you think of that, Fenris?”

“...Ser, I think seeing us, without being able to touch just full of the toy in him would be worse. I concede to your judgement.” Fenris didn’t look up, he remained on his knees,eyes down and slightly envious of the rope work adorning the other man.

“Hal wanted to watch, didn’t you, Kadan?” said the Bull. Hal nodded again, not lifting his head. “Kadan. I want you to look at Fenris.”

Hal lifted his head slowly and looked at Fenris.

“Hal, would you like Fenris to fuck you?” asked the Bull.

Hal stared at Fenris, his gaze intense as he nodded and finally spoke. “Yes, I want that very much, Ser,” he whispered.

“Hal, would you like to suck Fenris’ cock?”

“Oh Maker, yes,” breathed Hal.

“Fenris, would you like to fuck my disobedient Kadan’s mouth this evening?” asked the Bull, lifting one eyebrow.

“Yes ser, very much ser. If it pleases you ser.” Fenris said as he looked into Hal’s eyes and licked his lips without realizing it.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to make you both earn that,” said the Bull with a smile. “Come here, Fenris.”

The elven warrior scrambled to his feet and stood before Bull, silently grateful there was _someone_ he still had to look up to face. “How may I serve, ser?”

“First undress,” ordered the Bull. “Then bring me something to play with from the table.” As Fenris glanced over, he saw various implements spread out on the table, along with various toys. “I’ll let you take your pick.”

“Thank you ser.” Fenris breathed as he quickly stripped and went over to the table, picking up a long, heavy, polished metal phallus and the oil next to it. He knelt and presented it to Bull. “Does my choice, please you ser? I’ll pick another if it doesn’t.”

The Bull grinned. “That one’s fine,” he said, gesturing for Fenris to turn around as he took the toy. “Now bend over, spread your legs and grip your ankles.”

Fenris obeyed and wished he’d tied his hair a bit more as a couple braids dangled over his face. That split second of annoyance was forgotten when he felt Bull’s oiled fingers probing him again. 

“You’re allowed to make noise this time,” rumbled the Bull as his fingers probed deeper then withdrew with a “come hither” motion.

Hal was watching, staring up at Fenris and licking his lips unselfconsciously. As Fenris watched, Hal rocked himself backwards a little.

Fenris moaned wantonly as he felt Bull’s fingers in him, then yelped when the cold metal cock started to slide into him. “Ser….” he moaned as it slid further into him, then was pulled back for a little more oil to be added. His eyes closed briefly as he felt it go as far as it could and he yelped again when Bull slid it out almost as far as it could go.

“Look at my naughty Kadan, fucking himself on his toy,” mused the Bull as he slowly worked the toy in and out of Fenris’ body, twisting it as it slowly withdrew then thrusting it in again, changing the angle slightly. “What should we do with my bad Kadan, Fenris?”

“Sp...spank...him, ser?” Fenris stuttered as he tried to hold on to his ankles as ordered and not go to his knees.

“Would you like to spank him, Fenris? You’re being a very good boy. You’d like to spank him, wouldn’t you?”

Hal stopped rocking himself onto the toy lodged inside him and stared up at Fenris with wide eyes, biting his lip.

“Ser,...yes ser. Anything you want ser.” He moaned as he felt Bull’s thrusts get slightly faster. He called out Bull’s name with each thrust of the thick phallus. “Please...ser” he whimpered.

Bull slipped the toy slowly out of Fenris’ body and patted his ass. “Fenris, put Hal over your knee and give him a damned good thrashing. Ignore him if he screams for you to stop. I want you to keep going until you hear the word ‘katoh’ - from either me or him. You can use any toy on the table. Just stop at ‘katoh’, understood?”

“Katoh...means stop.” Fenris said as he straightened up and looked to the toy in Bull’s hand. “May I have …”he faltered unsure if Bull would spank him next if he asked to have another phallus put in him while he spanked the red head.

The Iron Bull raised an eyebrow but merely gestured at the table. “Pick something for him, and something for yourself.”

Hal was trembling slightly as he stared up at Fenris. He licked his lips nervously and looked as though he wanted to say something, but remained silent.

Fenris picked a thick, polished plug for himself and a stiff leather paddle to use on Hal. He turned and held them up for Bull to approve or not. The Bull nodded to the plug but gestured for Fenris to put the paddle back. “Something lighter,” he said quietly, his eye inscrutable.

“Yes, ser.” Fenris picked up a thinner, lighter wood paddle that wouldn't mark even if he put a lot of effort into his swings. He held that up instead for approval. The Bull nodded, then gestured for Fenris to turn around and bend over again. He slowly worked the new toy into Fenris, thrusting it in and out a few times until Fenris moaned and began trying to push back on it, then he seated it fully inside Fenris and unexpectedly swatted the elf lightly with his hand.

“Go on. Get to work on Hal. I want to hear him howl and beg. Remember this rule though - the moment anyone says ‘katoh’, it all stops. Break that rule and we stop playing and you’ll never get to come back again. Understood?”

“Clear as Orlesian fine crystal ser” Fenris agreed before be tugged Hal onto his lap and got to work with the paddle. He wondered how much of a sadist he had to be, really because each jerk of Hal against his lap made the flared end of the toy inside him move just enough to tease but not really enough to let him come. His plight wasn’t helped by Hal’s hard cock rubbing against him with each slap of the paddle. ‘Mythal is real but the Maker must hate me’ he thought.

Hal grunted with the first few strokes, but soon began to cry out and struggle. Occasionally one of Fenris’ strokes would hit the end of the toy lodged inside him and Hal would jerk with an alarmed cry; as Fenris continued beating him, Hal began to writhe and scream, begging Fenris to stop, _please, Maker, please just stop, I’m begging you stop, no!_

The elven fighter didn’t stop, he knew if he stopped for anything but katoh he’d be on the end of the paddle. Fenris almost stopped, as he wondered how much he’d like it, but he caught himself before he could do so. Instead he went faster, eager to make Hal cry out and beg more.

Hal was weeping now, but even as the tears ran down his face he was writhing against Fenris, his cock hard against the elf’s leg; and as Fenris accidentally hit the end of the toy he gasped. “Oh, again, please, please, again!”

Fenris did as he was asked, his mind solely on the order to make Hal beg for them. He was hoping the young mage in his lap would come or scream louder or be gagged as he had the fleeting thought that someone might think he was killing someone instead of having a good time.

As more and more of Fenris’ blows hit the end of the toy, Hal jerked, shuddered, pleaded and begged until suddenly Fenris felt something hot, wet and sticky hit his leg and slowly trickle down as Hal shuddered, keening. “Ka- ka - katoh,” the redhead begged, then louder, screaming, “Katoh! _Katoh!!_ ” 

Fenris stopped as if someone had yanked his strings and he dropped the paddle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

“Easy there,” said the Bull, rising from his seat and crossing over in one long stride to deftly slip the toy free before lifting Hal up off Fenris’ lap and scooping the shivering redhead into his arms. “It’s alright. It’s alright Kadan, I’ve got you. You’re safe. You did very well. I’m proud of you.” He moved to the bed, cradling Hal to him as he murmured quiet reassurances to him. He began to untie the mage, glancing over to Fenris and jerking his head to indicate the elf should join them.

Fenris came over and found a spot on the bed, his expression worried as he watched Bull take care of his lover. “I can go, if you need to be with him.” he offered.

“Naw, he’ll be OK in a minute. Just hit that over-sensitive point is all. He did really well. C’mon, tell him how well he did.” The Iron Bull tugged the last not free and gently slipped the loop of rope away from Hal’s throat and helped Hal to stretch his arms out. The redhead was crying softly, but he had a faint smile on his face. “Good... good boy Hal. That feel better?”

“Oh Maker... yes,” groaned Hal as he leaned against the Iron Bull’s broad chest. “I needed that so badly. Fen - Fenris?”

“I’m here Hal.” he gave the younger man a soft smile and told him how good he had been, how good he was for him. Fenris looked to Bull then back to Hal, unsure if the redhead was going to be ok.

“You’re so good, so brave my Kadan,” murmured Bull as he pressed a kiss to Hal’s forehead.

“I wanted to go longer,” said Hal, lifting a trembling hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I just couldn’t hold out - Maker, Fenris, you are so good at that. I can’t wait until you fuck me.” He glanced up at the Bull. “Please say he can fuck me, Bull? I’ve - I was good enough for that, wasn’t I?”

“Of course he can fuck you, Kadan. You’ve both earned it. Why don’t you lie down and rest a little while he and I play now, hmm?”

“Can I watch?” asked Hal, a little drowsily. The Iron Bull smiled indulgently. 

“Sure, if you can keep awake.” 

The mercenary laid Hal out on the bed then gestured for Fenris to follow him.

Fenris did so, a little unsure of himself as he let Bull lead him back to the chair he’d been in when he arrived. He seemed to remember he was supposed to be the one submitting, but the way Hal had cried out had him a little rattled still. 

“You’re bothered by how he screamed, yeah?” said the Bull quietly. “I could see it. Don’t let it get to you; Hal just needs to let that stuff out. Don’t let the screaming and begging fool you; Hal was in control all along. He knows the moment he says ‘katoh’ then it’s all over - which means he’s free to scream whatever he wants - or needs - to. He’s had a bit of a rough day and just needed handling appropriately to get some stuff out. It’s not you he wanted to stop; it’s the stuff in his head he just needs to quit for a while. And you did that for him.” He laid a huge hand on Fenris’ shoulder. 

“Now. You still want to play for a bit, or have you changed your mind? Just say the word either way, and it’s fine. You’re here because you want to be. If this isn’t what you want, then say so. But if you need me to give you what you need, then I can make you feel as good as Hal does right now.” He grinned suddenly. “And believe me, Fenris, right now Hal feels _very_ good.”

Fenris bowed his head for a moment as he thought then told Bull what he needed. “I want to be tied up like Hal, and for you to have total control. I...want Hal, to enjoy him, only on your say-so. I need...I need to give up control tonight, and I know I like the ropework you did on him. If you will allow it, ser.” 

“You like the ropes, huh?” said the Bull. “Alright. On your knees, hands behind your back.”

“Yes ser...I. have been bound like that before.” Fenris said as he complied and whined as the toy Bull had slipped in shifted with his movements.

The Bull fetched smooth silk ropes and set to work to bind Fenris, pulling the elf’s hands up between his shoulderblades then looping a strand of rope around his throat, drawing it tight but not too tight. As long as Fenris didn’t relax his arms too much, the rope lay slightly loose about his throat; the moment he let them slip down however, it tightened.

The Bull reached down and wiggled the toy in Fenris’ ass. “That still good, or you want something bigger?”

“Bigger...attached to the rope if possible...ser.” Fenris said as he tried to relax his arms and found the rope around his neck get tighter. He moaned as he realized that he was truly bound and at Bull’s mercy. 

The Bull moved away to the table and selected something else. “How’s that rope around your neck, Fenris? That doing anything for you? It certainly did for Anders. He made the prettiest sounds when he realised.”

Fenris looked up at Bull and smiled. “I’d happily wear a collar of it if it meant it would press...just so on my neck, ser.” 

The Bull snorted. “Your blond lover was just about ready to come the moment I put my hand around his throat. I had to watch he didn’t just choke himself half-dead with the ropes. Never saw anyone get off on breathplay quite the way he did.” He nudged the back of Fenris’ head. “Bend over and let’s try this for size.”

“I’m a close second...he showed me how good it could be.” Fenris said as he obeyed. He felt the plug deep inside him wiggle around, and then the Bull started to work it out of his body before suddenly shoving it back in, then pulling it out slowly. He fucked Fenris slowly for a while with the plug, teasing him, before pulling it entirely and thrusting the larger toy straight in on the next stroke.

That made Fenris jerk hard enough to tighten the rope around his neck before he sagged in the ropes. “Ser….Bull...ser...please…” he whimpered as he felt the larger phallus being pulled in and out, and he gasped louder as he felt tugging as Bull tied the rope around the ring in the base of it. “Ser….do...domne.” he moaned with each tug of the toy that made the ropes shift against his skin.

“Huh. Now there’s something I don’t get called very often,” murmured the Bull. “There’s only one other person here at Skyhold who’s ever called me that.” He moved around Fenris, studying him for a moment, then took up his position in his chair and began unlacing his pants. He freed his own erection, and Fenris had to actually stare at the size of it.

“Anders...was right to yell about that.” Fenris said before he caught himself. “Forgive me...I am just, well damn.”

The Bull merely grinned. “It’s a common reaction, the first time,” he shrugged. “For now, I just want to see how much you can get in your mouth. Come here.”

Fenris crawled over and wondered how he’d get in position before he felt Bull pull him up to his feet and rested his hand on the back of his head. He took a breath, opened and went down further than he expected, but he couldn’t get more than half down his throat in one try, but Bull gently guided him as he bobbed his head to please the warrior.

“Good, good,” groaned the Bull appreciatively. “You’re doing just fine.”

Fenris groaned with each movement of his head, which tugged the ropes that crossed his body, pulled against his throat and made the toy in his ass wiggle with each bob of his head.

“Good boy, you’re doing so well,” murmured the Bull. “Just a little longer....”

“Bull, can I suck his cock?” said Hal softly. 

“Not this time,” grunted the Bull. “I’m going to let him fuck you in a minute.”

Hal gave a little moan of delight.

Fenris was glad he knew how to breathe through his nose as he felt Bull’s hand press a bit harder against his head and he took more than half the kossith’s cock down his throat. He was squirming without realizing it, getting closer to coming than he expected. 

Abruptly the Bull was lifting him away. “Ok, that’s enough for the first time,” he said as Fenris gasped. “You want Hal on his back or on his stomach? Your choice.”

“Back...domne.” Fenris rasped as he tried to catch his breath.

“You heard him, Hal. On your back,” ordered the Bull as he deftly loosened and untied the ropes before guiding Fenris towards the bed. Hal lay on his back, his knees drawn up, staring at Fenris hopefully.

Fenris felt slightly naked as the ropes were pulled away, especially the ones around his neck. He rested over Hal, unsure if he was going to have the toy left in him because he’d come in a few minutes if that was the case.

The Iron Bull handed him a vial of oil. “Prepare yourself then get started,” he ordered as he twisted the phallus in Fenris’ ass then slowly withdrew it. “He likes it slow at first but hard and fast later. And he goes wild if you pull his hair and bite,” he added.

“Yes...se...domne.” Fenris replied as he oiled himself up and made sure Hal was open and ready. He smiled slightly when he realized that he was still slick from earlier. He lined himself up and entered Hal slow and easy, sure to take his time until he felt tugging on his hair. 

“Please... please,” Hal whispered as he stared up at Fenris. “I want you to make me scream, ser.”

“Ok...ok.” Fenris got in a better position to really pound into Hal but was held still by a large hand on his waist. “Domne?” he asked in confusion.

“Just hold still a moment Fenris. I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it hurts. Say ‘katoh’ if you need me to stop.” Then Fenris felt something large and warm, slick with oil, press against his entrance; and then something huge was slowly forcing its way into his body. The large toy from earlier only barely prepared him for this new intrusion.

He had taken the Bull into his mouth, but somehow the massive mercenary’s cock seemed even larger when slowly easing its way into his body.

Fenris felt himself shudder and he forced himself to relax even more. He also realized he’d lit up like a feast day tree as Bull continued to work himself into him. “Do...Domne...Maker, Maker…” he gasped as he tried to keep from coming from the dual sensation of how much Bull stretched him open and how tight Hal felt against him. “Bull...you can do what you want, anything, please.” he begged.

Hal was moaning beneath him, almost overwhelmed by all the lyrium suddenly ablaze and the touch inside him.

“You’re so pretty,” murmured the Bull as he eased himself slowly inside Fenris, stretching and filling the elf more than he had ever felt before. Bull held still until he was certain Fenris was ready, and then gently rocked against him.

“Move,” the Bull suggested, and Hal incoherently agreed.

“Yes...domne.” Fenris gasped and with each stroke of Bull’s cock in him, he moved against Hal. He wanted to really nail the red head like he’d done to his lovers but he was sure if he moved that fast with Bull’s cock deep in him he’d come hard enough to pass out. “Bu...Bull...please, Hal...gonna…” his next attempt as speech failed when Bull sped up just a bit.

“Bite him,” the Bull suggested. “He’s so close already thanks to your lyrium. A few hard yanks of his hair and sink your teeth into him and he’ll come.” He rolled his own hips against Fenris then gave them a few hard snaps that nearly made Fenris’ vision white out; it also had the effect of driving Fenris’ cock hard and deep into Hal, who shuddered and cried out, begging and pleading.

Fenris wrapped his fingers in Hal’s hair and yanked with little effort before he tilted the mage’s head and bit him hard as he could without drawing blood. He was moaning against the younger man’s skin as Bull started to really fuck him in earnest.

At the sensation of Fenris’ teeth in his skin at the exact moment the Bull began pounding Fenris, every hard thrust driving right down through Fenris’ cock and into the redhead, Hal finally jerked, shuddered and screamed his release as he came for the second time that night, effectively being piledriven by both men at once - impaled upon Fenris’ cock with the force of the Bull’s thrusts.

The Bull wrapped a hand around Fenris’ throat and began to lightly squeeze.

“Gonna come for me, Fenris?”

“If you allow...it domne.” he gritted out with each moment Bull eased up on his throat. “Bull...Bull use me… use me.” he begged as he let himself get lost in the sensation of being fucked by the massive cock and being deep in Hal at the same time. “Hal...wan...Hal...too.” he moaned.

“You’re fucking him, Fenris,” the Bull practically purred in his ear. “You’re fucking him senseless. We’re both fucking him, feel that? I’m fucking him through you. You already made him come, but you’re still fucking him, and I’m not gonna let you stop until you come. So for his sake you’d better come.” He punctuated the point with an even harder snap of his hips, angling the thrust inside as his hand closed around Fenris’ throat a little tighter.

Hal moaned. “Fenris... Fenris, please....”

That made Fenris’ marking blaze as he came harder than he could remember in a while and he screamed Bull’s name as he finally found release, and sagged against Bull’s hold on him, but he didn’t soften as they would expect. “Make...him move. Still...hard, stam...ina, gift from...goddess.” he was babbling as Bull fucked him hard and fast, each thrust made him jerk in the kossith’s grasp.

“Hal,” said the Bull in a commanding tone. “Electricity then healing. Now.”

Hal opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused as he closed his hands weakly around Fenris’ wrists. He drew on his magic, and suddenly lightning danced along Fenris’ nerves, followed immediately by a wave of healing that with his brands lit up, simply pushed the elf over the edge and Fenris found himself coming hard again as Hal moaned beneath him.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah!” grunted the Iron Bull, and then Fenris felt him spill his seed, hot, deep inside his body as the kossith jerked. “Oh, that’s good, that’s real good, yeah.”

Fenris’ eyes closed as he sagged against Hal. He was mumbling nonsense, and he was still lit up but not as brightly as when his orgasm had hit. He felt the mage slide just far enough away for him to slip out and let Fenris land on the bed. He felt Bull still in him, and the kossith’s seed trickling from him. “Bu...bull...one more thing?”

“Easy there,” said Bull gently as he slowly slipped himself free of Fenris’ body. “Just lie still and I’ll clean you up. You both did very well. Good boys.”

“Ser...please one thing, since I was good?” Fenris asked as he slowly turned his head to see Bull. The kossith was fetching water and towels. 

“What is it, Fenris?” he asked as he returned to the bed and began to carefully clean them up.  
“I...like the rope collar, may I wear it to bed ser? Or...let me feel your seed in me with one of the plugs? Please domne, I...want to be so good for you, but I want that...feeling.” Fenris stared at him with wide eyes, a bit more alert as he felt Hal being moved next to him.

The Iron Bull was silent as he finished cleaning up Hal; the redhead was deep asleep before he’d finished. Finally the Bull straightened.

“You like the rope, huh?” he mused. “Even Anders didn’t ask me for that.”

“Yes ser, I want to please you ser.” Fenris added as he reached a hand out tentatively to Bull. “There’s...more I’d want, but I don’t know if that would appeal to you.” 

The Bull studied him for a moment, then gestured for Fenris to turn and face away from him. As Fenris did so, he heard the other man moving around the room before the bed dipped behind him. The next moment, several coils of rope dropped around his throat then drew tight.

Fenris moaned a thank you as he felt Bull knotting the collar behind him. He hoped Bull would agree to his other request but wasn’t sure he’d earned it or if the kossith would even let him share their bed as part of their play.

The Iron Bull got up and moved around the bed, then slid beneath the cover, gathering the sleeping Hal into his arms. “Fenris. Go to sleep,” he rumbled quietly.

“Yes, ser.” Fenris said as he curled up against Hal and closed his eyes.

When he awoke the following morning, the Iron Bull was already gone. Hal was sleeping peacefully, his head pillowed against Fenris’ shoulder. He was so deeply asleep that it was easy for Fenris to gently ease himself out from beneath the sleeping redhead and slip out of the bed; it was then that he realised that the rope collar was gone from his throat. It had been gently untied whilst he slept. 

Fenris got dressed and left a note for Bull that he wanted to talk later before he made his way to his room for a bath and more sleep. He had a lot to think about, including the thing he’d called Bull, which made him wonder about himself. He entered the room and paused when he saw Zevran stretched out in bed, and he was unsure what would happen when they next spoke. He’d been so furious when he’d bolted out of Anders rooms he didn’t know if he’d made the Antivan elf scared of him again.

As he stood there, in indecision, Zevran rolled over in the bed and gave a small whimper, his eyes still closed as he hugged himself, curling up.

Fenris sighed as he dropped his boots by the door and went to his bed, hand out to steady Zevran if the elf didn’t wake up when called. “Zev...Zevran.”

The Antivan jerked awake, one hand reaching blindly beneath the pillow for a knife which wasn’t there before he blinked, his breath coming fast and shallow. He stared at Fenris, his eyes slowly focusing.

“Fenris,” he breathed, as he slowly slid his empty hand back out from beneath the pillow.

“You were having a nightmare or something. I’m here now.” Fenris said with a frown as he realized that some of his lover’s habits were never going to be broken.

Zevran sat up and drew his legs up beneath the covers as he rubbed his face slowly. “An old nightmare. It returns sometimes to trouble me.”

“It’s still early, let me get washed up and I’ll come to bed.” Fenris said as he watched he Antivan carefully. “Unless...you don’t want to stay now that I’m back.” 

Zevran lowered his hands. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly. “This is your room, Fenris, not mine.”

“No I don’t want you to leave. You spend more time here than in yours anyway, so it’s ...ours if you like.” Fenris said quietly as he picked at a loose thread on the comforter.

“I do not think I wish to return to sleep,” said Zevran as he swung his legs out of bed then pulled his hair out of his eyes. “I do not wish to dream.” He stared at his bare feet for a moment. “Perhaps wine will help me sleep the rest of the night.”

“It’s morning Zevran, early but it is a new day. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll sit with you for a while then.” Fenris said as he watched the other elf to see what was bothering him still. 

Zevran’s gaze went to Fenris’ boots by the door then to Fenris himself. “You did not come to bed,” he said quietly.

“Not here...I took Bull up on his open invitation. I needed to not think, to not be in control for a while.” Fenris said as he continued to worry the loose thread. 

“Ah,” said Zevran, nodding. “It seemed to help Anders. Did it help you, _carissimi_?”

“Yes...I left Bull a note that I wanted to speak with him later. He was already gone when I woke up.” Fenris yanked the thread free as he sat there, then he found another to pick at before he continued. “I fear I will...I will need his services again with how things have changed. There are few I would let do the things he did, but he is one of the few people in the Keep that now surpasses me in build and ability to physically overpower me. Will that be a problem Zevran?”

Zevran laid a hand over Fenris’ as the lyrium marked fingers sought another loose thread. As Fenris glanced up at him, a little startled, Zevran merely grinned. “Why should that be a problem, _carissimi_? I am glad he can do this thing for you. And perhaps you would like to practice some of the things he does on you, on me also?”

“You’re not afraid I’ll hurt you? The look in your eyes when you turned to see me behind you today, it made me realize I can still scare you.” Fenris asked quietly.

“I was already on edge, my heart, and I did not realise you were so close. I am only glad I was able to restrain myself from reaching for my blade. I said I would not draw blade on you again and it would hurt me greatly to break that word, my love,” replied Zevran.

“It is well you didn’t, for I would have reacted out of instinct and harmed you.” Fenris scrubbed his hand over his face before he stretched out on his stomach. His ass was a bit too sore to lay on his back.

“Then it is a very good thing that we neither did something we would both have regretted - and likely friend Anders too,” shrugged Zevran. He lightly swatted Fenris on the arse without thinking as he stood.

“Son of a whore!” Fenris shouted before he bit the pillow and tried to not scream. 

“Yes, but you already knew this about me, no?” said Zevran as he turned with a small frown before he suddenly realised the problem. “Ah, _carissimi_ \- forgive me, I was not thinking! You have not been with so many large men as I. Wait, I have a cream that will help!” He turned and started hunting through his satchel.

“I had a life before Hawke you know.” Fenris griped as he tried to unclench his muscles and then he realized what he’d said. 

“And I had a life before I met you,” said Zevran, unperturbed. “And our lives have been so much more eventful since meeting each other, don’t you think? - Ah! Here it is.” He rose and made his way back to the bed with a small jar of cream. “Take off your clothes, _carissimi_ , and let me tend to you.”

Fenris got undressed with a few hisses as the cloth passed over his ass and he felt the twinges from where he’d been pinned in the middle of Bull fucking him senseless and him taking Hal hard enough to make his brands light up like a tree. He whimpered at the first touch of Zevran’s fingers and tried not to call him a son of a whore again.

“Call me names if it helps, my heart,” said Zevran as he worked as gently as he could. “I have likely heard them all before; I do not mind.”

“I… can be inventive. Tal-Vashoth mercenaries taught me a lot.” Fenris slammed his fist on the bed a couple of times as he tried not to let out a small scream. 

“The first time I was taken by a man as large as you, _carissimi_ , I was twelve,” said Zevran. “I screamed myself hoarse at the time but I screamed far louder when the brothel madame was treating me after.” He shrugged, then leaned over and bestowed a light kiss on the dimple between Fenris’ cheeks. “It is done.”

“Are you sure? I’m still sore.” Fenris mumbled as he felt the cream starting to slowly take effect. “Wish I’d had this when I let two of my mercs fuck me after a raid.” he said.

Zevran froze. “Two... Tal-Vashoth?” he said quietly.

“Two...not at the same time...I’d have been ripped open. But one after the other for hours. because we took stamina potions, high on the energy of ...the kill. Merc captain wanted a go but I don’t think I was conscious long enough to to tell him no, so it might have been three in one night.” 

“Being torn is not fun, no,” murmured Zevran faintly as he stowed the jar away in his satchel. “Nor is the stitching.”

“Got lucky...never needed stitching… but I did need a healer after we celebrated a big job. That time the sun was up before I begged my bed mates to let me sleep.” Fenris had rested his cheek on his arms as he spoke, he was tired but not enough to sleep. 

“I think my record was seven men in one night,” replied Zevran. “I killed the second man and the seventh.”

“I’m out of practice for a man that big, well Bull is the biggest so I feel like I’ve made up for lost time.” Fenris turned his head to watch Zevran. “Was it business or they were that bad in bed?”

“The second man was business. The seventh man would not let me sleep afterwards,” shrugged Zevran. “And he was a poor kisser.”

“Lucky I am not that annoying, but I’ll remember to let you sleep when you’re done in bed.” Fenris snorted before he gingerly rolled to his side and held his hand out to Zevran. “Come here.”

Zevran shrugged. “The sixth man had already made me bleed, and I wanted to sleep. If he had not been so bad at kissing I may have let him live,” he replied. He sprawled upon the bed and snuggled into Fenris’ arms. “The bleeding, I did not mind so much. But a bad kisser? Unforgivable.”

“Good thing we didn’t meet earlier in my escape then, I was chastised for it when I sold myself for survival.” Fenris remarked before he pulled the cover over them. “Apologies if I fall asleep, I am...tired.” 

“I am only glad you did not send me away,” murmured Zevran quietly. “I would not have blamed you if you had.”

“I ...wondered if you’d even be here when I was walking back to the room. I felt like I’d made you afraid of me again. I did not like having to restrain Anders to satisfy your curiousity but...when I stopped being so angry, I understood it, a little.” Fenris said with his eyes closed and an arm loosely wrapped around the smaller elf. 

“If it had been mere curiosity, I would have been satisfied with his word,” Zevran said quietly. “I did not like hurting him - even though he would willingly let himself be tied up outside his college and all his students use him for target practice if he thought even one templar would be reassured he is not a threat,” he added. “I do not like my friends being hurt. But... fear makes men do foolish things, and I have been very stupid, my heart.”

“Yes, I know.” Fenris agreed quietly.

Zevran lay on his back and stared at the dimly-lit ceiling. “The final battle is coming; I feel it in my bones,” he said slowly. “And I am afraid that many will fall. I am afraid that... that one of _you_ will fall. And I will not be able to prevent it.” He closed his eyes.

“There’s always a chance one of us could die in battle.” Fenris replied as he opened one green eye to stare at Zevran. “I carry that same fear.”

“I have lost Solona. Should you fall... oh _carissimi_ , I do not want to live in a world where you do not,” murmured Zevran as he turned and curled against Fenris. “I would rather die.” 

“Do not call my death before it is my time. We will prevail, I feel that from what Mythal told me.” Fenris closed his eyes again and tried to get comfortable. Soon he was asleep again with Zevran held to his chest, with neither suspecting it would be the last peaceful rest they’d get in a while.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' appetite appears to have increased along with everything else. An unexpected offer is made.

The following day found Anders hard at work in the infirmary again. Hal hadn’t shown up that morning; one of Anders’ senior students had taken the class for the day, leaving the First Enchanter free to work in the dispensary, brewing up a fresh batch of healing potions to replenish the Inquisition’s depleted stores.

Fenris had finally made his way from the room and was on his way to see Anders before he got lunch. He entered the infirmary, glad it was quiet for a change. He noted the tray being brought to his lover and strode over the second it was put down so he could keep Anders from drinking it. “Wait.”

Anders glanced round. “Hmm? Oh, did someone bring me tea? That was thoughtful of them,” he replied as he set down the small knife he’d been chopping herbs with. “I was just thinking I could use a break. When did you come in, love? I didn’t hear you enter.” He reached for the steaming mug.

Fenris put his hand over the mug and stared at his lover. “Test it first, I...I’ve learned of attempts made on your life from Bull. I want to be sure it’s safe.” 

Anders blinked, then took the cup and sniffed it cautiously. “It’s... just... tea?” he said slowly, regarding Fenris with an air of mild confusion. 

“Anders...someone has tried to poison you. Do you know where this tea came from?” Fenris asked as he flinched and shook his hand. 

“I assumed it was one of the students or a Chantry sister,” Anders shrugged. “I’ve worked with the sisters for months; I trust them.”

Fenris frowned and put a saucer over the tea. “Anders, do you really want to test the fact that there have been three unsuccessful attempts on your life that none of us knew about? I’m not sure how Bull knows but he told me so I’m not going to let you accidentally drink poisoned tea.” 

Anders stared down at the mug then stepped away from the tray. “If Bull says there have been attempts then I’ll believe him,” he replied. He turned back to his herbs and began chopping again. “Come in and sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to,” he suggested as he put a small pot of water on to boil.

Fenris glanced at the chair the at Anders. “I’m fine standing.” he replied as he leaned against a wall and winced when his ass brushed against it.

Anders frowned, then his face cleared. “Ah. The Bull,” he said with a knowing nod and a sidelong grin.

“Yeah...I “ Fenris voice tailed off as he remembered some of what Bull had said about Anders, and the ropes. “He’s good with knots.” was what came out of his mouth instead of what he was thinking, thankfully.

Anders hummed agreement. “Very,” he nodded, his hands slowing as a blush slowly crept across his face. “Worth visiting him for that alone,” he added quietly.

Fenris leaned in and whispered what he’d begged for, including the rope collar before bed. He realized he’d run his fingers through Anders hair and was about to tug it, hard like the mage liked before he seemed to remember they were in the infirmary. Anders was shivering slightly, his eyes closed. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured.

“We’re in the infirmary, your students will see you.” Fenris murmured in his ear as he reached down to brush the knife out of Anders’ hand. The mage let it fall.

“You could close the door,” whispered Anders quietly as he braced his hands on the edge of the counter to steady himself.

“Normally ...I’d say no, but I think my desire for sex has gone off the charts with these changes. It’s like I took orichalcum or something. I nailed Zevran before I came to see you, put him back to sleep but I could still take you too.” Fenris bit his earlobe before he glanced through the door. “What do you want?”

Anders let out a strangled squeak as he felt Fenris nip his ear. “Oh Maker,” he breathed shakily. “You could do anything you like to me right now and I’d say yes. What are you doing to me, Fenris? What is going on? I - just....” He groaned softly and Fenris realised the mage was mindlessly rutting against the edge of the cupboard below the counter, hidden by the long robes he wore. Fenris suddenly remembered a chance conversation he’d overheard once between Hawke and Anders, about the advantages of wearing robes in a Tower.

“You’ve always been a good boy Anders, me telling you all the things Bull did to me turned you on didn’t they? You want to be in that place again, or see me at his mercy? You can’t control yourself, rutting like a mabari in heat. Your students are going to see you, so wanton at the mere thought of what I could do to you.” Fenris had dropped his voice to a low purr, the way he knew Anders liked when they were in the heat of things. “Lock the door then sit on your desk.”

Anders turned and hastily locked the door, his hands shaking a little before he did as Fenris asked, his breath coming quicker in anticipation.

Fenris dropped to his knees with a low groan before he pulled Anders robes up to show he was indeed wearing nothing but what the Maker granted him. “All for me?” he asked with a glint in his eyes as he drew his nails very gently up Anders’ cock then down to his balls. “Hold your robes, don’t want to make a mess do you?” he said before he started to suck his lover, slow and hard like he knew Anders liked.

Anders gave a long, low groan as he felt his length enclosed by the delicious wet heat of Fenris’ mouth.

The elven warrior was enjoying himself, even as he registered the noises Anders was making. He pulled away to cover his lover’s mouth. “Quiet, unless you want half the college to hear you screaming for my cock...again”

Anders was panting raggedly as he stared at Fenris, his moan at feeling cool air on his cock and not Fenris’ mouth stifled by the elf’s hand. The mage closed his eyes and whimpered helplessly, the sound muffled.

Fenris dropped his hand and resumed sucking Anders, even prompting the mage to grab his head and really push him. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it to fucking Anders with the way the mage was bucking into his mouth. 

“Wait, wait, I... Fen, I... I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” moaned Anders. “I can’t keep quiet, I - _nnngh!!_ ” He groaned louder.

The door handle rattled. 

“Did you hear something?” said a voice outside the door.

“I thought the First Enchanter was in there, brewing potions, but the door’s locked,” said a second voice. Anders had frozen; a moment later, there came the sound of footsteps retreating away.

“Maker,” whispered Anders. “Fen... gag me. Please. I just... I can’t, I can’t keep silent, this is just too... help me!”

Fenris stood and yanked one of Anders’ sashes off with a growl. “I’m going to spank you for this later. Bend over and hike your robes up.” 

Anders obeyed with a faint, needy whimper.

Fenris gagged him, once he made sure it wasn’t too tight he got oil from the bench and slicked himself with a smile when he realized they faced a mirror. “Well, well this is a surprise. Watch Anders and if you draw more attention they will get a show.” 

Anders’ eyes widened as he locked eyes with Fenris in the mirror. He quivered as he felt Fenris’ slick fingers probe at his entrance then groaned, the sound muffled by the gag as Fenris slowly breeched him with his hand.

“I wish Hawke and Zevran could see you now. Needy and begging.” Fenris said as he sped up his thrusts and watched them in the mirror. “I want to be rough...hard and fast. Nod if it’s ok.”

Anders nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide.

Fenris grinned as he pulled his fingers free, added more oil then worked himself into Anders with a low groan of his own. “I...love you.” he rasped as he leaned over Anders to get more leverage. “So ...lucky to have you.”

Anders’ eyes fluttered closed at Fenris’ words and he moaned into the gag, tilting his hips as best he could so Fenris could thrust deeper. His hands clutched the edge of the desk as his hips were bruised against the hard wooden edge.

Fenris thrust hard and fast, each sharp movement of his hips punctuated with words of affection for his mage lover. He’d wanted quick and dirty at first but he’d slow his thrusts, each deep hard thrust delivered with whispered words of love. He didn't care that there was a whole lot of people outside their door wondering what was going on. And Anders was oblivious, everything forgotten except awareness of Fenris’ voice and what he was doing to him. His legs were trembling as Fenris pounded hard into him, his own cock now neglected and weeping as Fenris drove him closer and closer to climax.

He managed to lift one hand from the desk to press it over Fenris’ as the elf dug his fingers hard into his hip, helping to pin him in place. He opened his eyes to stare into Fenris’ gaze, his eyes half-lidded, face flushed and sweating, his lips reddened and swollen around the fabric stuffed into his mouth as he moaned helplessly.

“Gonna...so close, so close love.” Fenris moaned in his ear before he bit Anders on the shell of his ear. “I want you to nail me tonight, you and Vic, all night. I love you...I love you so much, amatus..Anders.” Fenris was trembling as he lost his rhythm as he came, each thrust hard as he tried to get his lover to come with him. “Sorry...wanted to last ….longer.” he panted as he stretched over the blond’s back.

Anders made a frantic, desperate sound behind his gag and tried to reach down to take himself in hand but couldn’t reach thanks to the way Fenris’ weight had him pinned. It was hard to breathe with the elf pressing down on him, and he was so close. He screwed his eyes tight shut and whimpered, achingly hard and desperate to get off himself.

Fenris heard his whimper and pushed himself up…”Roll over.” he pulled away gently and waited for Anders to obey so he could finish his lover off.

Anders turned and practically collapsed onto the desk, his legs shaking, as he clutched the edge of the desk and begged Fenris with his eyes to help him.

The elven warrior climbed on the desk and took Anders in his mouth again, slid the blond’s hand in his hair and let him guide him. He closed his eyes as he felt Anders tug harder than he usually did when they were together, even pushing him down so he took all of him in one go. 

Anders’ head dropped back onto the hard wooden desk with a low thud as his hips bucked, mindlessly thrusting into Fenris’ mouth. The elf could tell from the way Anders’ body shuddered that the blond man was on the cusp of climax himself and it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

He added his free hand to help Anders climax, stroking halfway up his cock and taking him in his mouth hard and fast. Fenris was moaning loud enough to probably draw attention but he didn’t care.

Anders finally came, bucking hard beneath Fenris before finally he went limp, breathing hard through his nostrils as his eyes closed. He managed to disengage his hands from Fenris’ hair and awkwardly patted the elf before he let his hands fall limply onto the desk, his energy spent. A very faint, muffled moan was stifled by the wet fabric of the gag.

Fenris swallowed every bit of Anders climax, even lapping up the bit he’d missed before he crawled up to untie the gag then shakily get to his feet. “I could go back to sleep for a week.” he murmured as he looked around for a cloth to attempt cleaning off with.

Anders lay sprawled on his back, his chest still heaving for breath. He opened his eyes briefly as Fenris tugged the gag free, and slowly licked his lips before he closed his eyes again. He made no attempt to speak as he lay there.

The small pot of water Anders had put on to boil earlier was now steaming merrily away on the brazier, spitting out boiling water onto the coals.

Fenris took the pot off the brazier with a towel wrapped around his hand and dipped it into the water, and nearly screeched at the heat. “Stupid elf.” he cussed himself as he waited for towel to cool off.

Anders managed to lift a hand slightly and draw on his magic enough to call up a small pile of ice on the edge of the desk by his hand. “Maker. I think you’ve killed me,” he murmured quietly. “I shan’t get a bit of work done this afternoon now.”

“Apologies.” Fenris said as he brought the hot towel in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Here, I can at least manage some willow bark tea for you.” 

Anders lifted his head. His robes were still hitched around his waist, his legs dangling over the edge of the desk; purple bruises were beginning to blossom along the bones of his hips, mottling dark against his pale skin. “Help me up, love?” he asked.

“I bruised you...I’m sorry.” Fenris said as he helped Anders sit up and let his robes drop back down. He handed him the tea before he turned away to clean up as best he could. “I should probably leave you alone for a while. The things I was saying...Maker.” Fenris covered his face as though he couldn’t believe some of the filthy things he’d moaned, though it was nothing new for him to promise all sorts of debauchery upon them in the heat of the moment.

Anders sipped the tea gratefully. “I wouldn’t be adverse to you doing them, love,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t exactly an unwilling partner here, after all.”

Fenris nodded as he made himself a cup of tea. “This may sound strange...but this change in my level of sexual desire is...concerning. I’ve…” he broke off and turned away in embarassment and a hoarse laugh. “How am I still shy about this when you just had your cock so far down my throat I nearly gagged?”

“I was just wondering that myself. Well, less about the gagging, more over the fact you just gagged me then bent me over my own desk,” Anders corrected himself.

“I…” Fenris said then dropped the cup he was holding when he turned to see Hal leaned against the door with a filthy grin on his face. “Have you been there the whole time?” he whispered.

“Not quite the whole time,” said Hal, saluting them with his mug. “But long enough to work out who it was and what you were up to.” He glanced over to Anders. “One of the templar recruits just came in with a nasty cut up his arm. I’ll take care of it for you whilst you clean up. Oh, and we need more crystal grace decoction whilst you’re in here.”

He gave Fenris a wink then turned away, his robes swishing about his ankles.

“Hal…” the elf called, unsure if the other mage was ok with all that had happened. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” the redhead called back over his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He handed his empty mug to one of the Chantry sisters and continued on to the bed farthest from the dispensary.

Fenris blinked, unsure what had just happened between them or if Hal was being discreet for the sake of the door being ajar. He shut it and sat down without thinking and jumped right back up. “Fucking son of whore.” he hissed. 

“That would be Zevran,” Anders pointed out as he got to his feet. “I thought it was Bull who nailed you?”

Fenris rolled his eyes at his lover. “Expletive, not calling for Zevran. He...had a cream that helped but apparently my ass is still too sore for an uncushioned chair. It was Bull...and….Hal.” he admitted.

“Oh?” said Anders, raising an eyebrow. “Hang on, I think I have an elfroot cream here somewhere that should help numb the pain. Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged Hal for the dominant type....”

“He’s not.” Fenris let slip before he gave Anders a wide eyed stare. “Um...so, please. OH fuck how do I explain this or should I just tell you what _all_ Bull did to me, including letting me have Hal?” 

Anders shrugged. “He knows you have a thing for Hal, and I think it’s safe to assume Bull knows all about Hal and the other you - and probably far more about Hal feels about _this_ you than even Hal realises himself. He and I didn’t play like that, but that wasn’t what I needed. He - _they_ \- gave you what _you_ needed.”

Fenris closed his eyes and nodded. He had no idea where this shyness mixed with shame had come from but he didn’t like it. He’d felt so safe and happy with them, and now he felt guilt even when he looked at Hal. He opened his eyes to find Anders staring at him curiously. 

“What’s wrong, love?” said Anders quietly. “Something happened with Hal and it bothers you, I’m guessing? Look, Bull wouldn’t have allowed you to do anything to Hal that Hal didn’t want - you know that, right?”

Fenris crossed his arms, glanced at the floor and told Anders most of what had happened, he left out the part about crossing the line over to calling Bull domne. He even told him how he’d begged for the rope around his neck before sleeping. “I fear how deeply I went into that headspace but yet Hal needing to scream out his pleasure freaked me out for a bit. I was never one for pushing myself to tears even with Zevran, but it worried me.” 

Anders frowned slightly before turning away and sorting through the bundles of herbs for the crystal grace. “Some people need to find that kind of release,” he said softly. “Sometimes -” He broke off and reached for the knife.

“What were you going to say?” Fenris asked as he turned to watch Anders work. 

“It’s nothing,” said Anders as he began chopping the herb. “Hal obviously needs that from time to time, and he felt safe enough to let you give it to him. He trusts you.” 

“It’s not nothing...but I will not pry.” Fenris swept up the remains of the cup he’d shattered then resumed watching Anders. “I ...need the release of total submission sometimes. My past with Invictus makes it impossible to do that with him, you never seemed comfortable with it and Zevran...he does not think it possible with the changes I’ve gone through. You would think I’d never let anyone do that to me with my history, but sometimes...it’s nice to just let someone else, someone I am safe with and comfortable with take me in hand, make me theirs for a while.” 

Anders glanced over at him and smiled sadly. “I know that only too well, love,” he said gently. “That’s why I let you and Hawke -” he broke off with a hiss and then swore as the knife slipped. “Andraste’s flaming tits!” He dropped the knife and put his bleeding thumb in his mouth.

“Hang on I’ll get a--” Fenris was cut off by one of the Chantry sisters barging in at the sound of Anders swearing. 

“First Enchanter?” 

“It’s nothing, Sister Rebecca; the knife slipped. I wasn’t paying attention,” he reassured her as he inspected the cut. “Have the blacksmith sharpen the knives though; this one’s rather more blunt than I like.”

“Very good, ser,” she answered as she retrieved the knife then left them be. Anders sucked on the cut and grimaced.

“My own fault,” he muttered.

“Mine, I shouldn’t have that kind of conversation while you are cutting. I’ll leave you to work, I had planned to get something to eat before I ...had you.” Fenris said with a hint of a smile.

Anders snorted and waved him away with his good hand.

As Fenris made his way out of the infirmary, Hal glanced up briefly and gave him a quick wave before turning back to deal with the puking youngster that had just been brought in; it looked as though the young healer would have his hands full.

Fenris waved at him on his way out and headed back to his room for a wash and a change of clothes before he finally ate. He noted that Zevran wasn’t in bed when he came in but it didn’t concern him. The Antivan came and went as he pleased so it wasn’t strange to find him there at odd hours. He was glad for the Inquisition’s cooks as he finally got to have a meal with Hawke, Dorian and Cullen. He sat but it wasn’t without a wince the others saw but said nothing about.

Dorian couldn’t take his eyes off Fenris, not after what he’d seen and the things he’d done while imagining many, many filthy things between him and the warrior elf. He wondered if Fenris had been aware that the Tevinter Altus had had a perfect view of that particular meeting between the elf and the Iron Bull. It seemed too much of a coincidence that they should put on such a show right in his line of sight at a time when they surely must have known he’d be in the library, reading in his little nook. 

He couldn’t believe how very nearly Meneris had caught him with his hand in his pants; he’d had to pretend to be very engrossed in his book. Thankfully the fire in the library had been very hot and he could put his flushed cheeks down to a combination of wine and the heat. But damn it, he would have to have it out with Fenris at some point soon. The man couldn’t put on a flagrant display like that and expect a redblooded man like Dorian Pavus to be unaffected. _Amicus_ didn’t begin to describe it.

Fenris glanced up at Dorian and wondered why the man stared at him so. “ _Feeling alright, Amicus?_ ” he asked, oblivious as to what he could have done to the man, especially since he’d been busy being lecherous around the Keep.

“You do seem rather flushed Pavus, you alright there?” Hawke asked as he chilled his wine with a thought, and debated on getting seconds.

“Just some stirring and inspiring fights I witnessed in the training ring yesterday,” shrugged Dorian. “I think perhaps I need to spend more time practicing myself.”

Fenris froze with his cup halfway to his mouth and his eyes wide as he realized what Dorian had said. He didn’t even move when the hot cider splashed on him and he felt his face flush. “You…”

“Some of those warriors really know how to wield their swords,” went on Dorian. He reached for his glass of wine. “I’d love to teach them a thing or two about staff work.”

Fenris made a strangled noise as he tried to will himself into the floor, or the Void or anything. Hawke knew what Dorian was on about, he’d told them both how Bull had teased him before he confirmed he could take the kossith up on open offer. But realizing Dorian had seen him, it made him want to die of shame.

“You really should spar with Dorian some time, Fenris,” said Cullen, oblivious as he mopped up spilled cider. “He really does know how to handle his weapon. Can’t fault his staffwork at all.”

Fenris finally remembered to breathe and he tried to find a way to exit the conversation in a way that wouldn’t give others fodder for gossip. He just stared at Dorian, pleading with him to stop. He couldn't even offer to do something in exchange for the Altus to drop it since Vic knew Tevene as well. He also figured Invictus would fry him in the spot if he offered so much as a kiss on the cheek.

“You know he can handle a staff very, very well love. You should listen to Cullen. Dorian’s form is flawless.” Hawke chimed in with a wink to Dorian. He was not going to let this chance go to waste, especially for a little retribution for the times Fenris had flagellated him over his one dalliance with the Altus.

“How about it, Fenris?” inquired Dorian. “Think you could handle my staff against your sword? I’m always up for a test of skill. Name a time and place.” His right eye flickered in the briefest, fleeting wink before he reached for the wine bottle to refill his glass.

Fenris hoped for an attack, a message, even one of Leliana’s ravens swooping down on him to distract from the way Dorian was staring him down.

“Oh you should take him up on it love, you’ll get rusty if you don’t try your sword against mages other than myself and Anders. I’d love to watch sometime, I’m sure it would be very educational After you two get comfortable with each other, of course.” Hawke simply smiled and leaned back with his wine and a devious expression, which brightened at the noise that escaped his lover. 

“I’m sure Fenris would never let his sword get rusty,” said Dorian smoothly. “From what I’ve seen, he keeps it well oiled. Though perhaps you might want to do something about the awful screech when you sheathe it sometimes; I can hear it clear up in the library.”

“I’m sure the blacksmith could do something about that,” said Cullen as he flipped through a report on his knee.

That made him drop his face to his hands and curse them all in Tevene that Cullen would be glad he could not understand. He glared at Dorian, his eyes darkened to a deeper green as he tried to control the screech that was in his throat for the mage to knock it off or take it up with him then and there. 

“Love, no need to cast aspersions on the man’s family so many generations back, and I’m sure that’s not even physically possible.” Hawke said as he grinned unrepentantly at his lover. “Come now, you know Dorian is very, very good with a staff, he’s shown me a thing or two once.” 

“Drop by the library later and we can discuss it,” suggested Dorian as he rose to his feet. “I’ll let Meneris know I’ll be a little... tied up with something.” He grinned as his eyes roved up and down Fenris. “Now, I must go pick out something more comfortable for... researching in. I always did have a fondness for silk.” He cast a glance sideways at Hawke. “Would you say red was my colour, Hawke?”

“Definitely it goes well with your complexion, so close to Fenris’. Must be a gift of Tevinter ancestry.” Vic said as he watched Fenris turn and stare at him like he was going to gut him at the table.

“I have a couple of bottles of Aggregio Pavali to help the conversation along,” said Dorian. “Perhaps later then?” He gave Fenris a wink then sauntered away.

“Afraid I need to make my apologies too,” said Cullen, downing his wine hastily. “Got a stack of reports to deal with. Maybe I’ll see you both later at dinner.” He rose and nodded to them both before heading off back to his office.

Fenris waited until they were gone before he rounded on Invictus and cussed him and his ancestors back to beginning of Thedas. Once he stopped for a breath, Hawke interrupted him.

“Love, take it easy. He was just having you on there’s no way…” Vic suddenly had an unamused elf in his space.

“ _He saw, he had to have seen. You sat there and told him to...you Hawke! How could you suggest that?_ ” Fenris said as he sat back and realized Vic wasn’t kidding when he suggested he go with Dorian. “ _Are you serious? Anders will kill me!_ ”

“Have you asked him?” said Vic in a reasonable tone of voice.

“What?!” Fenris yelled then lowered his voice. “After the way I reacted to your dalliance and my own betrayal? You think I’d have the nerve to ask to fuck Pavus of all people?!” he hissed.

Vic merely stared at him. After a while in which neither man said anything, Vic sighed. “Fenris, just go _ask_. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no?”

“Or he explodes in a very justified ball of rage. What about Zevran?” Fenris asked, shocked that Vic was so calm about it.

Vic shrugged. “Ask him. You won’t know until you do. Besides, I think Zevran’s real issue was that you _didn’t_ ask with Belann.”

Fenris blinked and stared at Hawke unsure he was actually having that conversation. “That I didn’t ask. That’s all you think it was?” 

“Not all, no; but I know that was a lot of it,” shrugged the Champion. “Look - just go find Zev, find Anders, and just _talk_. Maker knows you’ve got an itch you badly need to scratch right now. So... go, talk, and see what they say.”

“I would have been happy to never know he saw me! Do you know how badly I wanted to make a hole appear and go into it!” Fenris said as he tried to keep calm. “I’m so fucking mortified and you two sat there making light of it.” 

“Love, it was only light teasing,” said Vic as he pulled the elf into his lap - not quite so easy as it used to be, now the elf was the equal of Anders in height and rivalling the Champion for strength and weight. “You notice you’re not the talk of the whole keep. Dorian’s not blabbed about what he saw to anyone, and he’s obviously interested in you. I have no problem if you want to go play for a while, and I have the feeling he’d take everything you can dish out. Just ... go talk to Anders, speak to Zev. Then if they give their blessing, go have fun.” He grinned suddenly. “And if I see Dorian still capable of sitting down at dinner this evening then I’ll know you didn’t go. Or better still, you could leave him trussed up for Meneris to find - just to serve him right for teasing you.” Hawke’s grin turned wicked.

Fenris had to concede inwardly that there was a very definite attraction to the idea of tying Dorian up and just leaving him there. Maybe even if Anders and Zevran said no, he could go and tie up Dorian, drink his wine and then leave him there, gift-wrapped for the Inquisitor - and perhaps the Altus would think twice next time about mortifying the elf in public like that. It only partially mollified him however.

“You participated in that too Hawke.” Fenris muttered, he resembled an angry housecat more than an elf as he perched on his lover’s lap and pondered how long he could go without coming out of his room.

“You could gag Dorian,” went on Hawke as if Fenris hadn’t spoken. “Imagine him tied to the bed, gagged, having to watch as you drink his wine, and then leaving him there for however long it takes Meneris to find him.” He grinned. “Go on, you know you want to.”

He _did_ want to; that was the problem. He also wanted to do various things to the Altus that his mind was insisting on playing out for him in various distracting ways. He had a lot of... _frustration_... that he would just have loved to take out on Dorian, but he’d be happy to have his revenge in the way Vic suggested too.

And it _had_ been a long time since he’d last tasted Aggregio Pavali.

“I don’t know.” Fenris finally muttered angrily. “I notice that you still evade the fact you participated.” 

Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris and hugged him gently. “I’m sorry, love. I got a little carried away. I shouldn’t have teased - any more than you and I shouldn’t tease Anders sometimes.”

Fenris grunted; not pulling away exactly, but not returning the embrace. When Hawke’s arms slackened slightly, he got to his feet. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said.

“Alright, love,” said Hawke as the elf took his leave.


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun and games with Dorian go farther than Fenris had actually planned. A mug of tea has repercussions.

Anders was busy with a young woman in labour; Fenris lingered a while, watching, but it was obvious Anders would have his hands full for a while yet. 

Zevran wasn’t in his own room; Fenris checked in his own room, but there was no sign of the Antivan assassin there either. Fenris scowled. It was all very well Hawke telling him to go check with them both, but what was the use if he _couldn’t_?

He shrugged and a slow smile spread across his face. It seemed the decision had been made for him - but that didn’t mean he had to pass up the chance of Aggregio Pavali.

Dorian was waiting in his room; he answered the door clad in a long robe, cinched at the waist with a silk sash. Fenris didn’t miss the way the Altus’ eyes lit up when he recognised the elf on his doorstep.

“I must admit I’d expected to find you in... red silk,” said Fenris drily as he closed the door behind himself. Dorian flashed him a dazzling smile.

“I thought you might like to help me with that,” he murmured, one hand toying idly with his belt sash.

“Maybe I can at that,” mused Fenris. “You mentioned wine?”

Dorian’s smile widened. “A man after my own heart,” he said approvingly. He moved to a table set to one side where a bottle had been opened to breathe. He poured two glasses of dark ruby-hued wine then handed a glass to Fenris as he offered him the bottle; Fenris studied the label as he rolled the rich heady liquid over his tongue, the taste so familiar to him, before swallowing.

“Your excellent health,” said Dorian as he raised his own glass in toast.

They chimed the rims of their glasses, then regarded each other as they drank.

“So,” said Dorian. “Shall we draw this out, or would you prefer to get right to the heart of the matter? You’ve always struck me as a pragmatist who prefers not to beat around the bush - or am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” smiled Fenris. Dorian grinned. He downed the rest of his wine then set his glass down and turned to the bed. Several lengths of crimson silk rope were set out.

“You were pretty certain I’d come,” said Fenris. Dorian shrugged.

“Not certain. But you seemed... interested.” He shrugged. 

Fenris set his glass aside and walked over to the bed, picking up a length of rope. “Invictus was right,” he mused. “I think perhaps red silk would suit you very well, _amicus_.”

Dorian turned to face Fenris and slowly tugged free the sash belt then shrugged the silk robe from his shoulders to let it pool on the floor at his feet. Fenris regarded the naked mage and lifted one eyebrow as he let his eyes slowly rove over Dorian’s body.

“I see what had Invictus so interested,” he said quietly.

Dorian grinned, and held out his wrists. “Care to dress me?” he drawled softly.

Fenris took his time binding Dorian; he bound the man’s wrists together firmly, then tied them securely to the headboard whilst Dorian lay on his stomach before wrapping coils of rope around each ankle then tying them off to the two uprights at the foot of the bed so his legs were forced and held apart. He regarded his work thoughtfully for a moment, then poured himself another glass of wine and sat in a chair where Dorian could see him.

“Enjoying the view, _amicus_?” asked Dorian as he glanced over at the elf.

“Oh, very much so.” Fenris raised his glass in salute to his friend. “So…”

Dorian tensed his muscles and tested the ropes binding his wrists and ankles. “My compliments on your ropework,” he mused. “I am quite thoroughly at your mercy and helpless. Whatever will you do with me?” He glanced over at Fenris and gave him a lopsided smile. “Something deliciously depraved, I do hope.”

“Perhaps, after I enjoy some of this Pavali. I haven’t really had it since Kirkwall, when I finished Danarius’ last few bottles he left in the mansion I claimed.” Fenris crossed his legs and stared at Dorian as he pondered all the things he could do to him.

“Ah, so it’s to be delayed gratification, is it? Oh, delightful! I can be a patient man, though not _too_ patient, _amicus_ ,” Dorian grinned devilishly. “Anticipation only makes it all the more sweeter.” He wriggled slightly. The knots held quite firm, though not so tight as to hurt. He watched Fenris enjoying his wine as the elf’s eyes roamed over his naked body.

“Carrying such a heavy staff has done wonders for your physique amicus. Could probably bounce a sovereign off your ass.” Fenris said as he refilled his glass.

“Quite deliberate, I can assure you,” replied Dorian, preening a little. “It takes work to look this good.”

“Hmm, and here it only took me years of swordwork and intervention of a goddess.” Fenris said before he sat his glass aside and rose to circle the bed. “What did Meneris say about this?”

“We have his blessing though he requests you don’t leave me _too_ crippled to be useless the day after tomorrow,” Dorian winked.

“Hmm, I wouldn’t do that to you.” Fenris remarked as he trailed his nails down Dorian’s back as he paced from one side to the other.

“That’s quite reass- _ohhhhhh_ ,” Dorian’s voice trailed off as he shivered beneath Fenris’ nails. “Oh, _yeeeesssss...._ ” He groaned quietly, writhing slightly under the elf’s touch.

“Like that do you?” Fenris rumbled before he resumed his seat. “Oh Dorian, the things I could do to you, even before you tell me what you desire. Did you enjoy the show?” 

Dorian’s answer was a low moan. “You have absolutely no idea what seeing that did to me,” the Altus managed breathlessly. “ _Venhedis_ , there’s no way I could concentrate on a thing after witnessing that performance!”

“Tell me, in detail leave nothing out.” Fenris smiled as he leaned back to unbutton his pants and let Dorian see his excitement.

Dorian described in detail just how much of a turn-on Fenris’ performance had been for him - right from the moment he first spotted Fenris with the Bull, right through how he’d frotted against the edge of the bookcase he was leaning against as the Bull continued fingering Fenris with Krem none the wiser, right up to the point Dorian had been on the verge of taking himself in hand and nearly leapt out of his skin when he heard Meneris approaching as he talked to someone else just around the corner of the bookshelves.

“And Maker, but part of me _wanted_ him to catch me with my hands in my pants, like a naughty apprentice,” remembered Dorian. He was hard already simply over the memory, half-rutting against the down comforter on the bed without even realising he was doing it, the slick satin not giving him enough friction to get himself off. “I wanted nothing more than to lock myself away in here with a toy or two and really have a bloody good wank, I could tell you,” he confessed. “You two gave me enough fantasy material to give me cramp in my right hand for a month, I swear!”

“Did you have Meneris scratch your itch later? Tell him why you needed it so bad Dorian?” in that low rumble he fell into during sex, the one that could make Anders promise him anything as long as he was allowed to come.

Dorian quivered, his eyelids fluttering briefly. “ _Vishante Kaffas_ , the things you could do to a man just with that voice alone; it’s positively obscene,” he groaned. “I swear you could make me agree to almost anything with that voice.” He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “He didn’t have time; scout reports, including something from Calpernia I believe. It was just me and my right hand, alas. Damned near sprained my wrist.” 

His eyes flicked from Fenris’ face to the glass of wine in his hand. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a sip of wine?” he asked.

Fenris took a sip and held it in his mouth as he approached the bed, and tugged Dorian’s hair so he could let the mage take the fine vintage from him. Dorian savoured the taste before swallowing.

“Thank you; most grateful,” he sighed, staring up at Fenris as the elf still fisted his hair, his head forced back at an angle that would begin to feel painful if he was forced to hold it much longer, the cords standing out upon his neck with the strain and the muscles in his back, arms and shoulders tense as he tried to arch his back a little more against the hold of the ropes to relieve the strain in his neck. He said nothing however as he held Fenris’ gaze.

He released his grip as he licked his lips and made his way back to the bed. Fenris sat in the chair, legs spread wide so Dorian could see how he was affected. He didn’t speak for a while, he just made a point to accidentally spill a little of the wine and lap it up. He was going to wait out the Altus even if they sat there most of the night.

Dorian let his head drop down between his arms as his neck twinged slightly, and he groaned. He was almost painfully hard now. After a moment, he turned his head a little to the side.

“You still haven’t said what it is you plan to do with me,” he observed. “You have me bound and captive and you have my full attention. You also, I might add, have me incredibly aroused; I’m only thankful this satin cover is so smooth otherwise I’d be at a distinct risk of embarrassing myself.” He rutted slowly against the comforter to emphasise his point.

“I haven’t decided. I tied you in a way where I can’t use that big mouth of yours without straining your neck. I’m conflicted...you’re a tantalizing sight, tempting me as you can see.” Fenris unbuttoned his pants so Dorian could see how much he was affected.

“I want to fuck you hard, make you scream but I also am sorely tempted to take my pleasure in your wine, and my hand and leave you for Meneris to enjoy a gift from me to him. You need to learn a lesson in not pushing me Pavus but I don’t know the best way to do it right now.” Fenris’ eyes flashed lyrium white for a moment as he took himself in hand and pondered the lovely bound man before him.

Dorian went still. “That would be remarkably unkind of you,” he said, a small frown furrowing his brow. “After I went to the trouble of offering you wine - and myself, I might point out. I’ve put myself into your hands, _amicus_ ; would you really betray that trust by tormenting me with - with _my own wine_ , dammit! Oh come on, Fenris, now this really isn’t fair!” He pouted, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

“That is not effective on me Pavus, not when I’ve been with Anders for so long.” Fenris purred as he finally rose and shed his clothing. He sat behind Dorian with the oil in hand and a curious look on his face as he looked at the Altus’ back. “Hawke didn’t mention the tattoos.”

Dorian tried to look over his shoulder, his back and shoulders straining. “What - Fenris, what are you doing?” he said, a slightly nervous quaver creeping into his voice. “Damn it, I can’t see - what are you going to do to me?”

“What you wanted me to do, unless you’ve changed your mind?” Fenris set the oil aside and started to untie Dorian, worried he’d made the other man too nervous to enjoy their time together. He left some of the rope around the Altus’ body but released his arms and legs. He was quiet as he traced the dark lines that wound down the mage’s back and even covered the shoulder normally covered in armor. He glanced up at the mage before he started to trace them with his tongue.

Dorian was quietly rubbing his wrists, twisted around slightly so he could see what Fenris was doing; but at touch of his tongue he stilled then closed his eyes and moaned very quietly.

Fenris concentrated on mapping out every bit of ink on the Altus’ skin that he found with his tongue. He even the fringe of his bangs trail over Dorian’s back as he went. He paused and looked up to see Dorian watching him intently.

“Fenris... if you promise me that I will be safe in your hands, then I will consent to being tied up again,” said Dorian quietly. “Do I have your word, _amicus_ , that you will only do what I agree to? I will not consent to having my blood shed, no bodily fluids in general in fact. I do not deal well with being humiliated verbally. I can tolerate pain to a certain degree but if I beg you to stop then I need to be able to trust you will accede to my wishes and desist. Beyond that, please ask and I will tell you if that goes beyond what I can tolerate. If you will agree, then I place myself in your hands.”

“I will accede to your wishes, but if you do not trust me I understand. I..merely wished some payback for earlier. I was humiliated.” Fenris said against Dorian’s skin then pressed his forehead to the Altus’ back. 

“Then I think I have deserved everything you did, _amicus_ ,” Dorian said heavily. “I am sorry. The way you carried on - anyone could have seen you, and I thought...” He glanced away, a troubled look in his storm grey eyes. “I have been an utter ass. Forgive me. I go too far sometimes.”

“The excitement of it ...but knowing you saw me...it, it was bad enough. I was afraid we’d be caught out but I wished for nothing more than the floor to open and take me. I’ve messed this up, I should leave.” Fenris said quietly.

Dorian laid a hand over Fenris’ wrist lightly as he sat up. “Please... stay,” he said gently. “From the way you behaved I thought that you enjoyed the risk of being caught. If I’d known... I’m sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He smiled slightly. “Feel free to gag me even if you wish - my damn fool mouth gets me into too much trouble anyway. Look - tie me up, drink my wine, leave me to Meneris - that was your original idea, wasn’t it? But ... please, stay. At least a little while. You should at least have a chance to enjoy the wine.”

“It … is complicated.” Fenris said as he scooted back to let Dorian sit against the headboard. “I’ve made this awkward, and not fun like you wanted.” He took a chance and rested against Dorian’s chest, and let his fingers trip over the other man’s tawny skin as he considered how to make it right. 

“Oh, I don’t know; I’m sure Meneris would appreciate you leaving me trussed up for him like a name day gift,” said Dorian. “And I _was_ enjoying myself until I wasn’t certain what you were doing behind me. I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to make it fun again. Why don’t you get us both another glass of wine, and after that maybe we can think about those ropes again - and I’m sure you could come up with a different way to tie me that we could both have fun with - hmm? Up to you. But I could really use a drink.”

Fenris got off the bed to retrieve the bottle and handed it to Dorian. “We might break the glasses if they fall off the bed. Neither of us are strangers to drinking from the bottle.”

“All too true,” agreed Dorian. He took a pull from the bottle then handed it to Fenris. “So. What _would_ you like to do, Fenris?”

The elf shrugged as he sat next to Dorian against the headboard and pulled the covers over his lap. He wondered what was wrong with him, why hadn’t he just left rather than sulk next to the Altus. 

Dorian reached up with one hand and gently guided Fenris’ chin with a forefinger until the elf was returning his gaze. “Fenris. Talk to me... please?” The Altus’ eyes were troubled and filled with concern for the elf. “There’s something troubling you - and it’s not just this, here.” He gestured vaguely at his room. “I want to help, _amicus_.”

“Can everyone read me so damned easily?” Fenris huffed as he turned to ponder his knees. “Look, I just want to get back to where we were going to have fun until I messed it up. Can we do that please?”

Dorian took another pull of wine before surrendering the bottle to Fenris, then held out his wrists. “Go ahead. I place myself in your hands; do with me as you will.” He smiled. 

Fenris set the bottle aside and brushed Dorian’s hands down to his side. “No rope.” he murmured before he slid his fingers into the thick of the Altus’ wavy dark locks and kissed him.

Dorian’s eyes flew open wide with surprise before they fluttered closed and he groaned into Fenris’ mouth, his hands lifting to run slowly over Fenris’ chest and shoulders before sliding into the soft, snow-white hair.

The elf kept the kiss going until he needed air, and only made a move to lie down and pull Dorian on top of him. “Is this ok?” Fenris asked quietly.

“Is it OK, he asks me??” exclaimed Dorian disbelievingly. “He steals my breath away until I’m damn near fit to swoon, and then asks if it’s merely _OK??_ ” He leaned down and stared at Fenris with eyes that were dark with desire, the pupils wide and blown. “I’ll _show_ you just how inadequate merely _OK_ is!” He claimed Fenris’ lips with an ardent, passionate kiss that put a world of feeling and intent into a minute that seemed to stretch forever and stole the breath from Fenris completely.

The elf held him at arm’s length while he gathered his thoughts. “ _I...just don’t want to cause you to mistrust me again. I was being petty and dangerous, and I am worried Dorian. Apologies if my caution is not to your liking._ ” Fenris said in Tevene, his accent coming out with his worry.

“Fenris, you can’t kiss a man like that and not expect him to respond - not this man, anyway. I may be many things, but I am - when all is said and done - only human, and if you kiss me like that I _will_ react to it. I find you incredibly attractive, and have done so ever since I first laid eyes on you. So please, _please_ don’t worry that I will object to your kissing me.” Dorian regarded Fenris steadily. “Believe me, I am not at _all_ adverse to being kissed senseless by you, and you may do so as much and as often as you wish.”

“ _That’s not what I was referring to. I just...I want to be sure I don’t mess it up again._ ” Fenris said as he laid back down and waited for Dorian to join him again. He did arch a dark eyebrow when the Altus’ cock brushed against him. 

Dorian smiled and deliberately rubbed his cock against Fenris’ leg. “That’s your fault, that is,” he smirked. “Does _that_ help reassure you as to just how very far you are from messing it up?” 

Fenris nodded and turned to gesture at the oil. “Ride me?” he requested.

“Oh Maker, I thought you’d never ask and I’d be forced to beg,” Dorian said, the relief audible in his voice as he reached for the oil. He straddled Fenris’ hips and took the elf’s cock in hand, working it slowly and steadily as he oiled Fenris up. “Does that feel good?” he inquired quietly.

“ _Si...digame tu fantasies_ ” Fenris moaned in Antivan without thinking about it.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” said Dorian wryly. He lifted himself up a little so he could reach behind and start stretching and preparing himself. “Antivan?”

“Hmm?” Fenris asked as he opened his eyes to see Dorian working himself open. “Yes...I said...tell me your fantasies.”

“Well, this is coming pretty close to the top of the list,” confided Dorian. “I don’t mind admitting I’ve entertained thoughts about this for quite a while, and the, ah -” He broke off and exhaled with a faint hiss as he started sinking himself down onto Fenris’ cock. “Do - do excuse me a - a moment, this is - _ohhhhh._ ”

Fenris held still as he watched Dorian’s expression change with each movement to slide down further on him until the Altus rested against him and he was trying hard not to flip them over and bang Dorian into the next week. “M...move.” he snarled instead.

There was a look of intense concentration on Dorian’s face. “Just - just give me a moment, you’re larger than Meneris,” he gasped. 

“I’m going to get a damn complex at this rate.” Fenris muttered to himself. 

After a moment, Dorian began to slowly move, lifting himself up on his knees then sinking back down again, groaning each time he seated himself fully on Fenris’ cock. “Oh Fenris, you feel so good inside me,” he groaned. He let his head drop back, his eyes closed, as he braced his hands on the headboard and began to fuck himself a little faster on the elf’s cock.

Fenris didn’t know what to do with his hands, simply because he couldn’t quite reach Dorian’s to hold them together and the Altus seemed to doing fine on balancing while he rode him. He resorted to slapping the headboard with one hand and tugging at his hair with the other.

“Would you... would you rather be on top? Or perhaps behind?” Dorian panted when he felt the headboard vibrate and glanced down to see what Fenris was doing.

“D...don’t.. don’t stop” Fenris whimpered as he felt how tight Dorian was around him. Even though he’d had two of three of his lovers that day he felt like the Altus was going to make him come hard enough to see stars soon. 

“Could... could you... touch me?” begged Dorian as he moved faster. “Please, I... I want to feel your hand on my cock....”

Fenris sat up enough to put a bit of oil on his hand before he began stroking Dorian. He had to sit up fully and wound up with the Altus in his lap, one hand around his cock and the other still clutching the headboard as Dorian moved over him. It still wasn’t enough; the angle was wrong, and he couldn’t get the right leverage to really thrust into Dorian - and the Altus’ movements were maddeningly just a hair too slow.

Dorian suddenly found himself being tipped backwards onto his back as Fenris lurched over him, his cock still deep inside the Altus as the elf pushed Dorian’s knees up over his shoulders, bending the Altus double as Fenris placed his hands either side of Dorian’s head and started to snap his hips faster, taking over and setting the pace as he started to pound Dorian into the mattress.

Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise before he threw his head back and cried out. “Oh fuck - _fuck_!”

Fenris took that as encouragement and thrust harder. Maker, but the mage’s body felt so good, so tight and wet and hot around his cock.

The elf kissed Dorian when he could, sharp, quick nips and not the deep kisses they’d shared before as he felt his orgasm building and he reveled in the shouts from the man under him. He even tugged at Dorian’s ear briefly before he realized he’d hurt him. “Say… my...name.” he moaned into the mage’s ear.

Dorian was panting and whining faintly, his breath exploding from him in a loud gasp every time Fenris thrust into his body. “Ah - ah, Fen - Fen -” He couldn’t quite get the name out. He cried out louder as Fenris ground into him. He felt balls-achingly close, but not quite there. He was whimpering as he closed his eyes and reached back to slip the tip of a finger inside himself alongside Fenris’ cock. “F-f-fe-fen-”

He managed to dredge together just enough coherent thought to tap into his mana and let a spark fly into his own body. As the lightning shorted through him inside, he threw his head back and screamed Fenris’ name as he came hard. He was distantly aware of a wrenching pain in his hand as Fenris jerked and shuddered.

Fenris’s eyes rolled shut as he felt the charge go through him as he climaxed. He barely managed to flop to his back before he felt everything go dark. 

Dorian felt his legs flop limply down onto the bed; he could only lie there, one hand still trapped beneath him, as he panted and fought for breath, his heart stuttering wildly in his chest.

“Oh... oh fuck me. _Vishante kaffras. Venhedis._ oh fuck,” he finally managed, at least semi-coherently. “Ow. Ow. Ohhh.”

Next to him Fenris was not moving, he almost looked as if he weren’t breathing depending on how you looked at him.

Dorian tried to sit up then cried out as he tried to put weight on his left hand. Pain shot through his left middle finger and up his arm; he fell back onto the bed and gasped. “Bad move... bad move,” he panted. “Ow. Fenris... Fenris, please tell me you’re not dead. I really don’t want to have to explain this to Hawke, Anders and Zevran.” He glanced at the elf and swore roundly. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “Oh thank Dumat you’re not dead,” he sighed. There were distinct advantages to being a necromancer, he thought - not least the ability to ascertain your bed partner hadn’t just died of a heart attack or some such mid-coitus. That would have been very hard to explain.

Meneris didn’t knock, he came in at the sound of Dorian’s yells but he couldn’t hold back the laughter at his lover being so vigorous as to have injured himself. “Half the hall heard you two.” he got out between giggles.

Dorian managed to sit upright at that, cradling his injured hand to his chest as he glanced round, his eyes wide with alarm until he realised it was Meneris. He sank back onto the bed with a groan. “Please don’t startle me like that,” he said faintly. “I’m not sure my heart can handle much more shock. I thought I’d killed Fenris. He very nearly killed _me_.” His hand began to throb in earnest and he winced. “I’m actually in pain, love,” he complained. 

“What happened?” Meneris said as he approached the bed and held his hand out for Dorian’s injured one. Dorian held out his left hand and then winced as he saw the damage for himself. The knuckle joint looked badly wrenched and he suspected the middle finger was quite likely broken; the whole finger was steadily blackening with bruising and the finger didn’t look quite right. Dorian swallowed hard and looked away; the sight of his injury was actually making him feel queasy, strangely.

“I was rather clumsy. I was trying that little lightning trick but... it went wrong, I think. Or maybe a little _too_ right. My... my hand was caught between us, and... and I’m afraid I’ve broken Fenris... oh dear. Oh dear.” Dorian sank down onto the bed and closed his eyes. “It was all going so well too.”

“I’m sure he’s just exhausted and if he was exerting himself hard enough to make you scream like that and you added lightning, he’s probably just out for a bit.” Meneris let him hold his wrist while he rummaged around for a healing potion and something to use as a splint. “Drink this and this is going to hurt when I try to splint it. You need to see Anders since you aren’t a healing mage and the Champion can’t heal for shit as he likes to say.” Meneris found a loose slat in the blinds behind Dorian’s bed to use.

“I uncapped it, drink it or you’ll scream like a wyvern when I splint it.” Meneris said as he snapped the slat in two and grabbed a short lenght of rope. “You pulled out the rope too?” he asked with a curious glance.

“I-” began Dorian.

“What have you done to my _carissimi_?” said a low voice from the doorway. Dorian’s head whipped round and he shrieked as he came face to face with Zevran who had a long fighting knife in each hand, one of which was pointing straight at the alarmed Altus. As Zevran took a step towards him, Dorian screamed in alarm - a high, thin, sound of genuine fear.

Meneris sighed as he tried to diffuse things before Dorian added a stab wound to his injuries. “They got a little too into it, and Fenris apparently… fainted? He’s not dead, just out of it. I’m sure you have something in your bag of tricks to wake him from a faint.” 

Zevran stared at Dorian and advanced slowly around the bed. “Inquisitor, your boyfriend screams like a girl,” he noted as he sheathed his blades then crouched down to gently stroke Fenris’ face. 

At the feel of someone touching him, Fenris opened his eyes to find Zevran staring at him about three inches from his face and looking like he was about to go on a killing spree; which prompted his own high pitched shriek of fear. 

Zevran stared into Fenris’ eyes. “So. You finally bedded the Altus. Was he worth it?”

Dorian quelled the instinctive feeling of outrage and instead swallowed hard and glanced away.

Fenris opened his mouth and found he couldn’t speak for a moment, but he gathered his wits enough to explain himself in Antivan, and to ask him to let him up so they could speak without him feeling like he was going to die at the other elf’s hands.

“Dorian...don’t say a word. This is their ...something.” Meneris cautioned as he slowly helped his lover to his feet. “Dorian is hurt, you two work this out and when you’re done come to my rooms, please?” 

“Do not move, Dorian,” said Zevran quietly. “Answer my question, Fenris. Was he worth it.”

Dorian held still. The air was pregnant with tension, all eyes on Fenris.

“Yes.” was all he said before he closed his eyes and presented his throat for Zevran’s blade. 

Zevran rose to his feet. “You may go, Dorian,” he said calmly. “Inquisitor, your boyfriend’s finger looks broken and I fear he may settle into shock. I suggest you take him directly to the infirmary.” He didn’t look at Fenris.

“I’d planned to but you seem intent on murder I’d prefer it if you didn’t. At least not in here.” Meneris said as he helped Dorian dress in a pair of loose trousers and one of his shirts that let his arm remain free. He was unconcerned with Zevran’s anger other than worry for the other elf. “Hawke encouraged this, before you go and have some kind of rampage or break things off with Fenris.” he sighed and apologized to Dorian before he continued.

“I heard much of their conversation, since I lingered nearby just in case it turned out to be a cruel prank by Fenris but this was not what you seem to assume, thus the invitation to join me for a chat. I hope you will listen before you make a rash decision.” Meneris held door open for his lover and led the Altus away to get checked out.

Zevran stared at Fenris, then turned away abruptly. “Get up. I am not going to kill you.”

“Soon as I stop shaking I will.” Fenris said as he tried to get up and couldn’t.

“Will you regain your strength if I tell you that Hal nearly died this afternoon and needs you?” asked Zevran, not looking at Fenris.

“Please… look at me.” Fenris said as he found he couldn’t stop shaking. Zevran turned slowly and looked at him.

“I tell you the truth. He drank tea that was poisoned. Thankfully one of the Chantry sisters kept the dregs. I recognised the poison; it is one to which I carry an antidote,” said Zevran quietly. “He will live. He... called for you.”

Fenris stared at Zevran and held his hand out. “Please… I’m … I can’t stop shaking.”

Zevran closed his eyes briefly then went to Fenris. “He needs you, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. 

“Ok...I think I’m going into shock myself.” Fenris said in a small voice as he found he wanted Zevran’s arms around him desperately to ground him. “I thought you were going to kill me, I thought you had that look in your eyes again and I was going to die.” he said as he looked around in confusion for his clothes. “Help me.”

Zevran wrapped his arms around Fenris and closed his own eyes. “I will not harm you,” he said quietly. “I need you to come with me. Hal needs you. Someone tried to kill Anders and Hal nearly died and Hal needs you, _carissimi_.”

“He needs someone who is dead.” Fenris replied as he tried to sink against Zevran. “I’m not the one he needs, I am a poor substitute.” he pulled away slowly and got dressed as he tried to calm himself. “Besides, Hal wasn’t the target.”

“Fenris,” said Zevran, his voice shaking. “I held a boy this evening who screamed in agony. _Your_ name. I thought he would die in my arms, and so did the Iron Bull and Anders. Do you think, in his agony, he cared that he was not the target? That you are not the one who is dead?” He drew himself up. “Poor substitute or not, will you ignore that he has asked for you? I am here because he begged for you. Is still calling your name.”

“I am not ignoring it, I am just acknowledging the truth of some things.” Fenris wiped at his face with the bedsheet before he rose to go. “I’ll see you in the infirmary.” 

Zevran nodded silently. He turned and left as swiftly as he had appeared.

Fenris lit his brands and slammed his fist into the wall with a growl, uncaring of the pain that shot up his arm once he’d let them dim. He hurried to the infirmary, back stiff, hand aching and heart ripped open as he heard Hal’s cries of his name. The elven warrior took a seat next to the bed and let Hal have his uninjured arm. “I am here.”

Hal was clutching his stomach and writhing upon the bed, crying out as waves of pain racked his body. “Fenris, Fenris!” he screamed. “Oh Maker.... Fenris, please....”

“Hal, I’m here. Look at me if you can.” Fenris said as he kept his injured arm away from the young mage and reached out to Hal to get him to realize he was there. His heart broke even more hearing the pain and need in the young mage’s voice.

Anders had a hand on Hal’s shoulder, blue healing energy glowing around his hand. “He collapsed in the Great Hall when he went to get food,” the blond mage said shakily. “Zevran’s given him the antidote and I’m trying to ease his pain, but there’s not much we can do but wait until the poison leaves his system,” said Anders shakily. “There’s magebane and orichalocum in it - blocking my healing.”

Hal managed to open his eyes enough to recognised Fenris. He gave a choked sob then clung to Fenris’ hand. “You came... oh Maker, you came,” he sobbed. “Fenris, it hurts!”

The Iron Bull gave a low, pained groan from the other side of the bed. “Oh kadan,” he moaned. “My kadan.”

“I’m sorry Hal but I’m here and Bull is here too, what can I do for you?” Fenris asked as he hoped silently Hal didn’t grab for his other hand.

“Make it stop hurting, please - Fenris, it hurts so bad,” whimpered Hal as he clung to Fenris’ hand.

“Close your eyes and relax.” Fenris said as he let his markings glow a soft white instead of their usual blue, and when he next opened his eyes they glowed a soft white instead of their usual soft green. “Be at rest, I will be here.” he said as he let his markings glow a soft white as he connected with Hal.

Hal seemed to slowly relax as the silvery-white light glowed, and his eyes closed as his body went limp, his head lolling to one side. For a moment, it looked as though he had slipped into death, until Anders pressed two fingers to the young man’s throat then visibly sagged with relief.

“He’s alive, just very deeply asleep,” he said quietly. He looked exhausted as he glanced at Fenris. “Love, thank you.”

The Iron Bull reached for Hal’s other hand and cradled it gently in his own, staring sombrely at the unconscious redhead. “I’m gonna find who did this and kill ‘em,” he said quietly.

“How did you do that?” asked Anders quietly. “Nothing I did had any effect. I couldn’t do anything for him.”

“I don’t know...it was...he was in pain, I had to help him.” Fenris said as he looked at Anders with a confused expression. “I’m confused.”

“Well, whatever it was, I am grateful for it,” said Anders as he slumped, catching himself on the edge of the bed.

Zevran caught Anders’ arm before the healer could fall over, and glanced to Hawke. “He needs rest,” he said quietly.

“Wait,” said Anders. “Fenris... your arm.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Fenris replied even as he stared ahead at the wall. 

Hawke frowned from where he was sitting with Meneris and Dorian, chatting softly. He came over and tried to help Fenris up and was rewarded with the elf flinching back and biting back a few choice curses.

“Fenris, please. Let me heal you,” said Anders as he stared at the elf.

“Let me sit down, or I might just fall down.” Fenris replied as he started to sway from the pain and exhaustion from whatever he did to help Hal.

Anders shoved Zevran away and pushed past Hawke just in time to catch Fenris. “No arguments,” he muttered as he called on his healing and flooded Fenris’ body with healing magic and rejuvenation energy. He closed his eyes as he called upon his spirit and let the spirit energy flow into Fenris as the elf’s lyrium blazed suddenly with light.

“Stop… stop.” Fenris moaned as he tried to get out of Anders grip. He was confused and in pain and wanted to just sleep. 

“Maker his markings never reacted like that before.” Hawke said as he heard Zevran’s call of _carissimi_ before he grabbed the Antivan. “No, don’t interfere.”

Anders’ eyes opened briefly, glowing golden, then closed again. It was impossible to stare at the two men as the room was flooded with brilliant white light. When it died, Fenris was holding up Anders who looked exhausted. The elf appeared fine, if confused and bewildered.

Fenris got Anders up and to a cot before he sprawled in the one next to him. He was fine but wanted to lie down. He waved Hawke off and told him to attend Anders who needed it.

Zevran stared at the two men, as though unable to tear his eyes away from them.

Hawke gave Anders a cup of water and asked Meneris to get some broth for their First Enchanter. “Easy love, easy.”

“I’m OK, I’m just... a bit dizzy,” said Anders dazedly. “What happened? Hal? Fenris?”

“Hal is asleep, I’m just taking a moment to get my bearings.” Fenris said as he turned to answer Anders.

Meneris came back with a bowl of broth, mint tea and a hunk of bread for Anders before he sat next to Dorian and took the Altus’ uninjured hand. Anders nodded his thanks; as he ate, the colour came slowly back to his cheeks and he steadily revived.

Dorian leaned against Meneris. “When did all... this... Hal, when did he collapse?” he asked quietly. “Do we know who did it?”

“No, but when I find them I’m going to rip them to shreds,” growled the Bull, his voice low as he stared at Hal’s sleeping face.

“I will not rest until the poisoner is dead,” said Zevran quietly.

“Fucking get in line,” growled the Bull. Zevran merely grinned with a flash of teeth and stared pointedly at Fenris.

“We shall all get in line if my _carissimi_ finds them first, no?” he said softly.

“If I find the first there won’t be anything left for you Bull.” Fenris snarled as he sat got up to pace. 

Zevran stepped into Fenris’ path and drew his knife, holding it out to Fenris hilt-first. “My blade is yours, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly.

Dorian got to his feet. “I’m with you - if you’ll accept my aid,” he said firmly. “Whoever strikes at one of us strikes at all of us. We are all the Inquisition.” He glanced to Meneris.

Fenris caressed Zevran’s face and kissed him. “I will not go without your blade at my side my heart.” He gave Dorian a respectful nod. “I’ll work with Hawke and Cullen to work out how this happened, who had tea sent and settle a guard rotation. Effective immediately, no one brings anything to Hal or Anders that hasn’t been checked by Zevran. Hawke, with me.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal barely survives the poisoning attempt intended for Anders. Fenris doesn't take it too well.

Hawke fell in line with Fenris as the elf headed through the halls towards Cullen’s office. He knew things were going to be so bad for whoever had poisoned Hal, if there was anything left after Fenris got through with them. He knew Anders was the original target and he’d gotten him to agree to no more taking tea or food unless one of them had brought it to them. 

“Fenris, you have that look about you. What are you going to do?” Vic asked as they hurried along to see Cullen.

“I’m going to work on a rotation with Cullen to make sure no one gets to them without reason. Then I’m going to put Zevran to work on finding out who is trying to have Anders killed, then I use every technique he taught me along with some things I picked up in the Imperium to make them wish to die.” Fenris said as if he were asking for more wine over dinner. 

Cullen was sat behind his desk in his office, frowning at the report in his hand. He glanced up as Fenris and Hawke strode in without so much as knocking.

“Someone nearly killed Hal while trying to get to Anders, and I’m done Cullen. We’re going to find out who did this and I’m going to have a long, long chat with them.” Fenris said as he took to pacing while Hawke took a seat and tried to catch Cullen’s eye before the former templar could make things go wrong.

Cullen frowned at Hawke as he set the report aside. “Start from the beginning,” he ordered. “How was Hal nearly killed?” 

“Someone has been trying to poison Anders, and I stopped him from drinking tea that was brought to him earlier. It seems Hal picked it up and ...he nearly died.” Fenris said tiredly. “Since people have found he carries a spirit, even a benevolent one that helps his healing, the templars have ramped up their efforts to end him, title be damned. It ends today Cullen.” Fenris said as he paused in front of the bookshelf in the Commander’s office.

“How is it you know about this and I had to figure it out?” Hawke asked.

“Bull told me and right now is so not the time to pick a fight with me Invictus. Yell at me after we’ve dealt with this.” Fenris replied frostily.

Cullen got to his feet and crossed to the other office door. He leaned out and collared a messenger. “Tell Leliana I need to see her here immediately. Seeker Cassandra and the Iron Bull as well.” He turned back to Hawke and Fenris. “We’ll pull all the duty rosters and find out who the hostile templars are. I’ll have all the kitchen staff interrogated. Hal and Anders are not to eat or drink anything that hasn’t been OKed by Zevran, and I’ll also have him go through all the kitchen supplies to ascertain if anything’s been contaminated.” He was dashing off messages on his tablet as they spoke, handing each one to the messenger who’d followed him. Cullen nodded to the man who saluted then fled swiftly.

Cullen regarded the two men sombrely. “We’ll track down those responsible. This threat to a senior member of the Inquisition will not be tolerated. You’ll wish to interrogate them yourself, I presume.” It was a statement, not a question. Cullen’s expression was dark. 

“Yes, there’s a queue forming for what’s left. I wish to do more than talk.” Fenris gave him that predatory smile that most people didn’t get to see and live.

Cullen merely raised an eyebrow. “Please try and ensure there’s at least something left for me to question afterwards,” he said in a mild tone. “I very much doubt the individual concerned would have been working alone, and I need to know who the conspirators are. I will not tolerate threats against the First Enchanter. I’ll be personally selecting guards to be assigned to the college and infirmary to protect Anders.” His frown deepened. “I take his safety very seriously.”

“My relationship as his lover trumps what I will do to the one who tried to kill him. I won’t do that until you get your information, but I will make an example of them and put the fear of the Maker and Mythal into anyone else who would think to do this. Am I clear Commander?” Fenris said with that same unnerving smile.

Cullen raised one eyebrow. “I will remind you, Fenris, that uncovering and dealing with the conspirators falls to me. I will inform you when we have taken them into custody for questioning. Am _I_ clear, Fenris?” he replied, his tone still calm.

Fenris stared at Cullen, unwilling to back down when it came to Anders. He enjoyed the fact he was eye to eye with the former templar and he knew he was just as stubborn as Cullen was.

Hawke tried to get between them but neither man would budge. “Oh for fucks sake, is now the time for a pissing contest over who gets to protect Anders more?”

Cullen never took his eyes off Fenris. “I failed him once. I will not fail him again,” he said quietly.

“That doesn’t mean you get to order me around.” Fenris replied.

Invictus stood there, wondering why he was cursed with such a pig-headed elf for a lover, and a stubborn ex-templar for a friend. “Andraste’s tits, can you two stop this and work oh I don’t know together, also you just walked into the Commander of the Inquisition forces office and told him what to do. Do you hear yourself Fenris? You’re upset and angry well so am I but this isn’t helping.” 

“I have a job to do, Fenris,” said Cullen quietly. “That includes protecting Anders. I’ll thank you to let me do it.”

“Then perhaps you could explain why the three threats on his life before this weren’t brought to our attention and I had to find out from Bull?” Fenris asked tersely.

“I don’t know, and I swear I will find out. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Bull was the one who stopped them,” reflected Cullen as he glanced aside, frowning. “He’s Ben-Hassrath - or was; he does things for his own reasons sometimes. If that’s the case, I’m surprised this one got passed him - and even more that it nearly resulted in Hal’s death. We can ill afford to lose _any_ of our healers. Particularly spirit healers; we have only one other besides Anders and Hal, and she is still a child. I’ll order a guard set over her as well; we cannot afford to take the chance that Anders is the only target. There have been disappearances amongst the mages and we’re still trying to get to the bottom of that. Some, I fear, were taken by Corypheus’ forces, and were amongst the Tranquil victims we found.”

“As you wish. I will be in the infirmary if I am needed. May I be dismissed Commander?” Fenris asked.

Hawke groaned but didn’t complain. He knew Fenris far better than Cullen did and he knew if he said a word it would be so much worse.

Cullen stared at Fenris then glanced at Hawke before turning away. “Dismissed,” he said quietly as he reached for another report on his desk.

“I’ll be along in a bit love.” Hawke said as he watched Fenris leave. Once the elf was gone he turned to Cullen. “Apologies, he’s worried and it’s not you.” 

Cullen sighed and dropped the report back onto the pile before turning back to Hawke.

“I’m well aware of that, Hawke,” he said quietly. “But the last thing I need is Fenris going off half-cocked when we have a murderer intent on picking off our First Enchanter - and doesn’t care if others die along the way. If Fenris gets the wrong person, that could leave Anders wide open and vulnerable. And I’m not going to stand by and let that happen, Hawke. I held Anders once and thought he was dying. He saved my life - and used his own life force to do it. I failed him in Kinloch; I wasn’t there for him in Kirkwall when I could have done so much.” He shook his head. “I am not going to stand by and watch Fenris go off like a rabid mabari and risk Anders’ life on Fenris’... emotions, reactions, his... I don’t know. He’s unpredictable, Hawke, and he’s going to get someone he cares about killed one day. But I’m damned if it’s going to be on my watch, and it’s not going to be Anders.”

“Cullen, I know that more than you know. He’s worried about his lover, and he’s literally been changed by a goddess. Whatever Zevran said when he got him, about Hal calling for him did something. I’m not excusing it, believe me and when I’m the rational one in the mix something is very, very wrong here. Just...let me talk to him and try not to wave your dick at him too much in some contest over who can better protect Anders. Also, I’m a factor in this as well as others. Let’s do our best together, please?” Hawke pleaded.

Cullen sighed and made his way back around the desk to drop into his seat. “I will do what I can, Hawke,” he said. “Believe me, I’m not unsympathetic to you - to _either_ of you. But I can’t have Fenris jeopardising the investigation. I have some ideas where to start but I need time. We have over two hundred templars stationed here, and it’s going to take time to narrow down the suspects. Leliana, Cassandra and I will focus on those, and I’ll assign Bull to do... whatever it is he does. He has ways and methods that I can’t use but he can, on our behalf. And I’m certain nothing will get past Zevran as far as food for Anders and Hal is concerned.” 

He picked up his quill and studied it, straightening the feather slowly with his fingers. “Hal... what exactly happened, Hawke? Is he... will he recover?”

“He will, he’s sleeping now. Fenris...glowed and did something that helped him since the magebane was preventing Anders’ magic from working. He’ll be alright I think, once he’s purged it from his system. I’ll go talk to Fenris and see if I can help at all, just… let me talk to him, and hopefully once he’s not so on edge he’ll be reasonable.” Hawke let out a sigh as he wandered around the office in a circle as he tried to think. 

“And... Anders? How is he handling all of this?” asked Cullen, laying his quill down.

“He’s freaked out honestly, he knew of the attempts from speaking with Fenris earlier, but seeing Hal nearly die was too much. He’s so much a healer, he’d rather he died than let someone else be killed in his stead. Not that it makes sense but especially with his spirit, the draw to heal, to save even at the cost of his life is stronger.” Hawke sat down again, unsure what else he could do.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “Would he... welcome a visit from me, do you think? To reassure him that we’re going to do everything possible to keep all the mages safe?”

“I’m sure he would, he’ll be there for a while since I doubt he’ll want to leave Hal until he’s back on his feet. If you don’t need to wait for Leliana, we could go now?” Hawke offered.

Cullen practically leapt to his feet. “Certainly! That is, ah, Leliana will have received my note and doubtless will be initiating the investigation as we speak, and my reports can wait a while. So. Right. Yes. After you?” Cullen gestured courteously to the door.

Vic said nothing about Cullen’s response, he just headed back to the infirmary chatting amiably with the former templar as they went. He paused when they approached Fenris’ rooms unsure what he was hearing from his lover’s quarters. 

“ _Carissimi_. Please,” Zevran was saying in a calming tone. “Please just... stop. We will find them. Hal will recover, he... I reached him in time, he will suffer no permanent harm. You were not to know. Please.” There was a sound of scuffling and then Zevran’s voice again, strained and tight. “My love, please, don’t - please, put the knife down. Just... please.”

Cullen stared at Hawke in alarm; they both sprang to the door and found Zevran and Fenris locked together in a struggle, Fenris wielding a knife whilst Zevran desperately held the knife hand away from them both. The room had been utterly trashed, books strewn everywhere, the table overturned, a chair smashed, bed linen ripped and scattered. Fenris had Zevran bent back at a painful angle over what remained of the overturned table.

Hawke looked around the room in dismay then at the two elves. “Fenris Hawke what in the Void is going on in here?! Why are you fighting with Zevran, put that knife down right now.”

Zevran didn’t take his eyes off Fenris’ rage-contorted face as the knife edged nearer to them both. “ _Carissimi_ ,” he pleaded softly. “Wake up. Do not do this.” His muscles trembled as he struggled against the much stronger and taller warrior, the blade edging ever closer to them both.

“Not asleep...I should have been vigilant. I shouldn’t have been off with Dorian. Why did you try and take the knife...it’s mine.” Fenris snapped.

“My heart, do not do this. Please. Put the knife down, Fenris,” pleaded Zevran as the blade drove ever closer to them. Fenris wrested it until the blade was angled between them, scant inches from Zevran’s ribs.

“Fenris, what in the name of Andraste are you doing?” exclaimed Cullen. “Stop this! Have you gone mad? This is _Zevran_!”

The elven warrior turned to glare a Cullen at the man’s words. “Who let you in here?” he asked as he glanced at the slighter elf before he let him go and made to throw the blade at the ex-templar. “Get out of my room.”

Zevran’s eyes widened and he twisted around to block Fenris as he clung still to the warrior’s wrist.

“Fenris, what do you think you’re doing? You’re threatening your friends. Your loved ones,” said Cullen in a reasonable tone. “You’re going to hurt someone in a minute. Is that really what you want to do? _Think_ about what you’re doing!”

Hawke had made it around the room to where he could reach his lover and knock him out if he didn’t come out of his rage. “Love...I know you are upset about Hal and Anders. I know you’re angry with yourself for being off with Dorian when Hal was hurt. It won’t help anything if you hurt Zevran in a rage or Cullen or me. You can’t help anyone if you have to be restrained or locked in a cell until you calm down. Look at me, not them, at me. Good, are you listening Fenris?”

The elf had turned to watch Hawke as he spoke, aware of how close Invictus was but not moving to pry Zevran off him or throw the blade at Cullen. He was letting Vic get close enough so he could grab him, but he felt a sharp pain in his wrist as Zevran managed to jab him with a needle while he was distracted.

“You...what did you drug me with?” Fenris asked even as he felt the knife being tugged from his fingers. “Why Zev?” he asked before his vision started to darken.

“Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran as the taller elf began to slowly crumple to the floor; the assassin’s eyes widened as Fenris made one last grab for him, and then Fenris went down, knocking Zevran to the floor and pinning him with his sudden unconscious weight. Zevran tried to cry out, but he couldn’t catch enough breath, crushed beneath Fenris as the warrior sprawled atop him.

“Maker - Hawke, help me get him off!” exclaimed Cullen as he leapt forward to try and roll Fenris off Zevran who was gasping for breath, eyes wide.

“I was trying to put him to sleep and catch him.” Hawke said as he pulled Fenris over and got to work disarming him as well as trying to restrain him. “Zevran you alright?”

The Antivan slowly rolled over onto his side, clutching his ribs; he hurled the knife away from him. It skittered across the floor to fetch up against the remains of the broken chair. 

“I do not wish to ever find myself in that situation again,” the elf gasped. “Friend Hawke, I think I require... aid.”

“Healing aid or just getting up aid?” Hawke asked as he looked around for something to tie Fenris with. “Cullen tie him up while I help Zevran.”

Cullen moved to the curtains and cut down the pull cord with his belt knife before moving to bind Fenris’ wrists securely.

Zevran still clutched his ribs; he glanced up at the Champion as Hawke moved to help him. “I fear he broke at least two of my ribs,” he said breathlessly. “And... I seem to be bleeding,” he added as he pulled away and stared in dull surprise at the blood covering his hand. “I... did not feel it.”

“Well damn, I’ll do what I can but Anders might need to help.” Vic said as he got the basin full of ice, then melted it so he could clean Zevran up. “Lie on your back, slowly. Good here, bite down on my belt while I work. Apologies that I’m not as good as Anders.” 

Zevran peeled his tunic open, the leather slit open by a long slash; beneath the leather, his black linen shirt was sodden with blood. Hawke could see the fabric was slashed open by a long knife cut just beneath the elf’s lowest rib on the right of his torso. As he peeled open the bloodsoaked shirt, he was relieved to find it was not as deep as he had at first feared; merely long and messy. Bruises were blossoming on Zevran’s dusky skin over the fractured ribs already, and Zevran was wheezing slightly as he lay on his back and waited for the mage to begin.

“I’m sorry Zevran.” Vic said as he closed his eyes and concentrated on healing the elf’s ribs and the cut. He was silent as he worked, glad for the lessons from Anders as he let his senses reach into the Antivan’s body.

Zevran lay still, his eyes on the ceiling though he darted several glances at the unconscious Fenris. As his ribs knit back together he closed his eyes briefly, a small frown furrowing his brow as he tensed, but he said nothing.

Once Vic was done he sat back and wiped his face. “I don’t see how he does this, I can call a firestorm with no effort but healing takes it out of me. How do you feel?” 

Zevran sat up slowly. “Stiff, but otherwise I am fine. My thanks. That was... unpleasant.” He glanced over at Fenris, who was starting to stir. Zevran’s shoulders slumped a little. “Ah, my _carissimi_. I am sorry.” He glanced to Hawke and reached out a hand to rest it on the Champion’s shoulder, his head lowered.

Fenris opened his eyes to the destruction in his room, Zevran on the floor bloodied and the unpleasant feeling of his hands behind his back. “Zev?” he asked as he yanked and hissed at the feeling of nearly wrenching his shoulder. 

“Forgive me,” whispered Zevran, his head still bowed as he let his hand fall from Hawke’s shoulder. “I had no choice. You were... berserk.”

“Forgiveness is mine to beg.” Fenris said tiredly as he glanced to Hawke. “Put me in a cell, and knock me out, I’m ...dangerous like this, too many have said it and I have to accept that.” he hung his head and waited for the touch of his lover’s magic to send him under again.

Cullen hung back out of Fenris’ line of sight and regarded Hawke impassively, his arms folded. 

Zevran was slowly getting to his feet, pressing one hand against his newly-healed ribs, obviously still in some discomfort as he moved slowly towards Fenris. He dropped down to one knee as he reached towards Fenris, gently carding one hand through the warrior’s hair, brushing loose strands out of Fenris’ face.

“I don’t deserve your tenderness. Just do as I asked please and help Cullen find who tried to hurt Anders for me?” Fenris closed his eyes as he tried to keep calm. 

“Fenris I don’t want to lock you up, but you need to listen to us and let Cullen do what he needs. You are not at fault for Hal getting hurt, and if you want to be mad, be mad at me. I encouraged you to go to Dorian, so don’t take that on.” Hawke sat to the other side of his lover, worried for how quickly he’d gone from upset to full tilt rage.

Zevran bent down to gently kiss Fenris’ forehead. “Hal will not blame you,” he said quietly. “There is only one who was at fault - and that is whoever poisoned the tea. And we will find them, my heart.”

His head jerked up suddenly and he narrowed his eyes as he stared towards the door; a moment later the others heard the soft scuff of a foot upon the flagstones outside the door, and then it was slowly pushed open and Anders wandered in. “Fenris, I was -”

He broke off and stared around at the wreckage of the elf’s room, his eyes widening; and then he saw Fenris bound upon the floor, Zevran and Hawke either side of him whilst Cullen stood behind the elf, his arms folded and a grave expression on his face.

“Sweet Maker, what have you done?” Anders murmured. It wasn’t clear to whom he was speaking.

“Hi love, um well come in and shut the door please?” Hawke said as he rose to his feet and tried to find something that wasn’t wrecked to sit on. “Did you have to destroy every damned chair in here?” he muttered.

“Mythal kill me now.” Fenris said under his breath as he hung his head and hoped he didn’t dislocate something before they untied him. 

Anders closed the door and stared around, then slowly picked his way through the mess to sit gingerly on the bed. “What - what happened?” he asked slowly. “Will someone please tell me why Fenris is tied up on the floor and - and where did all the blood come from? Who’s hurt?”

“Zevran was hurt, Fenris...he, went berserk is the only way to explain it. Cullen and I were on the way to see you and we heard them fighting.”

Fenris sat there, slowly trying to find a way to ease the tension in his shoulders and wrist as they spoke. He didn’t flinch or even move as he felt the cord rubbing against his wrists.

Anders stared at Fenris. “I was... I was looking for you, Hal... Hal is awake.”

“I don’t ...has he asked for _me_?” he said quietly as he sat there. Fenris winced briefly before he flexed his wrists and felt the tension ease with the cord snapping free.

Zevran’s head snapped around as his keen ears heard the quiet sound of the cord breaking. His eyes went to Fenris’ wrists and then widened slightly as Fenris sat up and inspected his wrists impassively. The Antivan could hear the others exclaiming in surprise, Cullen’s muttered oath of “Maker’s _balls_ , how-?!” but he couldn’t take his eyes off Fenris as he slowly backed away, shifting onto the balls of his feet as he rose from his crouch. 

“Sorry… but it hurt. I will not move, and I will not do anything without leave.” Fenris looked down at his wrists, surprised he wasn’t in more discomfort from the chafing.

“You’re not an animal love, you should have said something.” Hawke said quietly. 

Fenris laughed bitterly as he remained quiet, still and small as he could make himself. “Look around this room, and at Zevran and say that again.”

Zevran rose stiffly to his feet and slowly made his way over to the window, not looking at anyone. He leaned against the window frame and stared out at the courtyard, one hand still pressed to his ribs.

“I can’t permit you to carry on like this, Fenris,” said Cullen as he shook his head. “This... you’re a liability, Fenris. I don’t want to have to put you in a cell - Maker knows, what with the red templar prisoners we’ve taken, Samson, a handful of Orlesian troublemakers and a couple of Venatori, we simply don’t have cell space for yet another, though if I have to, then I _will_ find space, you can take my word on that. Fenris, I’m going to have to confine you to quarters - well, what you’ve left of them, anyway,” he added, glancing around the wreckage of the room.

“Love - what’s going on?” asked Anders as he stared at Fenris.

“Yes ser, Commander Rutherford, I will obey your word.” Fenris said dully as he stared at the floor and wished Mythal would take her _gifts_ or strike him dead then and there. He didn’t answer Anders, he just wanted them all to leave him alone so he could try and pick up the room enough to live in it.

Anders glanced around the wreckage of the room then back at Fenris. “Maker. This is horrible. It’s like Corypheus is infecting us all. This... it’s madness.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, for now, let’s give Fenris space and go talk to Hal. Maybe he can give Cullen more answers to help his investigation.” Hawke tried to get them to go mostly so they could talk to Zevran and get the full story and to let Fenris recover without them all staring at him.

Anders got to his feet and made his way slowly over to Fenris. He stood in front of him and hesitantly reached for his hands, his expression uncertain. “Love?” he said quietly. “Please look at me.” His fingers brushed the remains of the cord bound around the elf’s wrists before he tried to take Fenris’ hands.

Fenris shook his head no and curled further away. “I am ashamed, please...don’t make me look at you right now. I don’t want you to see it.” 

Anders could only stare at Fenris, crestfallen, his hands still reaching futilely for the elf’s touch. “Fenris,” he said, a slight hitch in his voice.

Finally the elf looked up with tears in his eyes. “Yes?”

“I still love you,” whispered Anders. “No matter what. I still love you. Please... hang on.”

Fenris let his tears fall as he rested his head against Anders leg, apologies for failing the mage coming from him. Anders fell to his knees in front of Fenris and drew him into his arms, holding him close and tight. 

“Just hold on, Fenris. Just... hang on. It’s going to be OK. You didn’t fail - you stopped _me_ from drinking that poison. It was just bad luck Hal saw the mug and drank the tea. But... but he’s awake, he was asking for you,” said Anders, his face pressed against the long white hair. “You have to hang on, pull it together. Hal - _I_ \- need you.”

“Hal shouldn’t have been hurt, you shouldn’t have been hurt. I should have thrown that out when I stopped you drinking it.” Fenris said as he rested his shoulder on the blond’s. “I’m confined here, tell Hal I’m sorry.” 

“Cullen, let him visit with Hal, I’ll be responsible for him if you wish.” Hawke offered.

The Commander stared grimly at the elf, then at Hawke. He was silent so long, the Champion was sure he would reject the request, but finally he nodded slowly. “Very well. To the infirmary. I will permit a brief visit, but afterwards he will return straight here and remain under locked guard.”

“Thank you ser.” Fenris said as he was helped to his feet by Hawke and he remained silent as he was healed. “It’s fine, let them stay as a reminder Anders.”

Anders got to his feet, brushing off his robes and looking troubled. He said nothing however.

Zevran stared out of the window, ignoring the others as he folded his arms, one hand still pressing against the sore ribs.

Hawke took Fenris’ hands and held them while he asked Anders to heal. “Don’t fucking martyr yourself, leaving this unhealed means you won’t be in good shape when we do find who did this.” 

Fenris didn’t fight, he just stood there while Anders healed his wrists. “Thank you Anders. I’m ready to go ser.” he said.

Cullen nodded and moved to the door, gesturing for them to move out.

Fenris let Hawke lead him to the Infirmary, and he sat with Hal, aware of Hawke and Cullen nearby as he spoke with the young mage. “Feeling better?”

Hal was reclining against the pillows of his bed; he was very pale, the sunburst scar on his forehead standing out very livid against his white skin. But his eyes were alert, and he reached a hand towards Fenris with a smile.

“Much,” he answered. “Was I dreaming, or were you here before? I can’t remember much apart from excruciating pain, but... I have this vague memory of you taking my hand, and then I think some of the pain... went away?”

“I was here, sorry they had to come find me.” Fenris took his hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of the young mages hand with a slight smile. “Glad to see you awake, you should have Bull here for you Hal.”

“Bull is in discussion with Leliana,” said Anders quietly. “Dalish came to fetch him.”

Hal shifted in the bed with a slight wince. “Still... still a little sore,” he confessed. “But it’s far better than it was.”

Anders frowned. “I’ll go brew something to help ease that,” he said. He glanced at Fenris. “Stay here with Hal. I shan’t be long.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thrown the tea out when I told Anders not to drink it.” Fenris said as he sat with Hal, very aware of Cullen to his right and Hawke sitting by him but remaining quiet.

“I should know better than to casually drink mugs of tea lying around,” shrugged Hal. “I did think it smelled a little odd. It had a very bitter aftertaste, but I wasn’t really thinking straight. I was too busy thinking about what I was doing to think about what I was drinking.”

“Well there won’t be any more strange mugs of tea around, Zevran is going to check anything that comes to you both. I still am upset you were hurt Hal.” Fenris said as he stared at their hands instead of the mage. 

Hal twisted round with a pained grimace until he was half-curled on his side, holding both of Fenris’ hands with his own. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “Just be glad it was me and not Anders. And that Zevran worked out what the poison was so quickly after I collapsed in the dining hall. I honestly thought I’d picked something up from one of my patients at first. Couldn’t figure out what was going on.”

“I’m grateful, believe me.” Fenris said softly. “You should get more rest Hal, you’re tired.”

“Here you go,” said Anders, returning with something in a cup. “Hal, you should drink this. Won’t taste too pleasant I’m afraid, but it should settle your stomach and help relieve some of the residual pain. It’ll make you very sleepy after though, I’m afraid.” He glanced to Fenris. “Would you like to help him take it, love?”

Fenris took the cup and held it for Hal to sip, sure to be gentle as possible as he let the young mage drink. “Be well Hal, I’ll see you later.” Fenris tenderly brushed his bangs out his eyes as he watched Hal get drowsy. The redhead’s eyes began to glaze over before he’d drunk more than half the cup, and as he swallowed the last dregs his eyes were half-closed; still he reached out clumsily for Fenris’ hand as the elf lay him down again against the soft pillows.

“Don’t... don’t go,” he managed to slur. “Please....” His eyes slid closed and he passed into a deep sleep.

“Best for him to sleep as much as possible,” said Anders quietly as he watched the young healer drift asleep.

Cullen shifted slightly behind Fenris, rubbing his neck and grimacing. “I, ah, I may have been a little... harsh. Perhaps... I’d be prepared to let you stay longer; there’s... a guard on the door anyway and it seems a bit of a waste of resources to assign a guard to escort you back just yet,” he said awkwardly.

“Whatever you say ser, may I have something to eat and drink?” Fenris said as he let Hal cling to his hand until he was deeply asleep and he could sit back. 

“Of course,” said Cullen, as he glanced to Anders.

“I’ll have something brought in,” said the blond mage.

“Good, that’s... right. I’ll leave them in your hands then, First Enchanter; send word if you need me. I’ll leave the guards on the door and arrange a roster for guard duty,” said Cullen as he moved to the door of the small private room.

“I’m sure they’ll have a very boring, uneventful duty,” replied Anders with a pointed look at Fenris.

“We can all hope so, Anders. Could I... have a brief word with you? In private?”

Anders looked startled, but nodded. “Come step into my office,” he said. He glanced back to Fenris. “I’ll have a tray sent in. It’ll be prepared by one of my senior students so it will be safe - we’ve taken to making our own meals and drinks here. Blackwall’s looking into building a kitchen extension for the infirmary.” He turned back to Cullen and gestured to the door, and shortly Fenris was alone with the sleeping Hal and Hawke.

Hawke waved at Anders then fell into step with Cullen so he could have a word with the Commander in private. He dropped behind and watched as the First Enchanter and the Commander stepped into Anders’ office and the door closed, then leaned against the wall outside, content to wait but curious as to what Cullen wanted to say that he wasn’t comfortable having the Champion listen in on.

Fenris sat there, watching Hal sleep and hoping he would be left alone soon. He didn’t look up when Hawke had gone with them and he was too ashamed to face Cullen. He just wanted to pick up what was left of his room and hide away.

The door opened and a tall mage with dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail entered, bearing a tray. After a moment, Fenris recalled his name - Parcival, Anders’ most senior student and close to being an Enchanter in his own right, if the warrior recalled correctly; had he been in a normal Circle, likely the young man would have been Harrowed by now. He’d been the healer up on the battlements when Fenris and Dorian had teleported to help fight off the demons that had Parcival and Anders trapped with a wounded soldier. Fenris was glad to see the mage seemed recovered from his part in the battle, though the scar upon the mage’s cheek looked recent.

“It’s only simple fare I’m afraid,” said Parcival as he set down the tray. “A vegetable broth - but the bread was baked fresh this morning, and there’s tea. Is there anything else I can bring you? We’re quiet at the moment.” He crossed to the bed and checked on Hal with a cool detachment then nodded satisfaction with Hal’s current state.

“No thank you, this is fine.” Fenris said as he went to eat, aware of Hawke watching him. He finished off his meal and went back to sitting with Hal, eventually his eyes closed as he sat there in the quiet room.

Parcival lingered as he gathered up the tray, as though trying to steel himself, and then turned slightly to glance at Fenris. “I just wanted to say thank you. For... for coming to our aid in the siege. I’ve never faced a demon before, and... and I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up with Master Dorian. I wanted to thank you for saving me. Us.”

Fenris glanced up and gave him as warm a smile as he could muster. “You’re welcome, glad I could be of help.”

“If there’s anything you need, just ask for me. Sister Rebecca is on duty - you can trust her. When she heard that Master Anders was the intended target... Maker, if the murderer had been around, I think she’d have made mincemeat of him! She’s rather fond of our Master Healer,” Parcival confided. “I’ll just be in the dispensary.” He gave Fenris another smile then left.

Fenris turned back to Hal, covered his face and started to hate himself just a bit more. He hoped that whatever Cullen wanted it was quick so he could be allowed back to his room.

It was almost an hour later that Cullen came to fetch Fenris. The Commander looked somewhat flushed and was rubbing the back of his neck as he entered, his eyes not quite meeting those of Fenris as he gestured for the elf to follow him. 

Cullen glanced at Hawke as the Champion straightened and walked towards him, then shook his head. “I have to escort Fenris back to his room, Hawke. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait a little longer I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be here when you are free then.” Hawke passed him to see Anders and chat until the Commander returned. He sighed when he saw Fenris with his head down, hands behind him and if he didn’t know better he’d swear the elf had been crying.

He found Anders slowly sifting through a small pile of reports with a slightly bewildered expression. He looked very tired and drained, but he managed a warm smile for Hawke as he entered the small office. “Never thought so much paperwork would come with the title of First Enchanter,” he remarked ruefully.

“Ask Varric about how much paperwork goes into what he does, if you want to have your ear talked off for about a fortnight. So, what are we to do love?” Hawke said as he took a seat and watched Anders work.

Anders set his quill aside, resting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his face tiredly. “We’re setting up kitchen facilities here in the infirmary and we’ll be cooking our own meals for ourselves and our patients - so from now on, I’ll only eat here, and that goes for Hal as well. As for Fenris....” Anders groaned as he folded his hands on the desk then buried his head in his arms. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice muffled.

“He’s healed so why did he go so absolutely off the charts, full tilt berserk? He....I don’t even know. To see him so cowed right now, it’s like when he was learning to be free and would ...Maker you weren’t there for that.” Vic picked up a quill, tapping it against his leg as he spoke. 

“Zevran was scared of him, Void I was scared of him. I need to speak with Zevran to see what kicked it off. But let him alone for a while, and maybe in a couple of days I’ll try to talk to him. For now, you be safe and when possible don’t go anywhere alone.”

“I’ve seen Fenris when he was angry with you, but never actually berserk,” said Anders slowly. “I’ll stay here wherever possible; Cullen says I’ll have an armed escort when going to or from my college duties. Can’t say I like that idea, but I can see the reason for it.” He lifted his head as he spoke. 

“You didn’t see him when he was struggling with freedom, when he’d have nightmares about Danarius taking him back. That’s who I saw just now, not our Fenris. It’s like he just...gave up.” Hawke frowned at the idea of Anders spending most of his time in the infirmary or College. “I would rather you spend time in our rooms love, don’t cut yourself off from us.... me.” 

Anders dropped his gaze to the report he’d been resting his head against. “I’m.. sorry love, I just... I need to be useful. I won’t be sleeping here all the time - for a start, the divan in here isn’t that comfy.” He grinned, waving at the small cot over in the corner. “But I can understand why Cullen wants to keep me in just a couple of places where it’s easier to guard me. He’ll be stationing guards in the infirmary anyway so it means he doesn’t have to assign extras just for me. But I won’t spend all my time here - I need to be with you as well, love.” He smiled gently. “Otherwise, this place just becomes yet another prison - albeit, one where I’m useful. But no less a prison for that.”

“Please come back with me tonight, I don’t want to be alone.” Vic said as he rose to get a hug from Anders, and simply hold the other man. “I was so scared, that you could have died and that Hal was going to die.” 

Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke and leaned against him, closing his eyes. “It was bad enough when Hal was brought in from the Great Hall,” he said softly. “Vic, it was... horrible... the way he screamed, and it seemed there was nothing I could do to stop his pain. I could sense it when I touched him - like acid burning away his body from the inside, and there was magebane so I couldn’t even relieve the pain. And then Bull told me about the other attempts and we realised that it had been meant for me and - and that could have been me, lying there screaming, and - and -” Anders’ voice broke and he buried his face against Hawke’s tunic, shuddering as he fought to control his breathing.

“I’ve got you love, I’ve got you. Can we just go to my room now? Our room, sorry. I just want to hold you for a while.” Vic asked.

Anders drew a deep breath then nodded. “I’m sorry, I... it just hit me all at once, and I’m exhausted, and - I’m sorry, I’m not really thinking straight right now. Cullen... some of the stuff he wanted to talk about, it was... not easy.”

“Ok we’re going to our room and you’re not coming out until breakfast tomorrow.” Vic snuffed the candles with a wave of his, took Anders hand in his and nodded at the door. Anders rose willingly.

“Master Anders, is there something wrong?” asked Parcival as he glanced up from the standing desk next to the dispensary. 

“I need to rest,” said Anders heavily. “I will not be teaching tomorrow, Parcival; will you see that my duties are covered?”

“Of course,” nodded the apprentice healer. “It’s quiet; I’m sure I can handle anything that comes up.”

Anders nodded. “I will be in the Champion’s quarters I am not to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency. If Corypheus pops up in the Great Hall, that sort of thing.”

The ghost of a smile crossed Parcival’s face. “Corypheus can just wait until you’re good and ready, First Enchanter.”

Anders smiled tiredly as he leaned against Hawke. “Oh, how I wish that were true.” He nodded to Hawke and they left the infirmary together.


	75. Chapter 75

Things were odd around the Keep with Anders, Hal and the young Spirit Healer Josslyn under constant watch from others not themselves. Hawke and Anders spent more time together when Fenris closed off from them, even after his confinement to quarters was ended by Cullen. There was a tension in the air no one could shake and it was getting to everyone, even Zevran.

The Crow prowled almost ceaselessly through the whole Keep, though few saw him. He would occasionally return to Fenris’ quarters to collapse and sleep for a stretch of hours before disappearing again.

The body of a dead man appeared in the Great Hall early one morning. His throat had been slit; when his body was prepared later for burial, the Chantry sisters reported that beneath the dull brown tunic and work-worn pants, the man’s body was riddled with red lyrium.

Fenris growled, actually growled when told of the bodies appearance. “They did this in the hopes Anders would have to take care of the body. That’s it, if I have to tail them everywhere they go, I will.” He was pacing angrily in Hawke’s room while Anders, Dorian and Cullen watched him make his way around the room.

“You’re going to escort me everywhere?” said Anders quietly.

“I will not have you …” Fenris stopped himself. “I… will concede to your wishes Anders.”

Anders raised a hand to forestall the elf. “No, I’m not objecting, Fenris,” he said, still in the quiet, detached voice. “I simply need to take this into account when I plan my work day. It may be simpler for me to move into the infirmary and then you only have to escort me to and from our room to there.”

Fenris nodded and finally stopped pacing around. “Apologies, I forget myself still. Whatever you decide, I will conform to your wishes.” 

Anders glanced to Cullen. “And I will abide by the directions of the Commander,” he replied, his voice still without affect.

Cullen frowned slightly. “I think it would be best for you to confine yourself to the infirmary as far as possible,” he nodded. “It’s well-guarded, and minimises the time you spend in the open. It will make Fenris’ efforts simpler as well.”

Hawke scowled but didn’t protest. He did not like the idea of Anders being under a damned escort just to go around the Keep or the fact that he’d be alone for most of the time. “Where does that leave Zevran and I then Cullen? I’m not assassin and I’m too recognizable for anyone to confide in me or let anything slip if I’m around.”

The door was suddenly thrust open by the Iron Bull who strode in, his face grim as he kept one arm around Zevran’s shoulder. The Antivan assassin was clutching his upper left arm; blood was running down to drip from his fingers, but his expression was one of grim triumph.

“Found ‘em,” said the Bull.

“Found who?” Fenris asked as he jumped up to look for bandages and potions.

“Red templars in the Undercroft,” said Leliana as she strode in behind the Bull. She glanced to Cullen. “Cassandra is leading our people to sweep through the deserted store rooms and tunnels. Some were our people once. We should have them rounded up and taken prisoner within an hour or two. Then we shall find our answers.”

Zevran pulled away from the Bull and staggered over to the nearest chair and fell into it with a muffled groan. Anders hurried to his side and crouched down to inspect the wound.

“I was incautious; I misstepped, and one of them blindsided me,” the elf explained. He pulled his hand away, and Anders frowned at the deep gash in the elf’s arm. He reached up, his hands already glowing, and set to work to heal the wound.

“Cullen, you’re not gonna like this,” said the Bull. “It’s Samson. He’s the one behind all this.”

“Samson?” exclaimed Cullen, taken aback. “But - are you sure? Maker, _how_? He’s been under lock and key all this time!”

“With templars for gaolers,” pointed out Leliana. “Poison in their ears and fear in their hearts; is it any wonder they were so weak as to fall for his lies?”

“I shall interrogate Samson myself,” Cullen said grimly. “What of the would-be murderer?”

“He’ll be rounded up by the Seeker with the rest of the trash,” replied Bull. “I’ll be keeping him for Fenris and me.” He exchanged a grim look and a nod with the elf.

The elven warrior glanced at Cullen then to Bull. “Once Commander Cullen has gotten the information he needs, we can see them.” he glanced at Bull then back to the floor.

Bull hefted his axe and pinned Cullen with a gimlet stare. “Then he’d best not take too long about it.”

Zevran had slumped in the chair, his eyes closed as Anders worked on his arm. “Not all the red templars were in the Undercroft,” he said quietly. “One, I found in the Great Hall. There is another behind the stables.”

“The Great Hall? Did you kill him?” Fenris asked as he watched his lovers with concern.

“I slit his throat,” Zevran said tiredly. “Inelegant but fast. He was carrying a satchel with several poisons. I am uncertain as to who his target was, but he had one of the Inquisitor’s cups in his hand - undoubtedly he intended the deaths of at least some of the inner circle. The poison he was using works upon contact through the skin. It paralyses the breathing within minutes; the victim asphyxiates steadily and surely, dead within perhaps ten, fifteen minutes at most. There is no antidote.”

“Rest Zevran, you’ve saved many today.” Fenris chewed on one of his nails as he waited for Anders to finish up.

Anders finally sat back. “It’s healed, but you should rest that arm as much as you can - no heavy lifting. You’ve lost a lot of blood as well; you should eat and then sleep soon.”

Zevran nodded, his head already beginning to droop from exhaustion.

“I think sleep will be first.” Fenris kissed him on the forehead before he thought to get his armor on and prepare to _talk_ with the prisoner once Cullen was done with him. “Commander Rutherford, please let me know once you’re done with the prisoner.”

“Have patience, Fenris,” said Cullen a little testily as he moved to take Anders by the shoulders and guided him to a chair. “You heard Leliana; it’ll take an hour or more to clean all the rabble out of the tunnels. You’ll get your chance at them - in good time.”

Anders dropped into the chair and nodded thanks when Cullen pushed a glass of wine into his hand.

“Yes ser, apologies.” Fenris said before he rose to go. “I’ll be in my room for a while, I shall return in a few hours. Bull, if you need me before I come to the infirmary, that’s where I’ll be.” Fenris said as he made for the door. 

“Fenris,” said Anders as he glanced up. “I think you ought to take Zevran with you. He’s on the point of falling asleep in that chair.” 

The Antivan had slumped, his gaze half-lidded; he seemed only barely aware of his surroundings, and as Fenris glanced back at him, Zevran’s head slowly fell forwards.

“Yes Anders, as you say.” Fenris said before he picked up his Antivan lover and left once Bull let him out.

Hawke took up the chair Zevran was in and stared at the map. “So once we interrogate them, where does that leave us?”

“We’ll have everyone involved in the plot to kill Anders, and we’ll know just how far that plot extends,” replied Cullen. “And we crush them.” He curled his hand into a fist.

“Good, a hard, heavy brawl is just what I need.” Hawke said as he came over to look at the map more closely, his eyes drawn to the castle like marker that glowed green. It was to be their last piece of the puzzle before they took the fight to Corypheus’ door and was he ready to end the madman once and for all.

“Meneris has called for a full meeting of the whole inner circle this evening,” said Dorian. “Hawke, he wants both you and Anders there as well - Anders as First Enchanter, naturally, but you have direct first-hand knowledge of beating Corypheus in the past. We can finally make our plans to take the fight right to the blighter’s door and end his threat once and for all.”

“Then Varric should be there as well, he was with me as was Fenris. Unfortunately we don’t know where Carver is and Isabela is off sailing. I will be happier than I can say to end Corypheus once and for all.” Invictus grinned viciously. 

“I’m not sure how much use I’ll be discussing how Hawke defeated Corypheus last time,” said Anders ruefully. “I’m afraid I spent most of that trip distracted by his constant whispering in my head - oh, plus there was the point at which he decided to control Justice directly and possess me to try and attack Invictus. I must admit that waking up to find Fenris’ fist in my chest and Varric’s arrows in my shoulder and thigh was the most... painful way I’ve ever woken in my life. You’ll forgive me if I’m not too fond of reliving it, and I’d rather forgo a repeat performance.” He shuddered.

“Well, come in your capacity as First Enchanter, you still have plenty to say and it will be helpful in terms of what we’ll need to look out for in our warden allies.” Hawke said.

Anders nodded sombrely. “Maybe it’s different this time. He’s made no attempt to possess me directly this time around, and he had to trick the wardens into performing that blood ritual to bind the demons in order to control them - and he had that demon, Nightmare, doing the actual controlling,” he mused. “Maybe his powers are different now he’s awake and incarnate physically on Thedas. Maybe that was only something he could do from his dreams and the Fade? All the same, we should consider it a possible threat. We don’t know for certain that Arden managed to kill the demon at Adamant - though with the wardens freed, it seems likely he at least distracted it sufficiently to release them.” He sighed. “Part of me still hopes he made it. I know that realistically he had no chance however. He gave his life so we’d live.” He shook his head sadly.

“We’ll make sure his sacrifice wasn’t just to keep us alive.” Hawke glanced at Anders then the others. “I think we could use something to eat and I want to check on Fenris and Zevran on the way. Anders, will you come with me?”

Anders downed the rest of his glass of wine then nodded, rising to his feet. “Until later, gentlemen.” He nodded to the Spymistress. “Leliana.”

“Maker go with you, Anders,” she nodded.

“I hope He goes with _all_ of us,” replied Anders. “And Mythal too. We need all the help we can get.” He nodded to Hawke. “Let’s go.”

**

Fenris frowned at the parchment as he paused, worried slightly about Zevran or the others finding the dark places his thoughts had taken him. He re-read them, unsure if he should just burn the pages and forget that he’d let his mind wander down that road.

_They don’t understand...I’m dangerous, well more dangerous than when I was his weapon. These changes from Her...they frighten me. I can’t forgive myself for drawing a blade on Zevran or hurting him._

A few lines were scratched out but picked up with more incomplete thoughts. _...I never, ever want Zevran or Hawke, anyone to look at me like that again. To think I scared them, that I lost my self-control so completely. I hope that I meet my end in the fight with Corypheus, no...I shouldn’t hope that. I think it would break Zevran, definitely Invictus, I do not know where it would leave Anders.. But I have come back to thinking they would all be better off without me as I am now. If I can’t regain some control, especially over what She has ‘gifted’ me with, I don’t know what I will do. This is worse than when Danarius held my leash, worse than when I mad with grief over losing Var...my sister. I wish I could see Nakusa...he’s, he would know what to do._

_He’s my older sibling...he’s supposed to know. That’s what others have told me older siblings are for...I just wish we’d never come here, I wish we’d gone to Nevarra as we’d planned...I wish so many things right now. I just want things to ... I don’t know what I want, just ...what I deserve and it’s not to be granted love I don’t deserve. They deserve better than me, better than the thing that cannot uncouple from Danarius even now._

Fenris sat back, scowled and shoved the parchment away when he heard a knock. “Who is it?”

“It’s Leliana,” called a feminine voice with the spymaster’s unmistakable Orlesian accent. “May I come in?”

“It’s unlocked, enter if you wish.” Fenris watched her as she came in, curious as to what brought her of all people to his door. She glanced over to the bed, where Zevran was stirring, sitting up and staring around.

Leliana strode slowly into the room, nodding briefly to Zevran before continuing on to stand before Fenris’ desk. “There is to be a meeting of the council in the war room. You are required there,” she said without pre-amble. “Zevran too.”

“As you wish, Spymaster. If you’ll turn so I can change my armor?” Fenris replied. 

“It is as the Inquisitor wishes,” replied Leliana as she turned her back on him and folded her arms. Zevran was already throwing back the down comforter and reaching for his clothing, unconcerned about his nudity around Leliana; he wore nothing save a simple vial pendant about his neck. “We will take the fight to Corypheus at long last,” she added, her eyes on Zevran as the Antivan tugged up his pants then reached for his shirt. He paused, noting her gaze, then gave her a roguish grin before tugging on his shirt. He tucked the pendant back inside with a pat to confirm it was there. 

Fenris pulled on his armor as quickly as he could, concerned at being summoned to the war room. He didn’t feel he had a place at such talks. He skirted by Zevran to get his weapon, and winced at the Antivan curse he heard from behind him. He’d forgotten to turn his notes over before getting up. 

He turned, dread sinking in his stomach like lead, expecting to see the Antivan reading the words he’d laboured over; but Zevran had merely paused as he was tugging on his black leather tunic to press a hand against his sore ribs with a frown. As he noticed Fenris’ look of concern, he waved it away.

“It is nothing. Just a little stiff yet, hmm? It will loosen up, I am sure,” shrugged the assassin as he finished lacing the tunic up then slid on the armoured sleeves before beginning to arm himself.

Leliana merely raised an eyebrow at Fenris before moving to assist Zevran to strap on his various knives and blades.

Fenris finished getting ready and glanced at Zevran and Leliana, a tiny spark of something in his gut as he watched them move in sync, like they’d done that many times before.

“This haft binding is coming loose,” said Leliana quietly as she inspected one of Zevran’s long daggers. “Look, the binding’s frayed here: do you see?”

“Hmm,” nodded Zevran. “I will rebind it tomorrow. Corypheus will hardly attack the war room in the next hour after all, no?” He grinned at her.

“See that you do; it might come loose in a fight,” replied Leliana. “Ready?”

“After you, dear lady,” replied Zevran. “Fenris?”

He nodded and gestured for them to go on. 

They made their way towards the war room. They encountered Vivienne, Dorian and Solas as they went past the library, then Hawke and Anders joined them further down the hall. 

The war room was, for once, full. The whole Council were present.

Fenris found a spot against the wall and waited to see why they had been summoned to this council. He didn’t look at anyone, just focused on the map that covered the huge war-table. Like Hawke, his gaze was drawn to the marker that glowed green. He looked at all the pins and larger castle like markers that covered it. His attention was drawn to Meneris entering with Cullen at his side.

“Thank you for being here, and I’m sure some of you are curious as to why you’ve been summoned.” Meneris said as he looked to Zevran, Fenris and Hal before he tapped the glowing marker.

“Here, this is where we take the fight to Corypheus. It will be a fast march but not far. We are done chasing him around, and it ends there one way or another. I’ve asked some of you here because you fought him before. Hawke, Fenris, Anders and Varric, you faced him in the Vimmark mountains and it seemed you defeated him but ….as we know he’s alive, somewhat well and giving us fits.”

“He possessed an ancient Warden, I suspect,” said Anders quietly. “Larius. He’d gone on his own Calling long before I ever became a warden; how he were still alive and even... somewhat coherent... I have no idea. But - Corypheus sought to possess me, and I think with Larius he not only tried but succeeded.” 

“Yes, looking back I should have killed Larius and put him out of his misery. Or realized his responses were odd. Something in that fortress, something about ...my father’s blood and the Grey Warden ritual bound him there for almost a thousand years. He asked about Dumat when we met him, seemed surprised that Tevinter was not what it was when he fell.” Hawke traced the routed on the map from Kirkwall to the Vimmark mountain prison. “There is where we thought we’d killed him, now we see he merely used Larius as a ride out.”

“I should point out that the only reason Corypheus didn’t use _me_ as his ride out is because Fenris and Hawke were able to take me down hard and fast before I could take two steps when Corypheus possessed me,” Anders added, staring hard at the map rather than risk meeting the eyes of anyone else. “And they had to damned near kill me to do it. Just in case any of you thought I had some amazing power to resist him or anything like that. Because I don’t.”

“My concern is Anders and now Dorian, getting anywhere near him after what we saw at Adamant. I’d rather not have to kill either of them in the process of stopping Corypheus. I gather you would like to still have Dorian in one piece after the battle Inquisitor, yes?” Hawke glanced back at Varric and Fenris, where the elf seemed to be in a quiet conversation with the dwarf but fell quiet when he saw Invictus looking at him.

“The only thing I have to add is Blondie was a damned difficult fighter with that bastard’s influence in his head. Warden or no, he should have gone down before I had to pin him to the cave wall or Broody did his fisting thing.” Varric threw in from his spot by Cassandra. Anders winced slightly in remembrance.

“Which nearly resulted in me dropping dead on the spot the moment he let me go,” said Anders quietly. “Not my favourite way to wake up. If Fenris hadn’t forced a healing potion down my throat I wouldn’t still be here.”

“I cannot be certain I could take you down with any certainty should Corypheus possess you again,” said Zevran quietly. “I have several poisons that could put either you or Dorian down safely in a fight - but Corypheus’ influence is an unknown quantity.”

“I do not know I could do the same if required of me now.” Fenris said from where he’d taken a spot in the corner. 

“Corypheus may not give you a choice,” sighed Anders.

“If Corypheus possesses me, I expect you all to take me down as swiftly as possible and worry about my surviving afterwards,” said Dorian stiffly. He felt Meneris stir at his side and held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, Meneris,” he went on. “Not one person at this table is worth more than the lives of all in Thedas.” He glanced up and gave a half-smile. “Let’s just hope he’s too preoccupied with whatever it is he’s trying to do, to bother with a couple of wardens, hmm?”

“Let’s worry about that when it happens. For now we make a plan and depart in the morning yes?” Invictus asked.

“Our plan is to leave at dawn for his location. For now, everyone take this chance to sleep in a real bed, have a hearty meal because it will be the last time for a while.” Meneris gave them all a respectful nod as he took Dorian’s hand in his as he turned to go. 

Fenris waited until Zevran was near him before he called for a moment of his time. “Zevran, can we talk tonight? I ...wish to speak what’s in my heart before this battle, just in case.” He glanced down at the other elf, hating that he had to actually look down to look Zevran in the eye.

Zevran was toying with the pendant about his neck, a distracted look in his eyes; he thumbed the little stopper of the slim vial before glancing up at Fenris with a curious look, tucking the pendant back under his tunic. “Of course, _carissimi_. I... would like to spend this night with you very much. And perhaps Anders and Hawke too?”

Fenris glanced away, his expression unsure. “If that is what you all wish, I will do so.” he hesitantly reached out and flicked the vial around Zevran’s neck. “Don’t use this, no matter what happens tomorrow.” 

Zevran blinked, startled, then put his hand over the pendant. “My heart... if you die, then what comes after is my choice. But I swear, as long as breath remains in your body, I will not break the seal upon this vial.” He dropped his gaze and glanced away. “Perhaps... after we have spoken with the others... I may never need it but....” He looked a little lost, as though he were uncertain how to put the thoughts in his heart into words.

“But what?” Fenris asked.

Zevran stepped close to Fenris and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his head to Fenris’ chest. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I have... a deep foreboding, my heart. But I would not go into battle without sharing what is in my heart with you... and with Hawke and... Anders.” His voice sounded uncertain and a little rough.

Hal was being held close by the Bull; he looked rather ill and as though the war room was the last place he should be; from where Fenris stood, holding Zevran, it rather looked as though the Bull felt so. They appeared to be quietly arguing. Fenris wished the Bull luck; he knew Hal could be surprisingly stubborn at times.

Anders stood beside Hawke, the Champion’s arm around the mage’s shoulders as Anders rested his head upon Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke was murmuring quiet reassurances; Varric was gesturing to the map as he said something to them both, and Anders responded, gesturing to the map.

Dorian stood by Meneris, the two in an embrace - the Altus no longer caring that they were under the eyes of everyone; he had eyes only for the Inquisitor.

Leliana was speaking to Josephine and the false Warden, Blackwall. He nodded at something she said, and Josephine glanced up at him and gave him a sudden smile.

Cullen and Cassandra were talking together in quiet voices; Solas was studying the map intently, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Vivienne gestured at the map then nodded at Solas’ reply.

Fenris stared around the room, at these people - the heart of the Inquisition - and pondered Zevran’s words. How many would return from this final battle with Corypheus? He shook himself slightly irritably; Zevran’s strange mood was evidently rubbing off on him. He squeezed Zevran gently. “We will talk then. All of us. Let tomorrow bring what it will; tonight will be ours.”

***

The infirmary was quiet. Parcival was bent over his desk, carefully making notes in the large leatherbound journal that held the daily records of the infirmary.

Sister Rebecca paused by his desk; after a few moments he glanced up, aware of her waiting patiently beside him.

“Oh, hello, Sister,” he said, rubbing his eyes with a hand as he laid the quill down.

“It is late, Healer; I brought you tea.” She held out the steaming mug, and Parcival gave her a warm smile. 

“Just Parcival will do, Sister,” he replied as he took the mug. He took a sip and gave a thankful groan as he sat back in the chair, then grimaced as his back protested too long sat hunched over the desk.

“Just Rebecca will do... Parcival,” she replied softly with a fond smile.

“Rebecca,” he echoed with a grin.

There was a quiet cry from one of the beds. Parcival made to rise, but Rebecca stopped him with a light touch on his hand. “Enjoy your tea; I shall deal with them.”

Parcival sat back and smiled, enjoying the hot tea. He wondered where else in Thedas a Chantry Sister and a mage could work together like this and be on first-name terms. Perhaps, with the Inquisition’s help, one day it could be like this everywhere.

Still smiling, he returned to his note-taking.

***  
“Go eat, sleep, everyone,” called Meneris as he headed towards the door, an arm slung around Dorian’s waist. “We’ll reconvene in here at dawn for one last debrief and then we’ll be off.” He waved them off as he and Dorian headed towards the stairs leading to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

Anders and Hawke made their way over to Zevran and Fenris. 

“Anders and I were going to head to his room to talk and eat; we were wondering if you’d like to join us?” asked Hawke, looking at Fenris then glancing to Zevran. “Both of you, if you like?”

Fenris nodded his agreement, and gestured at the door. He felt Zevran take his hand, but he remained quiet, withdrawn as he’d been in the last couple of weeks. 

Anders reached out to claim Zevran’s other hand, and the Antivan looked up, startled. 

“You’re one of us, as much as Fenris is,” he said quietly. “I’d like you to be with us tonight.”

“And I would like to be with you all,” nodded Zevran. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Come on then, let’s not mope around the war room.” Hawke led them back to Anders’ rooms since they were the largest and more comfortable of their spaces. He’d requested a tray be sent from the infirmary while they got settled. He’d sighed when noticed Fenris had put himself as far away from them as he could, probably without realizing it.

Anders went to his drinks cabinet and pulled out a couple of bottles of wine, setting them on the table, before pulling out two more bottles. Hawke recognised them both - Fenris’ favourite Starkhaven malt, and Antivan brandy.

They all stood around, no-one sure of what to say and how to start; they were spared attempting to talk when there was a tap on the door, and Anders opened it to find Sister Rebecca bearing a tray.

“There’s not much - it’s late I’m afraid, and it’s plain fare,” she apologised as she set the tray on the table. “But there’s a good hearty stew, and the bread was baked fresh this morning. And there’s fresh-brewed tea - I’d only just made a pot for Parcival.”

Anders glanced at her and raised an eyebrow at her use of his eldest student’s name, but said nothing, merely smiling as he began to set out bowls and ladle stew into them. “This will be fine, Sister,” he smiled, and Sister Rebecca blushed slightly as she bobbed a small curtsey.

“Very good, First Enchanter,” she replied. “I’ll be back in a while for the tray - just leave it outside the door, so I don’t disturb you all.” She glanced around the room. “Gentlemen.” 

Zevran gave her a charming smile as she bobbed another small curtsey, and she blushed even harder before making her excuses and leaving.

Hawke set their bowls out and poured Fenris about four fingers worth of the Starkhaven whiskey, which the elf ignored for water. “Fenris, please. Tonight is important and I know it’s your favorite.”

“No thank you Vic, I shouldn’t drink before…” he stopped at the expression on Hawke’s face and turned to his food.

Anders reached for the Antivan brandy, pouring measures for himself and Zevran. He raised his glass in silent toast which Zevran reciprocated before they both turned to their bowls of stew. “Hawke’s right, Fenris,” said Anders, not glancing up. “This is one night when you should let yourself relax. We’ve got a bit of a ride to get to the battlefield Meneris has chosen.”

“I should have all my wits about me, and I ...do not wish to see what happens if I get drunk and upset.” he said quietly.

“Fenris one drink isn’t going to push you over the edge. We all can do with some relaxing tonight, together.” Hawke said as he sipped his wine.

“You don’t know that Hawke, none of you know what…” Fenris cut himself off and went back to his stew determined not to let his anger ruin what was supposed to be a good time.

“Fenris, you had a better tolerance for alcohol than I even before Mythal’s changes happened,” Anders pointed out. “I can tell you now that with your larger body mass, that will have increased. If _I’m_ going to be fine with just one drink, _you_ most certainly will. I suspect you could probably drink half the keep under the table now and rival the Iron Bull. So enjoy your drink.” He frowned sternly at the elf. “And knock off all this ‘I’m afraid of what’ll happen if I get upset’ business,” he added. “Hal nearly died because someone was trying to kill me. Have you seen just how the Bull’s been reacting? It’s understandable that you lost control in the circumstances - you’ve been through some disturbing changes, you’re still trying to adjust to what Mythal has done, and life recently has been... fraught. You lost control once. I really don’t think you’re going to let that happen again. It’s just us here, love. Let’s share a meal, talk, and then I want to sleep with the men I love before we go off to face that bastard Corypheus. Alright?”

Irritation flashed over Fenris’ face as he stared at Anders. “None of you know what I feel like, what I fear now. Don’t compare me to Bull, and don’t make it seem like I’m just having an off day.” He took the drink and downed some of it and gave Anders a grin. “There, satisfied?”

Anders stared at him. “Stop being a brat, love, please,” he said quietly. “Listen to yourself. Just... talk to us, love, please? You say none of us understand you, but... when have you given us a chance to even _try_? Since we returned from the Arbor Wilds, we’ve seen the physical effects and experienced some of them - Maker, have I ever experienced them - but you’ve not actually _told_ us how you feel and what’s going through your mind. So... please. Talk to us, love.”

“I’m scared, that’s how I feel. I’m terrified that I lost control, that I’m even more of a freak than when Danarius carved me up and I ...I hurt Zevran. I drew a fucking blade on him, I’m scared I’m going to die and that all of us might die, and this will be for nothing. Hal calls for me but I’m not who he wants, he wants a version of me that is dead! I’m ...I really scared I’ll hurt you all and I don’t want to do that, ever again. It’s safer like this Anders, don’t you understand?” Fenris said before he sunk back in his chair and waited for the blond’s response.

Anders regarded him sympathetically. “I’m terrified too,” he said softly. “I’m terrified I’ll lose you all and I won’t be able to stop it. I’m afraid Corypheus will take me over and turn me against you all... I’ve never spoken of it, but... I was fully aware of everything even whilst he was possessing me, and Maker, I never want to feel that again. And I’m afraid of Llyria taking me over. We all have our fears, and I think maybe we all need to get them out before they eat us all from the inside.” He glanced to Hawke.

“You’re not a freak Fenris, no more than you were before. I’m worried I’m not strong enough for this, that if I see any of you go down I might just join you. I don’t want to have to fight Anders or Dorian for that matter. You’ve held yourself from us since that ...incident in your room and if I’d known it was so bad I’d have done more. We cannot go into battle like this, all of us carrying such fear. You can trust us Fenris, if no one else in the world you are safe with us no matter what.” Hawke didn’t move to hug the elf, not until he came out of his corner.

Zevran was staring at Fenris as though seeing him for the first time. He tossed back his brandy, downing it in one before he set down the glass. “So. We are sharing our fears, hmm? Fenris, I do not see a freak when I look upon you, _carissimi_. I see my love, my heart, my _amore_... The man I... I would marry... if he would have me. I see my strength when I am weak, my sanity when all seems lost. And I... I am deathly afraid that I will look upon those I care for,” he glanced around at Anders and Hawke for a moment, his gaze lingering on each, before he turned his gaze back to Fenris. “I fear I will see one of you fall and I cannot save them. And if you should fall, _carissimi_ , I... I would follow you even to death itself, unless there is something worth living in this wretched world without you. And I am afraid that I will look within and find nothing. I have spent the whole of my existence as a tool for others, taking lives, and I have now looked upon the face of a Goddess and find myself... worthless.” He dropped his gaze to the surface of the table, unable to meet Fenris’ gaze any longer and afraid to look at the others.

“I thought you did not wish to marry, not with your grief over Solona or the fear I’d put into you. I am surprised that you would want that of me.” Fenris confessed.

“Love, you are not as unworthy as you’ve made yourself out to be. A goddess knew you, chose you. Does that mean nothing?” Vic said as he slipped next to Anders and wrapped an arm around his waist. 

Zevran reached a hand towards Fenris, his gaze upon the surface of the table still. “It is I who am unworthy,” he said softly. “I could not believe that you would truly wish me to be yours in that way. And then when a goddess declared you Her chosen, and you changed so much... what am I, compared to that? A worthless man whose only value has been the death he could deal for others.”

Fenris tugged him into his arms and held him lightly. “No...you are not unworthy, you are so important to me. Stop saying that.” 

Zevran leaned into Fenris’ embrace and sighed softly. “My eyes have been opened to so much, _carissimi_. It is a lot for a poor elf boy from Antiva, no? But if you will have me, then I am yours.” He reached into his tunic and fumbled for something, before finally holding his hand out. A simple gold band set with an emerald and two golden topazes, one either side, rested in his hand. “It is... a poor thing, perhaps. But Dagna was pleased to make it. It bears an enchantment - a small thing, but... if you would wear such a paltry token....” He finally glanced up into Fenris’ eyes.

Hawke tightened his grip around Anders as they watched and waited. The former Champion had seen Fenris happy, angry, in deep despair but the way his eyes had lit up and the grin on his face was one he’d treasure for all his days.

“Paltry? It’s from the heart, it will never be paltry amatus, my heart.” Fenris held his hand out for Zevran to put the ring on him, his eyes bright as he tried to keep the tears from ruining the moment.

Zevran’s hand trembled as he slipped the ring onto Fenris’ ring finger before turning to wrap his arms around Fenris’ neck. He leaned up and claimed Fenris in a long, gentle, loving kiss.

“I... I think I have something in my eye,” murmured Anders.

“Same thing I do probably.” Hawke said with a shaky laugh before he pressed a kiss to Anders cheek and went to his lover’s desk. “Since we’re...doing such things” he pulled out a box and gave one to Anders and one to Fenris. “Apologies Zevran, I didn’t know if you ...if you wanted that from me? If so I’ll have a ring or other token made for you.” 

He turned back to Anders, and opened the box to show a silverite ring with a ruby in the center and small onyx pieces to each side, six in total. “So...wanna get married?”

Anders’ eyes widened and he suddenly lifted his hands, palms outwards. “Wait... wait! If we’re going to do this now, we’re going to do it properly!” He leapt from his seat and to their bewilderment, fled from the room.

Fenris had leaned his head against Zevran’s, unsure what the mage was up to but he was happy for a change and he wasn’t going to let it bother him. “Do you have one for yourself?” he asked Zevran.

“I... I do not,” he confessed. “I... did not think of such.”

Anders reappeared shortly afterwards, dragging Meneris and Dorian with him. Sister Rebecca was just turning the corner as they arrived at the door. “Sister Rebecca! Please step in a moment,” Anders begged her. “We need you as a witness!”

Meneris yanked his hand back and stared around the room. “What in the Void is going on? I was about to bang Dorian like a door in the wind. This better be really, really important Anders.” Meneris said. Sister Rebecca gave the Inquisitor a horrified look, but Dorian seemed thoroughly unrepentant.

Anders crossed the room to stand next to Hawke. “We need you to marry us,” he said urgently. “All of us. Right now. And I want Dorian and Sister Rebecca to witness it.” He looked at the shocked Chantry Sister. “I know Mother Giselle would never agree to this, but I... I want a member of the Chantry present. And... and your blessing, even if it can’t be a proper official Chantry one. Please.”

Sister Rebecca studied his face thoughtfully, then slowly she nodded. “You have my blessing, First Enchanter.” She glanced at the others. “All of you.” She suddenly smiled.

“Wait,” said Dorian, who had been staring at the rings. “Don’t you have one missing?”

Zevran dropped his gaze. “I... was not yet prepared, I did not think beyond...” He gestured to Fenris’ rings.

Dorian frowned, then reached out and took hold of the startled Zevran’s hand, eyeing up his ring finger before studying the various jewelled rings upon his own hands. He pondered them, then suddenly smiled and tugged off a small black ring set with a single golden stone. It seemed to uncoil from his finger, reforming into a ring as he set it upon Fenris’ palm. “That should suffice,” he said. “It has a charm of speed upon it that would likely be useful for Zevran in any case - and perhaps something from our homeland should be appropriate, don’t you think, Fenris? Call it a thank you of sorts.” He winked at the startled warrior before stepping back to stand beside Sister Rebecca.

“You all realized I never have done a wedding ceremony in my life, right?” Meneris asked as he looked to Sister Rebecca for help. “I don’t know...the...Canticles, or what have you.”

“We need none, Inquisitor,” she replied firmly. “This is the Inquisition. We are making our own ways now. Are you going to look to a Chantry, a faith you don’t follow, Inquisitor, for rules you should be setting yourself? I am a Sister of the Chantry, and I live and work with a mage in harmony. There are no rules for that in the Canticles, though many against.” She smiled at him. “Set a new way, Inquisitor. We need no Canticles or priests or - or what have you. I can say something from Benedictions at the end, but this? This is for you and for them. Speak from the heart.”

“Best get used to this, love,” said Dorian quietly. “You’ll likely find yourself conducting several weddings in the years to come...”

Meneris glanced at Dorian then at the men gathered in the room. “I...very well, but I beg your forgiveness as we go. Who’s first?”

Zevran rose to his feet and tugged Fenris after him, the warrior clutching tight to the ring Dorian had given him. “All of us.” He glanced to Anders and Hawke for agreement.

Hawke nodded yes, a little stunned. “Carver would have kittens if he could be here.” he said as he took Anders hand, and Fenris’ once the elf had slipped the other ring in his pocket.

Anders took Zevran’s hand to close the circle. “Are - are you sure about this, Zevran? You - you want to marry Hawke and I as well?”

“I do,” said Zevran firmly. “You are as much a part of my life in many ways as Fenris is, and you are as important to him as I am. So. It makes sense, yes?”

“You don’t have to,” said Anders gently. “You could just marry Fenris, and then we marry each other....”

“Anders,” said Zevran gently. “I want this.” He glanced to Hawke. “If... if you will also have me?”

“Oh yes, I’ll have you alright. Hopefully a few times once we’re done here.” Vic said with a mischievous grin. “That ring Dorian gave you will have to do double duty until I can have one made for you.” 

“Mythal save us from Vic’s jokes.” Fenris muttered.

“You laughed, that’s what’s important love.” Vic winked at Fenris as he turned to Meneris.

The elven Inquisitor was waiting on them to start, with Rebecca whispering ideas in his ear. The Chantry Sister smiled and gestured towards the four men.

“You four have gathered together because you love each other, and wish to be married, bound with each other in love and joy. In my capacity as the Inquisitor, it’s my honor to do so.” Meneris nodded at Hawke to speak.

Invictus smiled at them before he told each man what they meant to him, including Zevran. How it made him happy to see the joy that he gave Fenris in ways he could not. How grateful he was to Anders for showing him a better way, and for opening his heart. Finally for Fenris, how he loved him with all he had, and how lucky he felt to have found the warrior. He asked each man in turn if they would be his husband, his smile grew with each affirmation. 

He turned to Anders to go next, the smile never leaving his face. The mage dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, gathering his composure, then looked up at them, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He thanked Fenris for reaching out to him; to Hawke for listening, and for being his strength. He looked to Zevran, and thanked him for his friendship and for how happy he made Fenris. He looked around them and asked each if they would consent to be his husband; and as each one said yes, the tears began to flow as he smiled, his eyes bright. He turned to Zevran.

The Antivan drew a deep breath and spoke of how Fenris had been his rock, his light in a dark time. He glanced to Anders and spoke of their long friendship, Anders’ compassion and inner strength. Then he glanced to Hawke and spoke of how they had begun in distrust then learned to trust, and how he would willingly entrust not just his own life, but that of the others to him. He asked each man in turn to be his husband, and murmured a soft thank you with each heartfelt _yes_.

Finally all eyes turned to Fenris. The warrior closed his eyes for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He looked to each of them, and with a deep breath he spoke of how Invictus had warmed his heart and soul, how he would not be who he was without the man before him. He gave Anders praise and thanks for his kind heart, and his love that made him a better man before he turned to Zevran, and how his heart had been opened, how his mind and world and everything had grown for his love. He asked each man to be with him, and with each yes, his own tears of happiness fell. He looked to Meneris with a nod to continue.

“With that, and a few words from Sister Rebecca and an exchange of rings; you will be wed as...husband, husband, husband and...husband.” Meneris said wryly. Rebecca stepped forward with a warm smile and lifted one hand in benediction towards them all.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter; blessed are the peacekeepers and the champions of the just. Blessed are those who stand as brothers in the light of righteousness; for they stand at the Maker’s right hand, and Andraste Herself shall light their way. Blessed are the healers, the menders, the guardians and all who love peace; they shall be united in love and the light.” She lowered her hand then nodded to Meneris.

“Exchange rings as you wish, and you’re married.” he heard a cough from Dorian. “Did I forget something?”

“I do believe it’s traditional to exchange kisses,” murmured the Altus. “Certainly that’s how it’s done in Tevinter - even with marriages of convenience. You barbarians _do_ kiss down here, don’t you?” He raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“I’ll show you barbarian kisses, just you wait amatus.” Meneris said as he turned to face everyone. “Rings, kissing, yes?” 

Fenris laughed as he pulled the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto Zevran’s finger. “My heart, Zevran Arainai-Hawke, I wed thee.” he dipped his head down to meet the shorter elf half-way for a drawn out lip lock. Anders and Hawke had slipped rings onto each others’ hands and embraced, both men’s cheeks wet with tears of happiness.

“Dash it, I have something in my eye,” complained Dorian, glancing away as he blinked rapidly. Sister Rebecca gave him a cheerful smile as she dabbed at her own eyes.

Fenris and Hawke were kissing now as Anders turned to Zevran. The Antivan looked up into Anders’ eyes with a slightly uncertain look; Anders smiled gently then bent down to kiss the elf, and after a moment Zevran’s arms slipped around Anders’ neck as he deepened the kiss.

Fenris had wiped his tears away before he turned to Anders and kissed him finally, surprised to find himself held close and almost swooning as he felt the mage keep the kiss going. He grinned once he was able to pull back. “So Anders Hawke then? Or Hawke-Arainai has a ring to it.” he said as he was helped to his feet. 

Zevran shook his head as he turned to Hawke. “Arainai was the Crow House that bought me. I am their property no more. Let that name be left behind and I will be Zevran Hawke upon the day I die.” He stared up into the eyes of the man whose name he had just taken. “It is your turn to claim me with a kiss, friend Hawke... Invictus,” he corrected himself softly.

“Of course Zev.” Vic lifted Zevran up and kissed him slow and deep. “Zevran Hawke, I like that.”

Dorian watched them with a slightly wistful look as his hand reached out for Meneris’. “Perhaps one day you’ll make an honest man of me too, amatus,” he murmured. 

“I am so happy for you all - First Enchanter, thank you for honouring me with witnessing your marriage,” said Sister Rebecca delightedly as Anders looked around and grinned.

“And thank you for your blessing, Sister,” he replied before glancing at the others. “And, uh, thank you for - for indulging me as well.” He smiled at Fenris, and then stiffened slightly as his eyes glowed bright gold.

“ _Mythal’s blessings upon you all,_ ” he said, his voice lighter and higher. “ _She looks favourably upon you all, Her Chosen ones._ ” The light faded to his normal amber, and Anders blinked rapidly. “Maker, that was - that was weird. I wish Llyria would warn me before she does that.”

“As do we love.” Fenris said softly. 

“That’s our cue to go.” Meneris said fondly. He took Dorian by the hand and led them back to his rooms, locked the door and proceeded to show Dorian just how much he cared for the Altus. They were taking a brief break, his head on Dorian’s chest and his fingers tripping over the other man’s body. “Do you wish to be married, amatus?” 

He felt Dorian’s breath hitch in his chest and his heart skip a beat then begin to beat faster.

“A-amatus?” the Altus managed, a little breathlessly, his voice wavering slightly.

"Yes, I say it because I mean it. Let us celebrate our victory with showing the world that I'm very proud to call you mine." Meneris smiled as he lifted his head to look at his lover. He found Dorian staring down at him, his lower lip trembling a little as he blinked rapidly, speechless. Then he slowly sat up, lifting Meneris with him until they sat facing each other, and Dorian cradled Meneris’ face with his hands.

“Amatus,” the Altus whispered huskily.

"Yes, love? You alright? If you're going to say no, just tell me." Meneris stared at him, wondering at his lover’s response.

Dorian began to tremble slightly, then his shoulders began to shake as he bowed his head. As Meneris grew alarmed, he suddenly realised that Dorian was softly laughing; and although tears were running down his face as he lifted his head once more, they were happy tears. “Oh amatus,” he laughed. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”

"Good, I was getting worried for a few minutes." Meneris laughed in relief before he found himself flat on his back, being kissed and touched gently by his lover. Dorian was peppering his face lightly with kisses before he moved down the elf’s body, nipping gently with his teeth before kissing each place then suckilng lightly upon Meneris’ skin. He worked his way slowly lower, fingers tracing over Meneris’ skin as he went. He kissed the elf’s navel then worked his way lower still, intent on showing exactly how much he meant that “yes”.

"Creators I'm a lucky man." Meneris gasped as he felt Dorian’s mouth moving lower. Dorian nuzzled his nose into the soft curls at the base of Meneris’ erection then slowly licked a broad, warm stripe up the underside of the elf’s cock. He settled himself between the elf’s legs, curling his hands around the back of Meneris’ thighs and he paused, poised with his mouth a scant inch above the head of the Inquisitor’s cock. He lifted dark grey eyes to hold Meneris’ gaze and then deliberately slowly he swirled his tongue around it before sinking down to swallow the elf’s cock. Meneris felt his member enclosed suddenly by delicious wet heat almost to the base.

"Vhenan!!" Meneris called as he arched up to meet Dorian with each bob of his head. Then he felt the head of his cock brush the back of Dorian’s throat at the same moment as the Altus deliberately swallowed around him, and the pressure upon his cock made him almost scream as the sensation alone nearly pushed him over the edge.

Dorian merely grinned, his eyes still on Meneris, his lips red and swollen around Meneris’ cock and his usually-immaculate moustache now a little dishevelled. He slipped a hand around the base of the elf’s cock and gently squeezed, and Meneris felt his impending climax recede just a little before Dorian returned to what he was doing, picking the pace up now and swallowing Meneris down on every downthrust. His hands on the elf’s hips nudged slightly, encouraging Meneris to thrust into his willing mouth, silently urging the Inquisitor to fuck his throat with willful abandonment.

Meneris bucked up into his lover’s mouth, faster, as he tried to keep from coming too soon. "Creators.,.Maker...fuck Dori.."

Dorian may have attempted to chuckle at that, had the pace Meneris now set not left him breathless as he kept up, stroke for stroke. He grinned slyly up at the elf as one hand left the elf’s hip; he closed his eyes briefly as though concentrating. Then Meneris suddenly felt an oil-slicked finger slip gently into his entrance, probing in deeply before withdrawing with a “come hither” motion that brushed his sweet spot perfectly.

That was all he needed. He didn’t even have time to warn Dorian as he came, hard, filling the Altus’ mouth and throat with his seed as he shuddered and jerked through his release. Dorian choked slightly before swallowing, gasping for breath as he let Meneris; cock slip from his mouth then slowly lapped the spilled spend. He paused to glance up at the elf with a wicked grin, his face sheened with sweat and Meneris’ come still dripping from his lips and chin, a debauched mess.

"I should propose more often." Meneris panted as he let his head hit the bed. "Give me a little time to recover, then I'll return the favor."

Dorian sat up slowly, still licking Meneris’ seed from his lips and grinning. “I shall hold you to that, amatus,” he promised. 

“If you react like that to my proposing, I won’t have energy for the wedding.” Meneris tugged Dorian to him so he could kiss his mage, slow and easy, tasting himself on the mage’s tongue.

Dorian groaned softly into Meneris’ mouth then pulled the elf atop himself as he rolled over onto his back.

“Love...oh hello.” Meneris said as he felt Dorian’s cock pressing into him. “You really, really liked that I proposed huh?” He asked as he leaned in to kiss Dorian more before he glanced over to see where the oil had got off to. “Can I ride?” he asked quietly.

Dorian’s eyes widened a little, and then he smiled. “Amatus, if you wish to ride then I am most certainly not going to object!” he replied.

“Dirty man...I love that about you.” Meneris reached for the oil and gave Dorian a filthy smile as he reached back to slick him up again. “Ready?”

“For you? Amatus, always,” Dorian practically purred. “You know I -” His voice tailed off into a groan as he felt Meneris’ firm grip oiling up his stiff length.

“I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight...like how to strike you speechless.” Meneris said as he rose up and started to ease down on his lover...no, betrothed. “Damn…” he moaned as Dorian grabbed his hips and strained to stay still.

“Quite... the feat,” panted Dorian as he strove to keep still as he felt Meneris’ tight entrance slowly engulfing his cock in hot wet pressure and had to fight the urge to thrust himself all the way in. _I am **not** some callow youth with all the self-restraint of a child at a Satinalia feast,_ he reminded himself as he took a deep breath and urged back the impulse.

Meneris took a breath as he finally rested against Dorian and found the mage was tense under him. “Ok there love? Want me to move? Like this?” he asked as he rose half-way up then slid back down slow, steadily as he watched Dorian’s expressions with a bit of mischief.

Dorian had nodded as Meneris asked if he wanted him to move and opened his mouth to reply, but found all words fled him as Meneris began his maddeningly-slow rise and fall. _Oh Maker. This could be harder than I thought,_ he realised. It had been far too long since last he’d been ridden; usually he was the eager recipient of Meneris’ efforts, and he wasn’t quite prepared for the urgent desire to begin thrusting which almost overwhelmed all sense of reason. He took another deep breath and began mentally reciting all the transfiguration formulae from Diomenides’ theory in his head, and thankfully the urge faded a little as he willed it back. Meneris wanted to play it slow? He’d find Dorian Pavus more than equal to the task. He grinned at Meneris. 

“Oh yes, exactly like that,” he agreed, giving his hips the slightest little roll as Meneris sank down again, so Dorian’s cock would brush the elf’s sweet spot deep inside. His grin widened as Meneris’ eyes widened slightly and his breath caught in his throat momentarily.

“Creators….Dorian…” Meneris called as he started to bounce a little faster, almost rising off Dorian with each stroke. “Is...this how...it felt to ride ….Fenris? You...the noises you made.” the elven warrior’s eyes widened when Dorian thrust up, hard at his question. 

“Now, now, Meneris, a gentleman never kisses and tells,” teased Dorian as he rolled his hips again then gave the elf another hard thrust to emphasis his point. “You’ll have to work harder than that to get me to talk.” His smirk was positively devious.

“Oh is that how it is, hnn?” Meneris asked once he could speak. “You’re….oh, oh, right there Dorian...yes…” the elf was distracted from his questions by hard, fast thrusts up with each one brushing his spot. “Play...dirty.” he complained even as Dorian got him closer to coming again.

Dorian planted his feet and gripped Meneris’ hips firmly as he angled his hips to hit that spot over and over with every thrust as he picked up the pace now, a thin sheen of sweat glistening upon his brow and across his skin as his breath came faster, panting a little with the effort yet still managing to put in that maddening hip roll every third or fourth thrust as he pounded up into Meneris’ hot, tight body. 

“Fuck...Dorian..please, please…” Meneris called out as he let Dorian take him hard, fast and hoped he didn’t scream loud enough to make the guards come running….again. “Andraste...Maker...fuck...so...close.”

Dorian grinned. “Maybe I’ll just keep you on the edge a while,” he teased as he deliberately slowed his pace then rolled his hips, grinding against Meneris maddeningly.

“I’ll...hide all your hair products...bastard.” Meneris snarled as he tried to get Dorian to move faster. “I WAS ABOUT TO COME.” he hissed.

“Ooh, a threat, a threat!” crowed Dorian. “Well now, I can’t have _that_ , amatus. Tut tut. Where’s your patience?” Just as Meneris opened his mouth to give a blistering retort, Dorian gave him a hard thrust that drove all thought of words clean out of his mind, followed by several more in quick succession, each one grazing his sweet spot and leaving him gasping as Dorian set an even faster pace than before, biting his lip now in concentration though his storm-grey eyes never left those of the elven Inquisitor, and he still had that maddening smirk upon his lips beneath his slightly-dishevelled moustache.

“I gave it up when ...I got….togeth--” Meneris’ witty retort was cut short as he panted Dorian’s name, as he got close to coming again. “Give...come...come for me.” he huffed.

Dorian closed his eyes and let go, letting himself feel fully everything, no longer distracting himself or walling away the urges of his body with sheer willpower. Heat was coiling inexorably in his groin and Meneris’ urge to come was a blessed relief as he finally allowed himself to start chasing his own climax and release. His movements became almost frantic as he pounded frenetically into Meneris and finally felt the elf clamp down upon him with a shout as he came hard, his seed spilling hot and wet across Dorian’s torso and splashing his throat as the Altus threw his head back and hoarsely screamed through his own orgasm before finally collapsing beneath Meneris.

“That’s it, I’m dead, good for nothing now,” groaned Dorian after a few minutes of trying to catch his breath with Meneris slumped over him. “I couldn’t move now if Corypheus himself were at the gates.”

“Good job he isn’t then,” replied Meneris after a moment. They glanced at each other, and then grinned before breaking up into exhausted giggles.

At some point they managed to clean each other up and find a clean sheet for the bed before finally they crawled beneath the covers and into each other’s arms, sleep claiming them not long after.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus.

Morning came far too soon for the Inquisition forces. Fenris reluctantly untangled himself from Anders, while he heard choice Antivan swears from where Zevran and Hawke were waking with the knock in their door. 

“Who said we were leaving at dawn again? Remind me to freeze them to a flat surface.” Vic grumbled as he went to answer the door. Zevran’s head emerged from beneath the down comforter; the Antivan’s hair was in disarray and he looked uncharacteristically disgruntled. As Fenris glanced at him, he saw the elf wipe something white and sticky from his lips and his eyes widened.

“Well that’s one way to wake up.” Fenris quipped as he reached over to wake Anders. The blond mage stopped snoring, then slowly rolled onto his side, his eyes still closed and his breathing deep and slow.

Fenris leaned over and bit down on Anders' ear gently and called his name. “Wake up...husband.” 

Anders woke up with a start at the touch of teeth and jerked, eyes wide. He blinked owlishly at Fenris for a moment as though confused where he was, then gave Fenris a tentative smile before he wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist and buried his face against Fenris.

“Morning... husband,” he murmured against Fenris’ skin, a smile curving his lips.

“I like the sound of that.” Fenris said quietly. “I’m so lucky.” he said before he leaned in with a kiss for Anders. 

Hawke shooed the servant away with a promise for them to appear in the war room shortly. Zevran had thrown back the comforter and wiped his lips clean, and was already half-dressed. Anders groaned and ducked back under the covers.

“Maker, it’s too early!” he complained.

“You knew we have a battle planned for first light, no one told you to shag like it’s the end of the world.” Fenris teased before he sauntered into the bath.

Anders sat up and slowly ran his hands over his face before running them through his long hair, pulling it back out of his face. Zevran glanced up, already dressed now, and tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment before turning away to arm himself.

The blond mage pulled himself from the bed slowly, wincing as his back protested. He stood straight and pressed his hands against the small of his back, channelling a little healing energy to ease his stiffness, exhaling with a faint sigh as the pain eased. He headed for the washbasin to freshen up before going to the wardrobe to pull out suitable travel robes.

Zevran gestured to Anders as the blond mage was finishing tying his belt; Anders glanced at him, then nonplussed sat in the chair Zevran directed him to.

“SIt. Do not move,” instructed the elf as he produced a comb and began working it slowly through Anders’ hair.

Fenris came out and swatted Hawke on the ass as he went by. He felt lighter and happier than he had in weeks after their marriage and celebrating. 

“Save that for later, assuming we don’t all want to sleep for a week after the battle.” Hawke said as he rubbed his ass. 

“Something to look forward to as celebration once Corypheus is dead, yes?” smiled Zevran, deftly braiding sections of Anders’ hair as the Enchanter sat still and glanced at Hawke. “It is a fine tradition,” the Antivan went on. “It was very popular amongst the Crows - a good death was reason for a great celebration that we were not also dead, no?”

“Well this is a treat, I’ve never seen him with his hair braided even in a Ferelden style.” Hawke said as he watched Zevran work in between getting his armor on.

“I never really had the time to just play with my hair,” said Anders quietly. “In the tower I was either in a cell or else planning how to get out. Outside the tower I was just trying to survive. The Wardens don’t really encourage frippery and in Kirkwall... well. Again, we were all just trying to stay alive.”

“And also, I think your hair has not been this long in some time, no?” suggested Zevran. He held up a loose lock then eyed the rest of Anders’ hair, which was over halfway down Anders’ back.

“I haven’t cut it in months,” Anders shrugged.

“So. Now it is long enough, we shall see what my fingers can do, yes?” went on the elf.

Anders merely smiled and held still.

By the time Zevran had finished, a fair amount of Anders’ hair at the back still hung loose, but only where it would be less likely to get into his face whilst fighting. The rest was pulled into sections and braided back, then the braids woven in and around each other, the loose unbraided ends fanning up and back almost like feathers out of the elaborate knot that Zevran had fashioned.

“You realise I will never be able to do that for myself and it’ll look a rat’s nest within a couple of days?” said Anders, lifting an eyebrow as he glanced in a mirror.

“Ah, but now you have me to play with your hair,” smiled Zevran. He leaned in and then almost shyly kissed Anders upon the cheek. “You do not mind?”

“No - don’t mind me, I’m just being an ungrateful ass,” smiled Anders as he turned and equally shyly kissed Zevran. Both men seemed to be quite tentatively exploring this new change in their relationship.

“Oh for Mythal’s sake.” Fenris muttered as he buckled his vambraces on. “After the way you made Anders howl last night, you really want to be shy about kissing him?” 

Anders blushed as Zevran straightened. 

“It is one thing to be friends and a little more - another to be affectionate like this, _carissimi_ ,” the Antivan replied. “This is new to both of us. You must have a little patience, yes? We have known each other many years, but now we are seeing each other with new eyes.”

“It’s... Fenris, you can have no idea what this is like,” said Anders slowly. “I’ve known Zevran since my Warden days, but back then we were merely friends and nothing physical ever happened between us. And when you, he and Vic have... played... together, I wasn’t involved. And now... it’s just all a bit strange and new and unfamiliar. And it’s lovely, but it’ll take some getting used to. For both of us,” he added as he glanced at Zevran, who nodded.

“Apologies, I forget myself. I did not have many such...it is a tale for wine and song after the battle is won. But I wish to tell you of my life before Invictus, and Kirkwall. Though it may scandalize you.” Fenris said as he came over to kiss Anders gently then did the same to Zevran. He found himself pulled into Vic’s arms for a kiss that nearly had him swooning once he was let go.

“That’s for luck, and for my husband...my heart.” Vic said as he righted the elf and approached Anders.The blond mage moved willingly into Hawke’s arms, tilting his head slightly for his kiss even as Zevran moved to Fenris and draped a hand around the taller elf’s neck to draw him down for a long, lingering kiss.

Fenris pulled Zevran into his arms and returned his kiss. “I love you Zev.” he said as he cradled the back of the other elf’s head, and slipped his fingers under his shirt to take snap the cord holding his vial and put it in his pocket. “ _You gave yourself to them, do not hurt them with your death if I should fall, or Anders or Invictus. You’ve got more to live for than me, or them. Promise me._ ” 

Startled, Zevran’s reflexes for once failed him. He was too slow to snatch for the vial as Fenris jerked it away, though he lunged for it all the same with a cry. As Fenris spoke, he stared at the taller elf, his hands slowly closing into fists before he closed his eyes and uncurled his hands again. He drew a deep breath before he spoke.

“ _Carissimi_. For the love I bear for you, do not do this,” he said in a low voice.

Anders was staring between them both, an uncomprehending look on his face. “Fenris? Why did you take his necklace?”

“ _Zevran, please for the love you have for me, do not wear this poison into battle. Take it off my body if I fall but ...I beg you. Not after we have just wed. Please._ ” Fenris continued in Antivan.

Zevran opened his eyes and fixed Fenris with an intense stare. “ _Carissimi... please. Give it back. You do not understand; there is a... comfort in knowing I have that recourse. Is the choice not mine to make? There are other poisons I have; three of my blades are poisoned. Even if you take this from me, I have other means. But this...._ ” Zevran pressed a hand over his eyes, visibly wrestling with some unnamed emotion. “ _Carissimi. Please. I cannot... I have not the words, but... please. I beg you. I swear I will not touch it unless I am certain you are dead, but... please. Give it back._ ”

“Fenris what is going on? Why does Zevran look ready to cry?” Hawke asked as he approached to intervene.

The elven warrior looked at Zevran for a long time, his own expression broken as he dropped it back into the other elf’s upturned palm. “ _Tell them about how you plan to take yourself from them if I die. It’s the least you can do after yesterday. Tell them or I will._ ” Fenris kissed Zevran on the forehead before he turned away to finish getting ready.

Zevran fumbled with the broken clasp, tying the ends of the cord together before slipping the necklace back over his head and tucking the vial back inside his tunic. Then silently he stepped up behind Fenris and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his forehead against the warrior’s back. “ _I am sorry, beloved. I am sorry._ ”

Anders had watched this exchange in bewilderment. “What... what’s in that vial?” he asked, staring at the two elves. “Zevran, that’s... that’s poison, isn’t it?”

Wordlessly, the Antivan elf nodded.

“ _Sorry won’t ease their grief if it comes down to you using that vial. I have said my piece, and begged you not to do so. I can only hope you heed my request if I die today._ ” Fenris turned and gave Zevran another slow kiss before he let go to get his weapons and boots. 

Zevran turned to face Anders and Hawke. “It is....” He broke off, frowning. “This is... not easy to put into words. It is... a guarantee, or reassurance, of sorts.” He glanced up at Anders. “I may not use it. It is... likely I will not. But... it is a comfort knowing I have recourse at need.”

“But...you know what, I’m not going to question it. It’ll just cause a fight and we already have one waiting on us. Just...think about it, us before you resort to that vial.” Hawke said before he went over to Fenris, worried when he noticed the elf was sitting there, one boot on, one boot hanging from his fingers.

“I... think I understand,” said Anders slowly. “I’m not going to tell you not to do it - or even beg you. All I ask is that before you resort to that... please, talk to us first. Me, or Invictus, just... please, let us at least talk first. WIll you do that much for us?”

Zevran held Anders’ gaze for a moment before he crossed to the mage and tentatively took Anders’ hands in his own. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I swear that I shall talk to you before I touch it. But should you both die... if I am left... I will follow you all.”

“And that would be your right,” murmured Anders as he drew Zevran into his arms and pressed a light kiss to the pale blond hair.

“Fenris?” Vic asked as he gently took the boot and helped him get it on.

“I’ll be alright...I just thought he’d be less likely to use that damned poison with having taken us in matrimony. We need to go, come on.” Fenris sheathed his weapon and headed for the door.

Anders reached for his staff and slung it on his back before turning to follow, one arm still looped around Zevran’s waist.

Hawke brought up the rear with a wistful look around the room before they headed to the war room. “I hope there is food waiting, or I will be incredibly cranky.”

There was indeed breakfast waiting; a buffet spread upon a long table at the side of the room. Hal was sitting in a chair to one side, poking at a bowl of oatmeal and shaking his head at something the Iron Bull was saying. Cullen was leaning over the table, Cassandra leaning over his shoulder and frowning at the map. Dorian was looking over the buffet spread, an absent look in his eyes.

Fenris helped himself to enough to keep him from feeling starved as they traveled, and some fruit for the road. He felt Zevran’s touch on his shoulder as the other elf passed by and he gave him a brief smile. 

Hawke settled in across from Dorian and tried to distract him from what was to come with empty chatter. He could see the other mage was worried about the fight they were walking into. The Tevinter Altus glanced up and gave him an absent smile then blinked.

“Forgive me, I’m rather distracted this morning,” he said. “Not a lot of sleep last night.” He suddenly caught sight of Hawke’s hand as the other mage leaned over for a bread roll, and stared. “Hawke, is that....” He caught Hawke’s wrist and stared at the ring on his finger. “I hadn’t seen this properly last night - that is truly lovely,” he exclaimed. He let Hawke’s wrist go. “The ceremony was most unexpected but quite beautiful. Meneris and I are so happy for you. And I must say, although it was Meneris’ first wedding, he was very touched to be asked by you all.” He grinned.

Cullen had straightened and turned to stare at them. “Ah... did I hear correctly? Are congratulations in order, Hawke?”

“Oh, oh yes.” He held up his hand to show off the ring and gave Cullen a huge grin. “Once we’re back, we’ll have to have a proper stag party. Need to have another night of Wicked Grace where you lose everything.”

Cullen blushed and coughed slightly. “Yes, well, perhaps,” he said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

“So, you, Fenris and Anders are... married?” asked Cassandra.

“And Zevran,” said Anders as he stepped to the Antivan elf’s side and looped his arm around his waist again; Zevran smiled and leaned in against Anders. His grin broadened at the expression on the Seeker’s face.

“A wedding? Oh how marvellous!” exclaimed Vivienne as she swept in. She crossed swiftly to Anders and caught up his free hand. “Darling, I must congratulate you - I had no idea! When?”

“Last night - Meneris conducted the ceremony, Dorian and Sister Rebecca witnessed it,” replied Anders with a smile.

“Yes, it was rather lovely.” Meneris said as he took Dorian’s hand, one of the Altus’ rings visible on his left ring finger.

“Did you?” Fenris asked in surprise.

“Betrothed only, at this point,” said Dorian. “Meneris has stated his intention to make an honest man out of me however.” He gave the elven Inquisitor a fond smile.

“You’re already an honest man, I just staked my claim. So we’ll have a proper stag party, and celebration after we send this bastard back to the Void he came from.” Meneris said as he glanced at the map then the others. “Eat up, we ride out soon.” 

Fenris leaned in for a kiss to both men before he made his way to Hawke and wrapped his arm around the mage. “I’m very lucky.” 

“We’re all lucky, just took a long ass time to realize it.” Vic said softly. 

Anders smiled, then glanced over to Hal and the Iron Bull. He was relieved to see whatever the disagreement between them, the young mage was gently cupping the kossith’s face with his hand, a fond look in his eyes. He didn’t like that Hal was up and out of his bed so soon after the poisoning, but he was prepared to let Hal decide for himself if he were physically capable of this or not.

“I will be happy to stand with you, at the time of your ceremony _amicus_ ” Fenris offered.

Hal rose to his feet came over to join them just as Dorian replied.

“I should be honoured to have you there,” smiled the Altus.

“Can I add my congratulations all round?” smiled Hal as the iron Bull came up to stand just behind him. “Maker, it’s good to have good news for once! Maybe it’ll be a good omen for what’s to come.” The redhead smiled.

“We can only hope---” Meneris tailed off as a sickly green light flooded the room through the tall glass windows, and his Mark flashed at the same time as a sickening pain lanced up his arm.

Somehow - though how, he could not have said; perhaps the link between the Anchor and its former master - he knew that Corypheus was near. _Very_ near.

“Inquisitor!” exclaimed Josephine. “Look! The Breach - it has reopened over the Valley of Ashes!”

“I don’t think we need to go look for Corypheus,” replied Meneris slowly as he lifted his hand to show them the Mark blazing brightly. “I think he’s decided to come look for me.”

“Inquisitor, we don’t have the troops to march on the Valley,” said Cullen. “Most of our forces are still in the Arbor Wilds, weeks away!”

“Then I guess it’s up to us,” said Meneris. He stared around at them grimly.

“Let’s get this over with.”

 

***

With most of the troops so far beyond their reach, it was a small band consisting of a scratch force hastily drawn from Skyhold’s reserves and most of the Inner Circle that set out for the Valley of Ashes. 

The Iron Bull had tried to persuade Hal to remain behind, but the young mage had been adamant that he would accompany them; against his misgivings, the mercenary had finally nodded.

They travelled swiftly through the mountains, glad that it was early enough in the year for the passes to be free of snow, as was the Valley itself. Above, the sky swirled an ominous green, centred on the baleful eye of the Breach which sparked and crackled with unearthly energy.

Cullen sent troops on ahead to secure the ruins, but as they drew closer there was no sign of them until finally they reached what had once been the Temple of Ashes but was now a broken ruin, its once-grand halls smashed open under an actinic green sky.

“I knew you would come,” called a dark, hate-filled voice that they recognised at once. Beside him, Hawke felt Anders go rigid and stiff.

Corypheus stepped out from beneath a cracked and ruined archway. 

“It ends here, Corypheus!” called Meneris.

“And so it shall!” replied Corypheus with a mocking bow as he gathered swirling red energies in his grasp. As he straightened, he held aloft an orb that glowed with a baleful red glare. 

There was a trembling of the ground, and as they stared around, sections of wall and ancient towers crumbled, whilst vast chunks of rock bearing ruins farther down the valley were abruptly wrenched into the air and lifted to the ruins of the temple. Some hung in the sky above them like massive grotesque rock baubles, as though Corypheus sought to recreate the twisted geometry of the very Fade itself. Finally even the temple itself was wrested into the air, and they staggered, trying to keep their footing.

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans, but let us not forget what you are,” growled Corypheus.

“Oh come on..” Hawke said before he realized how high up they were. “Anders....Fenris, um.”

“Don’t look down,” murmured Anders, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure of Corypheus as the Elder One carried on.

“A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time, an interloper. A gnat.” Corypheus glared at Meneris. “We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”

Anders blinked, and suddenly his eyes glowed golden. “Fenris. Now is the time,” Llyria said softly through the entranced mage. “This is what you were chosen for.”

Fenris stiffened, then turned to look at Anders, a strange, silvery light in his eyes. “Yes. Now I understand,” he said softly.

As Meneris shouted his own challenge back against Corypheus, Fenris turned and took a few steps away. As he walked, the lyrium lines across his body began to shine, then blaze, brighter and brighter until they couldn’t look at him; through the shimmering brilliance, his form shifted, grew, and suddenly a vast white dragon, its hide marked with swirls of blazing silver, was winging rapidly towards the archdemon that reared up from the broken and smashed ruins.

“Oh... oh, he’s beautiful... oh Maker!” cried out Hal, running a few steps after the dragon that had been Fenris. He was filled with wistful envy and longing, remembering how it had felt to spread wings and soar as a dragon.

“Kadan!” cried the Bull and raced after him, halting him. Hal stared up into the sky, watching as the two dragons clashed - but he had eyes only for the white and silver dragon as tears ran down his face.

“What in the Maker’s name? He...he’s a dragon?!” Hawke exclaimed as he watched Fenris swooping down on Corypheus’s demon before he had to cover his ears at the screams of both dragons overhead.

“Well...that will keep it busy while you and I ...talk.” Meneris said with a smile.

“You.... _dare_....” said Corypheus coldly. “A dragon! How clever of you. It will avail you _nothing._ You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my will!” He gestured, and red lightning lashed out, scattering them. When they rose to their feet once more, Cassandra lay crumpled by a pile of fallen rock.

“Maker, no!” cried Cullen as he ran forward to stand guard over her fallen form.

“You worthless worms! You are nothing but insects to be trodden underfoot!” roared Corypheus.

Hawke twirled his staff, ready to charge until the ancient magister unleashed another torrent of lightning at them. “Maker’s ass! Take him out!” he called as he summoned Tempest to rain down fire and pain upon their enemy.

“Working on it Hawke!” Meneris yelled before he launched himself at Corypheus.

The Elder One’s form suddenly vanished, only to reappear directly before Hawke as he unleashed another lightning blast at Hawke at point-blank range. The Champion screamed as the arcane energies earthed themselves through his body before he crumpled to the ground.

“ _HAWKE!!_ ” screamed Anders as he ran towards the fallen mage.

He never saw the spirit blast that knocked him off his feet; he crumpled to the ground, one outstretched hand falling limp upon the stones barely a hand span away from Hawke’s unmoving body.

“No, no!” cried Hal. “No, this can’t be happening, it can’t!”

“Keep back Kadan!” called Bull as he charged in to fight against the ancient magister, who was distracted by Zevran as the Antivan suddenly darted out of the shadows to bury a blade in the twisted ancient body before vanishing again; the blade didn’t seem to hamper Corypheus at all, however.

Meneris growled Dalish swears under his breath as he tried to catch the ancient magister off-guard but only managed glancing blows. He danced back from the creature’s attack, his attention briefly on the two dragons that had passed overhead as they battled. He was glad that Fenris couldn’t see his two lovers were down from where he barreled after the demon-dragon. 

Dorian was kept busy fighting back-to-back with Vivienne against Corypheus’ conjured demons and wraiths. He was momentarily distracted when Vivienne cried out in pain; as he turned, she suddenly went down and he found himself face-to-face with a rage demon, Vivienne’s blood still wet upon its claws as it leapt for him. He brought his staff up barely in time and swore fiercely in Tevene as he smote the creature in the face with a lightning blast of his own.

Varric’s crossbow Bianca was singing, filling the air with deadly rain as he tried to bring down a few of the creatures circling Cullen as the Commander strove to protect the fallen Seeker, his eyes wide and his face white as monsters that had haunted his nightmares since Kinloch rose up all around him.

Hal was helpless to aid the Commander as he was finally pulled down by sheer force of numbers, his curly golden hair disappearing from view. He glanced around; everywhere he looked, things were going very badly wrong. Solas had been hit by a bolt of red lightning from Corypheus and lay sprawled some way away. Dorian was fighting desperately for his life against two other demons. The Iron Bull and Meneris were tag-teaming Corypheus as Zevran harried him from the shadows.

The ancient magister gestured almost absently and Varric was sent hurtling backwards, slamming into Cole and taking them both down.

Then Corypheus gestured at the Iron Bull and the kossith cried out in pain as a Force cage enclosed him, crushing him. With his healer’s senses, Hal could feel the bleeding inside from ruptured blood vessels, the organ damage, and he screamed as he ran towards them. The Iron Bull dropped, insensate, but before Hal could reach him suddenly something massive crashed into the ground, the force of it throwing him back.

He blinked and lifted his head, glancing round, and then...

“No. Oh, Maker, no, no, no!” he cried, as he stared at the sprawled, motionless form of the white and silver dragon, the gleaming hide now darkened by soot, splashed with blood, charred in places and torn. “No, no, no! Fenris, no!” screamed Hal, tearing at his hair as he ran towards the fallen dragon, heedless of his own safety.

Dorian dispatched the last demon and turned to aid Meneris, but Hal’s cry distracted him. He turned, eyes widening as he saw the dragon’s form shimmer then change, the glow fading to reveal the white-haired elf sprawled still and broken upon the ground, lifeless.

The next moment, Dorian screamed in agony as the energies of a Force spell crackled around him and an enormous pressure threatened to crack his ribs and crush him. He tried to cry Meneris’ name, but he felt his ribs crack and then there was a sharp, piercing pain in his chest. He coughed, spewing blood as he fell to his knees then collapsed upon the ground and lay still.

Meneris screamed in rage as he saw Dorian go down, and nearly collapsed as he saw everyone but Zevran and Hal on the ground, unsure if they still drew breath or not. “You will not win.” he snarled as he let his mark blaze green, a Rift appearing over their battleground. 

“Even if I die with you, you will not win today.” Meneris gritted his teeth as he struggled against the Rift, even as it pulled at the magister.

Zevran reared up behind the magister, about to drive both daggers through Corypheus’ spine, but suddenly his eyes fell on Fenris’ fallen form. “ _Carissimi_....” he breathed in a horrified whisper. In a heartbeat he had ducked away from the magister who fought Meneris and was running as fast as his aching, tired legs would carry him towards Fenris’ broken body. He threw himself down upon his knees beside the still form of the elf as Hal regarded him with miserable eyes.

“ _Carissimi_ , how... how?” whispered Zevran as he slowly gathered Fenris into his arms. “No, no. Say it is not so!” he cried. He glanced around desperately until his eyes fell upon the unmoving forms of Anders and Hawke. A dull look of despair filled his eyes as he looked back down at Fenris. Slowly, tenderly, he laid Fenris back down and folded the elf’s hands upon his still breast.

“Did I not say, beloved, that if you all died then I would follow you too?” he murmured brokenly as he fumbled with the vial upon its cord about his neck. “Wait for me, beloved! I am coming too!”

As Hal watched, his eyes widening in horror, Zevran thumbed the cork off the vial and set it to his lips.

“No!” he cried as Zevran tilted the vial.

There was a sudden loud crack and then Zevran’s body stiffened and jerked before he sprawled upon the ground, eyes closed. Hal looked up slowly as Corypheus loomed over him.

“Insignificant gnat,” bit out the Elder One. He gestured at Hal, and suddenly agony raced through his body, every nerve alight in pain. He managed to fling one hand out as his body convulsed, and touched Fenris’ chest - and suddenly realised there was still a fleeting spark of life in the elf. Despite his agony. he began to throw healing energy into the elf’s body.

“You... _dare??_ ” exclaimed Corypheus. “Die, worm!”

The pain redoubled, and Hal screamed, his body writhing helplessly, until finally he went still.

Corypheus turned back towards Meneris.

“So... ‘herald’. Your forces are dead, your friends lie lifeless, all you loved and held most dear destroyed before your very eyes. Where are your gods now? Now you know that even if you kneel before me, you will die like the worthless, wretched thief you truly are!” He lifted the glowing crimson orb, but suddenly something flashed green in its depths as Corypheus lifted it, and Meneris felt an answering flash of pain in his hand as the Mark flashed. 

Suddenly the orb was awash in green flames, and Corypheus’ hand was tugged sharply towards Meneris, dragging the Elder One forward a few steps as Meneris’ hand was wreathed in flame. 

“No!” howled Corypheus. “Dumat - Ancient Ones! If ever you truly existed, aid me now!”

Abruptly the glowing, now-green orb was wrenched from Corypheus’ grasp and flew straight to Meneris’ waiting grasp. The elven Inquisitor stared at it, then at Corypheus, who had fallen to his knees, eyes wide in shock.

A flash of bright green light streamed out from the orb; its power discharging back into the whirling Breach.

“I believe this is the end for you Corypheus. You wanted to be a God, you killed, destroyed, harmed...but now it’s your turn. You wanted into the Fade so badly? Be my guest!” Meneris felt the energy of his mark, and the orb channel through him as he watched Corypheus break before him, his body shredding as he was pulled into the Rift. 

The orb dropped from Meneris’ hand, its energy expended, dark and still. 

There was silence for a few minutes, and then the first rock fell, followed by others, then more nad more. Chunks of rock hurtled back down to the ground from whence they had been wrenched, the very rock on which Meneris stood tilting at an alarming angle as the remains of the temple ruins began to crash back down to the ground.

“No...no, I refuse to die like this!” Meneris jabbed his long sword into the ground as the ground they were on crashed down again, as he let go once he didn’t feel like he’d tumble to his death. The first thing he did was run over to Dorian, fearful that he’d find the Altus wasn’t breathing anymore. He looked around the ruins, dismayed at the destruction all around, and how many of his friends lie dying or dead. “Dorian, come on, come on… you can’t die on me now. We’re getting married remember? You can’t make a widower out of me before we even ….Dorian.” he called out in distress.

Dorian was still and silent for several long, heartwrenching moments; finally, he stirred slightly and then groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered and then his eyes opened.

“Amatus?” he managed weakly. He coughed, then clutched at his ribs.

“Thank Mythal and all the Creators, I thought...I thought you were gone from me already.” Meneris dabbed at his face as he held Dorian’s hand in his. “Can you move? We should check on the others if you can.”

“Inquisitor? Inquisitor!” called a voice through the ruins; with a feeling of heartfelt relief, Meneris recognised Leliana’s voice. A moment later he could see the spymistress herself picking her way through the ruins and scattered chunks of rock; as she spotted him kneeling with Dorian in his arms, she ran through the ruins towards him. “This way!” she shouted. “Bring the healers! They are hurt!”

“Spread out, Hawke, Fenris, Hal and Bull were hurt the worst… I think.” Meneris said as he rose slowly and helped Dorian get to his feet even more slowly.

“Sweet Andraste - Cullen!” exclaimed Leliana as she spotted the Commanders’ bloodied form, sprawled unmoving upon the ground. He lay atop Cassandra, still trying to protect her to the last.

“Inquisitor... the redhaired mage... I think....” called one of the men as he knelt to check on Hal. He glanced up at Meneris and shook his head.

“No….I won’t accept that. Check again.” Meneris said as he helped Dorian sit down so a healer could tend to him.

“Sir, there’s... he’s not breathing, and I can’t find a pulse,” the man shook his head.

“Vivienne...” said Dorian groggily. “She was hurt - rage demon....”

There was a scream of grief as Cullen suddenly staggered to his feet, Cassandra’s unmoving form hin arms. “No! She can’t be dead! I tried - I tried to _protect_ her! Anders - where is Anders? I need a healer here, _now!!_ ”

Hawke opened his eyes and rolled over with a groan, wondering what had run him over as he staggered to his feet and looked around, just to see Anders’ unmoving body. “No...no, no….Maker No!” he said as he dropped to hold Anders in his lap. “Come on, you didn’t survive Kirkwall and a fucking shipwreck to die like this. Open your damned eyes!”

Across the ruins, the Iron Bull groaned and rolled over onto his hands and knees and coughed painfully before spitting out a mouthful of blood. He reached for his axe then, leaning on the haft, he managed to get to his feet. He stared around, wiping blood out of his eye as he frowned. He went still as he spotted Hal lying still upon the ground.

“ _KADAN!!!_ ” he bellowed as he took off at a run, shouldering aside those who weren’t smart enough to get out of the way of six hundred pounds of distressed Qunari. He dropped to his knees next to Hal and gently scooped up his body in his arms, cradling him to his chest with tender care.

“Kadan?” he said quietly, then even softer, “K-kadan?”

He bowed his head, and then his great shoulders began to shake, silent.

Hawke was about to join him in sobbing if Anders didn’t show some sign of being alive, or if he didn’t think to check for a pulse. “Maker take me instead, please.” Vic begged while he heard another yell of grief from the field. He was aware that he hadn’t seen Fenris yet or Zevran for that matter. “Maker if they all died, kill me now.”

Anders stirred slightly then groaned. He turned his head slightly, his eyes still closed. “Hawke,” he slurred quietly. “Don’t... don’t die....”

The Champion grinned as he caressed Anders’ face. “Not dying...I dare say I’m in better shape than you. Can you move?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, but I don’t want to,” groaned Anders. “I hurt all over. What did I get hit with? Maker, that... ow.”

“Not sure since I was already down by the time you were hit. Let me tell you, red lightning that close up really, really hurts.” Hawke laughed as he got to his knees and slipped his arm around Anders to help him sit up. 

“Oh Maker,” Anders groaned. “It’s inside that hurts the worst, and I feel as though I’ve been going toe-to-toe with a templar. Must have been some sort of spirit-based attack.”

“Take it slow, I’ve got you. I want to find Fenris…and Zevran. I haven’t seen or heard their screaming yet so I’ve got hope.” Vic said quietly as he let Anders use him to rise with him.

“Did we lose anyone?” the blond mage said quietly as he glanced around, and then he went still. “Oh. Oh no. Oh no.”

“What?” Vic said as he felt Anders nearly sag in his arms. “Love?”

“Hal. Fenris. Zevran,” Anders managed to choke out, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Bull cradling Hal’s limp form beside the sprawled bodies of Fenris and Zevran.

Invictus felt like his heart was going to stop as he turned to see what Anders was talking about. “Anders...no, we can’t have lost them. Hal’s so young...so, he’s barely old enough to…” Vic tapered off as Anders pulled away from him to check on the still elves. He followed as if he were walking through wet sand, knowing what he saw versus what he could believe. 

Anders stumbled as he hurried towards the fallen, nearly falling in his haste but managing to catch himself. He flung himself down between Fenris and Zevran, not knowing which to touch first. He closed his eyes and let his consciousness reach out, simply feeling for any sign of life in either man. 

And he felt it; the thin thread of life in the white-haired warrior’s body, the heart weakly beating. Hastily he pressed his hand over Fenris’ heart and began to pour healing into him even as he reached out his other hand to touch Zevran. The Antivan’s heart fluttered weakly, the blood sluggish and slow in his veins. Anders drew a deep breath and threw healing magic into him also.

“I’m going to need lyrium!” he managed to shout as perspiration sprang out on his forehead, all his energy going into willing the two men to live.

Vic reached into his pouches and was grateful that two of the vials were unbroken. “Here, I’ll see who has more.”

“Vic... Zevran. The vial,” Anders gasped. “Did... did he....”

“If you can feel a pulse, then no.” Vic said as he knelt down between the elves and let his hands glow blue. “Who’s worse off, you take them I’ll work on the other.”

“Both... pretty bad,” Anders said. “Think... Fen is just out of danger... something in Zev resisting healing....”

“The vial, where is it?” Vic said as he brushed against it. “Damn it’s empty but I know he’d use something quick and lethal. It’s probably something he was hit with in the fight. Take over here, I’ll work on Fenris.” 

Anders waited until he could feel the touch of Hawke’s magic moving through Fenris’ body before he turned his attention to Zevran. He groaned as he realised how extensive the damage inside the still Antivan elf’s body was, and realised at once that he must have been hit repeatedly with a lightning attack, the bolt rebounding through the elf’s body before grounding. Zevran’s body responded only sluggishly to the touch of Anders’ healing magic however, and Anders shook his head, eyes closed, when he realised that Zevran’s body was slowly shutting down due to a poison at work within his veins.

“He managed to swallow at least some of it,” he muttered. “Maker... he’s a mess inside. Did any of us escape unscathed?” He was oblivious to any answer as he sunk his awareness completely into the elf’s body, giving all his concentration to healing.

“Please, a healer.... is there a healer anywhere?” Cullen was begging as he stumbled towards Meneris and Dorian with Cassandra in his arms.

“Oh, Maker, no, not the Seeker,” groaned Varric as he stumbled towards them, his face bloody from a nasty gash across his forehead. Cole hovered behind him, looking on anxiously; the spirit could feel pain and hurt and anguish all around him and didn’t know which way to turn.

“Vivienne,” whispered Dorian as he finally spotted her still form. “Oh Meneris. I’m... almost afraid to go look.”

“Go … I’ll get Cullen to a healer, I think Bull needs to be left alone and Creators, I don’t know if Fenris or Zevran will make it.” Meneris said wearily as he dragged himself to his feet and met Cullen. 

“Come, they’ve set up a triage tent over here.” Meneris tried to steer him away from where Anders was trying to save his spouses.

Leliana was walking over to Vivienne’s still form; as Dorian watched, she bent and pressed her fingers to Vivienne’s neck, then sat back with a regretful look upon her face. She glanced up, saw Dorian watching, and slowly shook her head. Dorian groaned, then let Meneris lead him away towards the triage tent. He stumbled and clutched his ribs with a wince.

“Vivienne didn’t make it,” he told Meneris as one of the healers in the triage tent came forward towards them.

“We’ll have to let ...damn who do we inform?” Meneris said as he helped Dorian to a cot for healing. “Broken ribs, yes?”

“Feels like it,” groaned Dorian. “I should think the question of who to inform is probably best answered by Anders - being the First Enchanter of Skyhold and all that. He’s -” He broke off with a hiss as the healer carefully felt over his ribs. “ _Venhedis_ , that bloody _hurts!_ ” he complained. 

Cullen stumbled into the tent with Cassandra and was directed to lay her down on a cot where three healers swarmed around her still form, and Dorian fell silent, abashed. Varric and Cullen were looking on anxiously, both shrugging off the efforts of another healer to get them to sit down and have their own wounds tended.

Hawke was getting tired as he healed Fenris, his vision seemed to swim a bit as he tried to find the elf’s injuries. “Anders...I’ll take that lyrium.” he said as he tried to keep focusing on his husband. “Dammit, you don’t get to die, none of you do.” he hissed. A hand pressed a vial of lyrium into his; as he glanced around, Solas met his gaze.

“Your... spouse... is a very brave man. And not only Chosen, but favoured of Mythal, it seems,” said the elf before rising to his feet. He tucked something away in his fur wrap as he turned away.

Hawke took the lyrium and went back to working on Fenris, his thoughts only for the elf he hoped would open his eyes soon, speak with him. Solas was unimportant, the only thing that mattered was Fenris and Zevran.

Anders was bent over Zevran’s still form, both hands pressed against the elf’s chest as he fought to drive out the poison. He was barely aware of the grief-stricken hoarse scream of the Iron Bull, or his wounded bellow of rage when the Inquisition soldiers tried to take Hal’s body from him.

Hawke looked over briefly, hopeful they would not join Bull in grieving. He went back to work on Fenris, even praying out loud for some sign the elf heard him and would come around soon.

Anders sat up slowly, awareness of his surroundings gradually drifting back as he wiped his brow with a shaky hand. Zevran would live, but it had been a close thing, and the Antivan would have a long, slow healing ahead of him yet. Still, he was at least stable enough now that he could likely be safely moved.

He glanced to Hawke. “Love? Need a - no, I can see you do,” he corrected himself, after a glance at Hawke’s face. He closed his eyes and laid his hands on Fenris’ chest, dipping into his already-depleted reserves for a little more mana, a little more healing, reaching into Fenris’ body to heal him.

Hawke moved back and took one of Fenris’ hands in his. The elf looked wrong, too still and bloodied. His hair was disheveled and some it was in his face. Vic brushed the blood stained hair from his husband’s face as he tried to keep calm. “You’re going to be fine, you’re going to open your eyes any minute. Come on Fenris, I’m begging here. I’ll ...Maker don’t let him die, please.” Vic felt tears on his face as he held the warrior’s hand in his and prayed for some sign of life.

Anders could feel his dwindling reserves dying, the mana trickle from his fingers failing. “Llyria... help me,” he murmured, reaching deep within himself. He was unaware of the golden sheen that covered his eyes, or the silvery light that gleamed from his hands; he was only aware that mana danced at his fingertips once more, flooding Fenris’ body with healing, and of the elf’s heart giving a sudden spasm and then beating fiercely once more, the elf’s body suddenly rediscovering its own strong desire to live.

“Fenris?” Hawke said when the elf’s body spasmed under Anders’ hands. “What happened?” he asked his warden spouse when the elf remained unconscious.

“Hmm?” said Anders, his voice distant and almost dreamy. “Oh. His body... wants to live. I think... he’s going to make it.”

“Thank the Maker.” Vic breathed as he let himself finally cry in relief at them surviving the battle. “I will repent everything I ever did wrong, everything.” he said.

Fenris stirred slightly and gave a low moan as Anders slumped, his hands still alight in a silvery glow.

Invictus stretched out alongside Fenris and stretched his arm over the elf. He didn’t care he was on the ground. He just didn’t want to leave any of his spouses.

“Vic... I don’t think I can keep this up,” murmured Anders. He opened his eyes a little, but when Hawke glanced up he could see only a shiver of white as the mage’s eyes started to roll back and he began to slowly fall backwards.

“Anders!” Vic said as he scrambled to catch the mage before he had a chance to crack his head open, again. Anders was a dead weight in his arms, limp and unconscious.

People were suddenly there, shifting Zevran and Fenris onto stretchers and reaching to take Anders from his arms. The Iron Bull was shuffling away, growling at anyone who came near him or even looked like they might try to take the dead redhead from his arms. Everywhere Hawke looked, people were there, helping the wounded, shrouding the dead.

Vic followed along, slowly moving as his injuries caught up with him. He held Dorian up as the Altus leaned on him since he was a bit tall to lean on his elven betrothed. The elven warrior was close at hand, his sword slung over his shoulder and Dorian’s staff in his other hand.

The journey back to Skyhold was far slower, burdened as they were by the wounded and the dead, and even those still capable of walking were exhausted and hurt. The Iron Bull walked by himself, still carrying Hal’s body, his head bowed, alone with his grief. He was given a respectful distance, even his own Chargers at a loss for how to help their commanding officer.

At Skyhold, the dead were laid out gently in the small morgue attached to the infirmary. It was here that after much gentle persuasion from, of all people, Sister Rebecca, that Bull was finally persuaded to relinquish his precious burden, laying Hal down on a stone bench. He draped a white cloth over Hal’s still form then turned away, weeping bitterly, and would not be comforted.

Anders, Fenris, Zevran, Cassandra and Dorian were confined to beds in the infirmary, and Cullen finally persuaded to submit himself to the hands of Parcival who tutted over the wounds of the Commanders and threatened to have him admitted too.

Hawke took a few minutes to clean up and returned to stretch out in a chair by Fenris and Zevran before he let his eyes close.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not always what they seem and the Inquisition looks to the future.

Blackness. It didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t feel anything; he merely... _was_.

_Hal._

“Endrin?”

_Hal, listen. We haven’t much time._

“How... how is it I can hear you? We have been joined so long - our thoughts as one! How is it that I can hear you now?”

_Hal, you are... dying. Dead, yet not; we are in that place between living and dying, between one heartbeat and the next._

“Then... you will be free soon, and I... I guess I go to...whatever comes after you die? I’m... Endrin, I’m scared. I’m not ready to die!”

_Hal. You are not going to die. I am going to send you back._

“I... don’t understand. Send me back... how?”

He could hear the smile in Endrin’s voice. _I’m sending you back in my place._

“But... no, wait, Endrin - that doesn’t make any sense. Doesn’t that mean _you’ll_ die?”

A faint smile. _Oh Hal. I died a long time ago. I’m ready to sleep now._

“Endrin, no, wait -”

_Goodbye, Hal._

“Endrin, no, stop - Endriiiiiin!!”

His mind whirled away into the blackness.

***

Anders glanced up as Hawke entered their room. They were both dressed in black; in less than an hour, all who were able would be gathering in the lower courtyard to say farewell to their fallen comrades.

The former Champion took his husband’s hand in his, a sombre expression upon his face as he pulled the blond into his arms. He’d left Fenris in the infirmary after making sure he didn’t over-exert himself. The elf could barely use a chamberpot without help so he wouldn’t let him up for the funeral. Fenris had already said his goodbyes to the fallen mage, and he’d nearly fallen back into his bed once Hawke brought him back. 

“I sent dispatches to Montsimmard and the Orlesian court earlier,” Anders said quietly. “I guess in lieu of an official Circle representative, I stand instead. I’m... I almost feel I’ve lost Vivienne just as I thought I was beginning to know her as a person. I think I’m going to miss her. But Maker, losing Hal? That... that hurts, Vic.” He bit his lip. He’d spent much of the morning red-eyed and teary. “He was too young. He shouldn’t even have been with us.”

“Love, don’t blame yourself. He made a choice to join the fight and he died bravely. Don’t let his sacrifice be lost in a bunch of blame you don’t need to take on. Come, let’s do this so we can come back here and ...I’m going to get in bed with a bottle and stay there for a few days.” Vic said as he wiped a tear from Anders’ face. 

Anders nodded sombrely. “How - how was Zevran?” he asked quietly.

“Glad we made it, hating himself for nearly taking his life. Wondering how the Void he survived. If it wouldn’t hurt Fenris, he’d be sleeping next to him right now. He’s going to be up and around well before our dragon warrior.” Vic dashed at tears that slipped down his face. “Come on, I have a feeling this is just the start of it.” 

“Dragon warrior... Hal would never have forgiven him for becoming a dragon after we told him no in the Fade, do you - do you remember?” Anders tried to smile, but his face crumpled and he began to weep quietly.

There were eight unlit pyres in the courtyard, a shrouded form draped with an Inquisition flag atop each, save two. One bore the flag of Orlais, for the former First Enchanter of Montsimmard; the other bore a plain purple flag with the device of Bull’s Chargers embroidered upon it. Hawke stared at it and turned to Anders to point it out; Anders merely nodded before Hawke could speak. “Bull insisted,” he murmured quietly.

Mages stood by at the farthest end of the two rows of pyres, ready to light each pyre in turn. The pyres with the Orlesian and purple flags were at the end closest to where Meneris and his Inner Circle now stood, waiting, clad all in black. Anders and Hawke made their way to join them. Anders gave Meneris a small bow as he took his place. He felt Hawke reach out and take hold of his hand as Meneris began to speak, and he pressed his fingers in mute thanks.

Meneris spoke briefly of the great sacrifice the fallen had made on behalf of the Inquisition in the final battle against Corypheus; how their deeds would not be forgotten. He spoke of Vivienne, her valued contribution to the Inquisition and her dedication to it from the very beginning. He spoke of Hal’s skills and talents as a healer, the debt many owed to him for their lives and health, his selfless dedication to duty.

Others spoke of the fallen, sharing reminisces. Anders found it hard to follow them. He stared at Hal’s shrouded form, and the only thought running through his mind was, _I should have tried harder. I should have protected you._

He felt a little dizzy and light-headed. He fancied he saw Hal’s shroud move, but there was a slight breeze blowing. It must have stirred the shroud, he told himself. _Maker, I’m losing it. Get a grip, Anders._

Mother Giselle stepped forward to raise her hand in a last benediction. Anders could feel a tight band of tension around his forehead and he bowed his head for a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was going to have a splitting headache for the rest of the day, he was certain.

He felt Hawke squeeze his hand reassuringly, and he glanced up to give him a sad smile; as he did so, he thought he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and stared at the pyres, frowning.

“Love?” murmured Hawke.

“Nothing, it’s... it’s nothing,” said Anders quietly.

Meneris nodded to the mages; they bowed to the occupants of the first two pyres before igniting them with carefully-aimed fireballs. The dry wood, kindling and oil ignited with a dull whoosh of flame. Somewhere behind Anders, he heard a low, dull groan of pain, and knew without looking that it was the Iron Bull.

The mages moved to the next two pyres. They bowed, then committed them to the flame.

Anders blinked. His eyes were playing tricks. He could have sworn he saw movement beneath the shroud that covered Hal’s body. “I’m going mad,” he murmured, but now his gaze was intent on that shrouded form, even as the mages stepped up to the next two pyres.

There. He wasn’t going mad; there was definite movement. “Oh Maker,” he breathed. “No, no, Maker’s breath, Andraste’s flaming knickers!” 

“Anders!” exclaimed Hawke, shocked.

There was no time. The mages were taking up position by the final two pyres; as they raised their hands, Anders was moving, screaming at them to stop as heads turned and there were gasps and then shouts of alarm.

“Stop - stop!” screamed Anders as he sprinted across the courtyard, even as the fireballs flew and the wood caught fire. Anders let his momentum carry him on, leaping up above the flames to land atop Hal’s pyre. 

Screams were erupting now from the crowd; he ignored them as he threw out a hand and a fan of ice doused the nearest flames with a loud hiss and billows of steam. There was little time. He had to move fast before the flames would engulf them both. He threw aside the purple flag and found himself staring down into Hal’s terrified eyes as the young mage stared up at him. 

The hem of Anders’ long robe was beginning to smoulder and smoke as he stooped down and scooped Hal up into his arms; he leapt down from the pyre, uncaring, Hal held close as he landed heavily then staggered away from the heat of the flaming pyre.

“Anders! What in Andraste’s name are you doing?” Vic asked as he cast ice over the other mage’s robes. “You are on fire, put him back!” 

“He’s not dead,” Anders gasped, coughing. Bull was pushing his way past the other people beginning to gather round; the massive kossith’s eye was angry and unfriendly.

“Anders...I know it’s hard to accept but let go. You are making a scene,” Invictus said as he heard a hush come over the crowd and he heard a low snarl behind him. He turned around to face the angry kossith. “Bull…”

“He’s _not dead!_ ” shouted Anders. As he spoke, Hal’s hand moved slightly and the young mage moaned.

“ _Venhedis!_ this is not possible, we...I, ok this is too weird. Pardon me.” Invictus took about four steps away and then stumbled. He hit the ground in a dead faint.

Anders coughed as a sudden breeze swept smoke over them all; he blinked hard, the smoke stinging his eyes. “He’s not dead,” he repeated. “We - we nearly killed him. He’s not dead.”

Meneris was stunned silent at the scene before him, though he couldn’t make out what Anders was doing with Hal’s body. He dragged Dorian over and asked for someone to explain, fast. “So either...Hal came back from the dead, or...or, how is this possible?” he said in a small voice as he turned to Dorian. 

Dorian stared at Hal, and blinked. “He is most certainly not dead,” he said in stunned surprise. “Though he very nearly _was_. If Anders hadn’t moved so quickly, he’d -” Dorian broke off and went pale. “ _Vishante kaffas_. We nearly burned the poor boy alive.”

“Kadan,” said a deep voice. “Kadan was dead. I held his body. He was dead.” The Iron Bull pushed his way forward and stared down at Anders, who was clutching Hal and coughing hard now, his eyes streaming.

“Dorian...this is too much, help me inside before I join Invictus,” Meneris whispered as he felt himself swaying. “For Creator’s sake, someone get him off the ground,” he added, glancing at the unconscious Champion.

The Iron Bull was staring at Hal in Anders’ arms; the young mage suddenly coughed, and gasped for breath audibly.

“We have to get him inside,” Anders managed to gasp between fits of coughing. “Quickly.” He turned away, staggering slightly as he made his unsteady way towards the infirmary, ignoring the shouts, yells and screams from the onlookers.

“Out of the First Enchanter’s way!” Meneris bellowed as he followed behind Anders. He stumbled as they entered the Keep, and wondered if he was going into shock. He heard someone trying to rouse Invictus - Cullen, from the sound of it but he couldn’t tell if the Commander was having any luck.

Anders burst into the infirmary, shouting breathlessly for Parcival and Sister Rebecca as he made his way for the nearest unoccupied bed. He laid Hal down gently then hastily shrugged off his singed robes and rolled up his shirt sleeves before leaning over Hal, whose eyelids were fluttering.

There was a sudden loud, piercing scream and the smash of shattering crockery; Anders glanced up briefly to see Sister Rebecca staring at Hal, her face white as a sheet. He swore to himself as he turned back to Hal. “Someone get her out of here,” he wheezed.

“That woke me up.” Meneris winced as he let Dorian sit him on a cot. He watched as his betrothed hustled her out of the infirmary as quickly as he could. 

Fenris sat up far too quickly four beds down, brands alight in alarm. “What...what is it?” he asked before he turned and saw Hal. “Hallucinating, definitely hallucinating. What did you give me Anders?” he asked as he tried to slow his heart.

“Someone tell him,” Anders gasped between coughs as he turned away briefly from Hal until he could take a deep breath again. He turned back to the young mage who was slowly opening his eyes, dazed and bewildered.

“Hal isn’t dead, Broody,” said Varric. “Hard to believe, I know. We all thought Blondie had gone insane - jumping up screaming at them to stop before leaping up onto the burning pyre to snatch up Red’s body. But he’s alive. Maker knows how - but it was a living boy Blondie pulled off that bundle of burning matchwood and no corpse.”

“No...no, if you try and tell me that’s true I’m going to run screaming Varric. I can’t really run, let alone walk. Don’t...don’t do this to me.” Fenris said as he gingerly laid back and closed his eyes. His eyes snapped open again instantly as he heard what was unmistakably Hal’s voice, if weak.

“Fenris... did he live? Is... is he alive?”

“I’ve gone crazy..that’s the only answer.” Fenris said before he started to laugh, the sound a bit on the hysterical side. His laughter was checked however when he heard Hal speak again, his voice weak and faint.

“He’s alive? He really is? Oh... oh Maker....” The young mage’s voice broke down into quiet weeping; over the top he could hear Anders, his voice rough and his breath wheezing, as he gently told the young mage not to distress himself and he needed to rest. The exhaustion in Anders’ voice, that roughness, the way he gasped a little for breath - all seemed just a little too real for a dream or hallucination. 

The elven warrior struggled to get up, even with Varric’s help and the walking stick he’d been given; he made it to his feet and hobbled over to where Hal was staring around. “I’m not entirely mad, how, how do you yet breathe? It’s been days, Hal.” Fenris asked as he held his hand out but didn’t dare touch the redhead.

“Broody, go on. He’s really alive, breathing and here.” Varric said.

“This is not possible, no... “ Fenris said shakily. 

“He is alive. Don’t ask me how, because he certainly wasn’t when Bull carried him here from the Temple of Ashes,” said Anders firmly, in spite of wheezing. He leaned on the bed and coughed; he’d inhaled too much smoke in the heated air of the pyre and afterwards. His lungs felt raw, his throat inflamed and roughed. He pushed on however. “Fenris, look at him. Trust the evidence of your eyes. Hal _is alive._ ”

Hal turned his head and stared at Fenris. “You live,” he managed to whisper. “Oh Maker.” He glanced back at Anders. “And... and the Bull... please, _please_ tell me he lives too?” he pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears afresh.

“I’m here, Kadan,” said the Bull, pushing his way past the gathering crowd to be by Hal’s bedside. He reached out and took one of Hal’s hands in both of his own massive hands, cradling it gently. “Oh Kadan. You live. I don’t know what’s going on, but my heart is glad at sight of you.”

“And mine at the sight of you,” Hal whispered. He glanced back to Fenris and managed to lift his other hand, though it trembled. “Fenris. It’s me. I’m really here. I’m alive.”

The elven warrior took his hand and kissed the back of it. “You are...somehow, you yet live.” Fenris moved back with a wince. “I’m still pretty banged up, we can talk later once I’m not going to fall over. Welcome back.” He gave Bull a grin before he turned to make his way back to his bed. 

Anders lowered his head, still wheezing slightly. Parcival pushed through the crowd and leaned over him, talking quietly; Anders shook his head then, with the other healer’s help, managed to walk over to a nearby bed where he sat down heavily. Parcival bent over him, one hand splayed against the First Enchanter’s head, the other resting gently on his shoulder as he began to heal him.

“Kadan. I can’t quite believe it still,” said the Bull quietly. “When I carried you away from the ruins, I _know_ there was no life in your body. You lay in the morgue for two days with no signs of life. Kadan, how is this possible?”

Hal glanced over to Dorian, who was making his way back up the ward. He locked eyes with the necromancer then glanced away after a moment. “I... cannot explain, my love,” he finally whispered. “Forgive me, I’m... very tired.”

“Of course, Kadan,” nodded the Bull. “I will sit by your side as you sleep.”

“I’d like that,” Hal smiled as his eyes slowly closed.

Fenris reached for Anders but found he was too far away. “Where...is Vic?” he asked quietly.

“Hawke’s out for the count, Broody,” replied Varric, shaking his head as he helped Fenris settle himself back into bed. “Guess the sight of Red suddenly looking around in Blondie’s arms after that dramatic rescue was just too much for him. I swear, people are going to be talking about this for _months_.” He noticed Fenris’ eyes still roving across the room. “Blondie’s just over there,” Varric pointed to Anders, now sitting slightly hunched over as Parcival pressed a hand against his back, the blue glow of healing magic visible from across the room as Fenris felt the tell-tale tugging at his brands. “He’ll be OK - I guess he breathed in a bit too much smoke. We’re lucky we didn’t lose both him and Red for real - if the wind had shifted....” Varric shook his head.

“Anders...glad he noticed.” Fenris said as he glanced to his friend. “I want my bed, I hate being in here.” he noted the way Varric looked at him. “What, you’re looking at me like you’re surprised _I_ still draw breath.” 

“Broody, I don’t know if you noticed, but when you crashed after taking out that archdemon? You came down _hard_. You shifted straight back into your usual, elf-shaped self, and you looked dead enough that Ser Crow thought you’d bought it.” Varric shook his head. 

“Zevran! Where is he?” Fenris said as he tried to get up and look for the other elf. 

“Easy there, Broody. He’s going to be OK. Look, he’s right there, in the bed next to yours, and sleeping like a baby. We nearly lost him, too. Hawke and Blondie went pretty much spare when they saw him and you lying there, both dead from what anyone could tell - or as good as. Somehow between them they pulled you both back, though Blondie had to pull some glowy-eyes shit and then had to be carried back on a stretcher. But he’s going to make it.” Varric pressed Fenris back against the pillows.

The elven warrior glanced to Zevran then back to Varric. “You shouldn’t be able to do that. Hate being so weak...wondering what didn’t break when I hit.” Fenris said as he gazed at the ceiling. “I’d kill for a hot bath, and something more substantial that broth and potions.”

“You can’t be feeling that bad if you can complain about it this much,” Varric pointed out in an irritatingly reasonable tone. “Say, if you’re doing this well, maybe they’ll let you go back to your own rooms in a day or two.”

Anders was straightening as Parcival stepped back; he took a deep breath, then gave an experimental cough before turning to the healer and nodding thanks. One of the apprentices approached him shyly with a steaming mug of tea and he smiled as he thanked her. He took a sip, then got to his feet and headed over to Fenris’ bed.

“Hello, love,” he greeted the elf. “Sorry about earlier. I was... not in a good way.” He took another sip of his tea.

“It’s ok...Varric helped. According to our rogue, I must be better since I’m complaining.” Fenris yawned and rolled to his side. “Stay...please?” he asked as he let his eyes close. Anders grabbed a chair and set it down beside Fenris’ bedside and reached for the elf’s hand with his free hand.

“As long as you wish, love,” he said quietly. “Hawke should be waking soon, I hope.” He took a drink of his tea then let his head drop back against the chair back. “Maker, that all rather took it out from me. I’m not cut out for that kind of heroics.”

“Tell that to the crowd who saw you, Blondie,” replied Varric. “The story’s going to be all over Skyhold before I can even set quill to paper. They’re probably saying you brought Red back from the dead.”

Anders pulled a face. “I told you, he was still alive. When I pulled the shroud away, he was staring up at me. Not sure which of us was the more terrified.”

Fenris mumbled something as he tightened his grip on Anders’ hand in his. The elf was asleep before either of them could ask what he’d tried to say. 

As Varric watched, Anders drained his mug and set it carefully on the ground by his feet before leaning back in the chair, still holding Fenris’ hand; he wasn’t entirely surprised when the mage’s eyes also slowly closed. He waited until he was certain both were fast asleep, then made his way quietly over to the cot where Hawke was finally stirring.

“Hey, Hawke,” he greeted the Champion as Hawke slowly sat up. “Quite the dramatic morning, huh?”

“Sure we didn’t fall into one of your stories?” Vic said as he took the mug of tea and sipped it gratefully. 

“Not one of mine,” Varric shook his head. “Not yet, at any rate.”

“Then come up with an explanation for this weird shit.” Vic said in between sips. “I mean Hal was dead, I know when someone is dead. How the entire fucking Void is he alive?” 

“Beats me, Hawke; all I know is what I saw. Dead body on the pyre, then up leaps Blondie, everyone screams, and there he is - Red alive in his arms.” Varric shrugged. “I can’t explain it any more than you can.”

“Alright, that’s ...fuck it I’m not going to come up with anything.” He finished his tea and got up with a wince. “You know, fainting on hard dirt is not something I’d recommend. I think I’m going to get a bath and something to eat while everyone is napping. Join me for a drink first?” Vic asked as he looked around the room, glad everyone who made it would be ok, eventually.

***

Two days later, Fenris was allowed to move to his own room; two days after that, Zevran was finally allowed to recuperate in his own room as well. It was to be another two weeks before Cassandra was finally released from the infirmary with firm instructions not to resume active duty for another few days - and then, only light duties at that. The Seeker chafed at the restrictions placed upon her, but accepted them grudgingly when Cullen offered to confine her to quarters for her own good for the next month if she didn’t. She was mollified when he suggested those light duties could include assisting him; the Commander had not entirely escaped unscathed either, though he was recovering well.

The Iron Bull refused to be parted from Hal’s side, and after three days of his intimidating presence Parcival decided that the redheaded healer was recovered enough from his miraculous return from the dead to be released into Bull’s care.

Thus it was a little over a month later that they were finally called together for a private meeting by Meneris. With the threat of Corypheus finally over and the Breach once again closed for good, there was much to be discussed. 

Fenris sat with Zevran, and Hawke. Anders had been placed across from him with Cullen, Meneris, and Dorian. He was curious as to what Meneris had wanted from them but he’d learned a little patience while he recovered. 

To his surprise, Anders had chosen one of his rather more formal sets of robes - a set he was fairly certain had been gifted to him by the late Vivienne. Even more to his surprise, when Leliana entered, she did not take up her customary place beside Josephine but instead nodded to Zevran, who rose and moved to stand next to the small Antivan woman instead as Leliana moved to one side to stand beside the fire.

Hawke was curious too, but he remained quiet as he watched them shuffle around until everyone seemed to be in place. “So, what’s going on?” he finally asked.

“Following the loss of Vivienne, certain...rearrangements of personnel had to be made,” said Josephine. She looked to Meneris. “Inquisitor, perhaps you would like to explain the new appointments?”

Meneris nodded in return before caught Fenris and Hawke’s eye. “Leliana has been chosen to succeed Divine Justinia, therefore we need a new spymaster. Fortunately for us, we happened to have a former Master of the Crows among us, and Zevran has accepted her post.” 

Zevran smiled and bowed with a flourish.

“Our next appointment is not one I begrudge Anders we certainly wish it was not needed. But with Vivienne’s passing; Anders is now Grand Enchanter of the Inquisition. I know he will work well with our new Divine to bring good change to the Circles.” Meneris nodded at Anders with a sad smile.

Anders inclined his head. “I wish it hadn’t fallen to me at such a high cost - but I will look forward to enacting quite a number of changes.” He suddenly grinned at Hawke. “Maker knows, enough of you here have heard me talk about them often enough.”

“Where does that leave us then?” Fenris asked, surprised neither Anders or Zevran spoke with them first. Especially considering the trip they’d hoped to take once all was said and done.

“My first act as Grand Enchanter is to formally ask, Hawke, if you would accept the position of First Enchanter of Skyhold,” said Anders quietly.

“I....if you think I would be a good fit, and can serve your needs Grand Enchanter Hawke, I will accept.” Invictus replied. Anders blinked at being addressed thus, then self-consciously grinned.

“Maker. I’m still not used to having your name,” he admitted. “I suppose ‘Grand Enchanter Anders’ just sounds too informal, but it could cause some confusion. But yes, you would be a good fit. The mages trust you, and I can think of few with your grasp of battle magic.”

“Indeed,” concurred Dorian. “You led them in battle, after all - and that engenders a kind of trust that really is hard to substitute otherwise.”

“Thank you, for this trust in me.” Hawke gave them both a respectful nod as he felt Fenris squeeze his hand.

“Fenris, we didn’t forget about you.” Meneris smiled and nudged Dorian to join his friend. “Both you and Dorian will serve as ambassadors of the Inquisition to Tevinter. Fenris, you’re an elf that freed himself from the literal shackles of the Imperium. Dorian wants to make Tevinter better than she can be. You have both put aside your differences and learned to work together. You can both be an example of what could be accomplished. It would be mean some travel, together but I think you both will take care of each other.” Meneris winked at them and grinned when he heard a choked noise from his betrothed.

“I am no diplomat Inquisitor. Do you really trust me to do this and not break whatever truce you have with the Imperium?” Fenris asked.

“Well, you won’t do any worse than our new liaison between the Grand Enchanter and the Magesterium,” said Anders with a wry grin as there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Calpernia strode in and glanced around, a little hesitant but lifting her chin defiantly. “Gentlemen and ladies, I believe you remember Calpernia? She’s the reason why we only faced Corypheus himself at the Temple of Ashes.”

“Calpernia staged a rather efficient coup amongst the Venatori and swayed sufficient of them to her side to attack the red templars and keep them occupied,” explained Cullen.

Dorian made his way around the war room table to take Calpernia’s hand. “I’m glad you made it,” he said.

“Like I said - you always were soft, Dorian,” she grinned. She glanced at Fenris. “So this is your new fellow ambassador?”

“Good to see you survived Calpernia. I knew of you in Minrathous, but we never crossed paths.” Fenris gave her a respectful bow and sat back down. 

She snorted. “And I knew of you too, Fenris, but then I think half of the city did - and the other half had heard rumours. My master was a damned sight kinder to me than Danarius was to you I think - good on you for ripping that bastard’s heart out. If ever a man deserved it, it was Danarius.”

“I only wished I’d had time to give him the death he deserved.” Fenris grinned at her before he turned to Meneris. “If you think I can do this, I accept the appointment.”

“Calpernia will be returning to the Imperium together with an appropriate retinue of staff. She will be met by Maevaris, who is helping to make the necessary arrangements,” said Anders. “Dorian and Fenris of course will be based here; they may need to return to Tevinter at various times, but with Fenris’ ability to teleport and Dorian’s ability to form a portal with Fenris, that won’t cause a problem.”

“The formal announcements will be made in two months’ time,” said Josephine as she made a couple of notes. “It takes time to do these things properly, after all, though you will all hold your new ranks effectively immediately. However, Commander Cullen has requested some time away to visit Ferelden. I believe the Seeker will be going with him.”

Cassandra blushed though she stared resolutely ahead. Next to her, Cullen was blushing bright scarlet as he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted uncomfortably. “We, ah, it should only be a few weeks - just a quick trip,” he stammered.

“I too will be visiting Ferelden briefly,” Anders said quietly. “And then we will most definitely be taking that trip to Nevarra,” he added as he smiled wrily at Fenris.

“Is it wise for most of us to be away so soon after the end of the battle?” Fenris asked as he glanced at Dorian and Meneris. 

“You all have second-in-commands,” said Josephine. “Parcival will run the College in Hawke’s absence, Thedas has been without a Grand Enchanter since Fiona led the rebellion - she sends you her regards, Anders, by the way, and says you may call upon her for advice at any time but she says -” She looked down to check her notes. “Ah yes - ‘wild horses would not have induced me to take up the position again, it is time for a new Grand Enchanter to find a new way’.”

Anders smiled. “I must be sure to thank her,” he said.

“Let me see... yes, Cullen has several seconds who can command in his absence, Dorian is not due to take up his role for two months, Cassandra is overdue a period of leave anyway - three months’ accrued, Seeker, _really?_ ”

Cassandra shrugged. “Where would I go? The Inquisition is my home,” she replied.

“Yes, well. In answer to your question, Ambassador Hawke, the Inquisition can manage without you all for a few weeks. I suggest you make the most of it.” Josephine smiled.

“Ambassador Hawke?” Fenris said before he covered his face in embarrassment. “Right...that’s me. Carry on.”

“It’s hard to get used to, don’t worry love.” Invictus said as he took Fenris’ other hand in his. “Careful Inquisitor, it may seem like you have a few Hawkes too many.”

“It is my intention that as few people will know my name as possible,” confided Zevran. “Let them all wonder and worry a while, yes? And when finally they learn the name Hawke, they will likely not connect it with the late and likely unlamented Master of the Crows, one certain Arainai....”

“Are you sure I can’t just be Grand Enchanter Anders?” said the blond mage. “It’s going to be rather awkward whenever Invictus and I go anywhere together. ‘After you, Enchanter Hawke!’ ‘No, after you, Enchanter Hawke!’ Besides, if Fiona and Vivienne could get away with using just their first names, I’m sure I should be allowed to as well.” He looked slightly disgruntled. “Don’t get me wrong - I’m honoured to bear your name, love. But if it has to be Grand Enchanter Hawke this and Grand Enchanter Hawke that, I swear I will suffocate under the grandiose formality of it all and they’ll find me halfway out the tower window and down a rope made of bedsheets before the week’s out.”

“I bet you would as well,” smiled Cullen.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t!” Anders retorted, smirking.

“Oh he would, fine Grand Enchanter Anders it is.” Vic said with a smile. 

“I believe, Inquisitor, that there is also the matter of a certain wedding...?” went on Josephine, grinning now.

“Yes, that is still something we need to do.” Meneris grinned. 

“Perhaps something to look forward to _very soon?_ ” said Dorian, arching an eyebrow meaningfully at Meneris. “I could have sworn that as I lay there bleeding and feeling like death on the battlefield I heard _someone_ saying something about not wanting to be a widower... which would rather have required us to actually be married? Not that I want either one of us to become a widower any time in the next several decades, but perhaps we should take care of that before another threat to the peace of Thedas rears it’s ugly and unfashionable head, hmm?” He grinned.

“I’d have put a ring on you then and there if I could have.” Meneris said as he took the Altus’ hand. “I believe our new Divine could officiate. Unless I could convince a Dalish Keeper to do so.” 

“You don’t need the Chantry to bless your union Inquisitor.” Fenris said with a glance at them both. 

“The Inquisitor may not need it, but it would be politic to bless the new Divine by cementing her position as head of the Chantry by allowing her to officiate,” pointed out Josephine.

“And perhaps we’d _like_ a good friend to do the honours,” replied Dorian.

“Meneris can hardly officiate at his own wedding,” Anders pointed out.

“Then why not you as Grand Enchanter?” Fenris asked.

“It would be hard for the Grand Enchanter to officiate if he’s standing with me Fenris.” Meneris said with a sly smile.

“And Grand Enchanters don’t officiate at weddings,” Anders said with a shrug then blinked. “Wait - what?” He stared at Meneris, startled.

“Well, I don’t have anyone from my Clan here. You are one of the senior members of the Inquisition and well, I’d like you to stand with me when I wed Dorian.” Meneris glanced at the others as he realized what he’d done without actually asking Anders to be at his side first. “If you’d want to that is.” 

Anders looked startled. “I thought... Cullen, maybe, or...?” 

“I asked, he politely declined. Just think about it for a few days. It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow but we should set a date. I won’t be upset if you don’t want to do it. I just thought I’d offer.” Meneris gave him a warm smile before he turned to Dorian. “Love, have you asked anyone to be with you?” 

Dorian glanced to Fenris. “Actually, I’d had in mind to ask _you_ , amicus,” he said. “That is... if you would be amenable?” He looked a little uncertain.

Fenris blinked a few times and stared at Dorian, then he looked at his spouses then back to the Altus. “I...am honored you would ask this of me. I don’t know what is required of, what is it you call it in Trade?”

“We call it ‘best man’,” interjected Cullen. “It’s quite simple really - just make sure Dorian gets to the ceremony on time and preferably sober. Or at least not completely three sheets to the wind.”

“And you all trust me to get him there, still somewhat sober? Sure you want to let me be the one to be in charge of that?” Fenris asked as he winked at his friend. “If you think I can manage, I’ll do it.”

“Oh and you have to arrange his stag party. Well you and Anders, if he accepts Meneris’ offer. Just be sure it’s not the night before so we all make it to the wedding.” Hawke said with a lecherous grin.

“I probably have even less idea of what to do than Fenris does - just how many weddings do you think mages get to attend?” exclaimed Anders. “Though that will change.”

“I’m sure our friends can help us out with that part of it.” Fenris said as he approached Anders with a grin. “Besides, imagine the mischief we can come up with together.” 

Anders’ eyebrow quirked. “Indeed. Mischief I _can_ do,” he replied.

“Oh Maker preserve us,” groaned Cullen. “Anders, _no._ ”

Anders turned and waggled a finger at Cullen. “Ah ah ah, Cullen. You’re not Knight Commander here, and anyway, I won’t be ordered around by templars, now or ever again - and nor will any mage.”

“Meneris, I think perhaps I am beginning to regret declining your offer....” groaned Cullen.

“Too late Cullen,” grinned Anders. “You had your chance.”

“You had your chance Cullen. It will be fine, I trust Anders and Fenris...mostly. Just make sure we make it to our own wedding gentlemen?” Meneris took Dorian’s hand and kissed it. “As much fun as this is, we do have work to do still to keep things running smoothly around here. Anyone else have announcements, requests, declarations of love before we adjourn this meeting?” 

Josephine glanced around as she made a few final notes. “I think that is all, Inquisitor?” she answered as she glanced around at the others for confirmation then turned back to him with a bright smile.

“Excellent, see some of you later.” Meneris left with Dorian in tow and a mischievous grin of his own for what he was up to after their meeting.


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belann takes his leave, and the Bull makes a terrible mistake.
> 
> Content warning for suicide.

Belann paced the battlements slowly. If he glanced down to his right, he could still see the scorched patches upon the ground where the pyres had burned. He found his gaze drawn to the spot where Hal had almost met his end in flames. He still couldn’t quite believe the red-haired young mage was still alive; he had seen him brought in by the Bull, a lifeless corpse. He had visited the morgue shortly afterwards; seen for himself that the young mage was truly dead. The only connection he’d had to his own Thedas. He had withdrawn to his ruined tower hideaway afterwards and gotten very, very drunk, mourning bitterly not only Hal’s death, but his own loneliness in a world he didn’t belong in and with no way to return home. He would live and die here.

Death... he knew it wouldn’t be that far off. The Calling came earlier to mages; he knew that. He’d seen other mage Wardens, ones who’d gone through the Joining even years after him, follow the Calling to their deaths and knew his own couldn’t be far off.

The dreams had been getting worse since Solona’s death. He hadn’t spoken of it to anyone; but he had slowly begun to wonder if his Calling was upon him. 

He leaned against a merlon and stared out across the mountains. He couldn’t hear the song yet, but he had the feeling it was only a matter of time. How long? He had no idea. But perhaps it was time to leave Skyhold.

He’d started out several times to hunt for Hal, Fenris, the Bull - to tell them, to say farewell. But something inside had held him back. Fear, perhaps. Particularly for the young healer. How could he tell him that soon he would leave him, that Hal would be alone in this world where neither of them belonged. Hal at least had the love of the mercenary commander - and also of Fenris. He wasn’t wholly alone - not like Belann. And then Hal was gone, and perhaps it had been for the best - until somehow, miraculously, Hal was alive. And though he knew he should tell him, Belann simply couldn’t.

He heard footsteps approaching him and glanced up - _oh Maker, no_. It was Fenris, and the elven warrior had already seen him. Belann felt a strange, paradoxical sense of excitement and anticipation and yet also a deep dread and the urge to turn and flee, but it was too late. Fenris was walking towards him with a relieved grin. Had he been looking for the Warden?

He managed what he hoped was a grin in answer. “Fenris. I haven’t seen much of you since the funerals - I understand congratulations are in order?”

Fenris gave him a shy smile and nodded. “Yes, but that’s not why I sought you out Belann.” 

“Oh?” said the Warden. “Sorry, I’ve - I was... well, hiding I guess. Hal dying, then living again - I didn’t handle it too well.” He dropped his gaze to his feet. 

“I dare say few of us did. Vic dropped in a faint, I was a bit hysterical and Zevran had a bit of a moment shall we say when he woke up to the news.” Fenris leaned against the wall and looked to the slighter man. “We’ve been worried about you, when you didn’t even show for the feasting a couple days ago I decided to see if you’d left us.” 

Belann lifted his head slowly and finally his eyes met Fenris’ concerned gaze. “Not... not yet,” he said slowly, the words coming unwillingly from his lips. “I... I think my Calling is... I think it may be starting.” He stared at Fenris hopelessly.

“Damn...have you, no you haven’t spoken to Anders yet have you? He’d probably know the most about it. Do you need to go?” asked the elf quietly. 

“I haven’t heard the song yet, but... the dreams, they’re becoming unbearable, and I... I’ve seen this happen to so many others, Fenris.” Belann drew a hand slowly over his face. “I knew my time couldn’t be far off. And since Solona died, I...” He felt wetness upon his cheek and lifted his hand away from his face to stare at the tears on his fingertips. “Fenris,” he whispered. “I don’t know whether this is a blessing. I never belonged in this world. There’s no way home. And yet... I am afraid. I - I don’t want to die.”

“May I offer you comfort? Not as before but I’ve learned just being held for a bit can help. If you are up to it, we can go see Anders.” Fenris straightened with a wince and waited for Belann. 

Belann swallowed hard, then slowly moved towards the elf. He lifted his arms slowly, hesitantly, and then wrapped them around Fenris and rested his head against the warrior’s chest. “I’m not used to you being so tall,” he murmured. “We were the same height, and now you’re taller than me.”

“I’m not a fan of it, to be honest it is giving me a bit of a complex.” Fenris rested his cheek against the smaller man’s hair and sighed. “I also have an appreciation for all that Anders has suffered being this size his whole life. I hate it.” 

“Right now... it’s... comforting,” admitted Belann. “I’m... not really feeling very...steady. Not really the Hero of Ferelden any more. Not really...anything. Just lost and....” He couldn’t carry on. His throat had tightened and his eyes stung with more tears threatening. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave Fenris and Hal. “I don’t want to go,” he finally managed to choke out.

“I’m sorry, I know that fear in a way. But it’s not the same, nor will I try to make you feel better with it. It’s safe, you can be open with me you know that Belann.” Fenris pulled him a little closer and let the slighter warden hold him close as he let his fears out.

“I don’t know what to do,” Belann confessed. “Maybe... maybe I should....” He couldn’t finish. The thought of suicide had risen unbidden in his mind. Why not? Why not choose the hour, the place of his death instead of facing the Deep Roads one last time? 

But the thought also terrified him. He lifted his head to stare at Fenris. “I... would you....” He glanced away, horrified at what he wanted to ask. No. He couldn’t do that. “I can’t. Can’t ask you that,” he whispered. “I’m...I’m sorry. Sorry.” He closed his eyes.

“Ask me what?” Fenris said in confusion. 

Belann slowly lifted his head to stare up at Fenris in hopeless despair. “Help me die,” he whispered. “But - no, I can’t do that to you. Even though I know it would be swift. But I can’t.” He lowered his head. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured. “I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to... to face the Deep Roads. I don’t want to hear the song.”

“Then we go see Zevran, he can give you a painless, fast death if you wish. Considering how Anders feels about the Deep Roads? He’d help you as well Belann. I will not be the one to end your life but I can give you means to make it as fast and easy as you wish.” Fenris rubbed his thumb over the other man’s cheek and frowned at the wetness there. “Taking this into your own hands is your choice, and I would not deny it.”

“I... I need to talk to the others. Anders, Hal... Zevran. I... maybe Meneris, the Bull too - I-I just don’t know how I am going to tell them. But.. I have to. I owe it to them. I can’t just go to Zevran and then... leave. Leave them to - to deal with....” his voice trailed off. He swallowed hard. “Fenris, I’m... afraid,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.

“I can tell, your heart is hammering. Try to slow yourself, take a breath, another. Look at me Belann. We’re not going to just go up to Zevran, ask for his best choice and let you run off to die. Talk with him, with Anders. Make sure you are ready and when you wish ...I will make sure you are not alone.” Fenris tipped the other man’s face up so he could stare in his eyes. “I’ll be there till the end.”

Belann finally opened his eyes and nodded. “I feel dizzy,” he murmured. “Can we go somewhere inside? I... I think I need to lie down.”

“Of course, can you walk or should I carry you?” Fenris asked.

Belann dropped his gaze then let his cheek rest against Fenris’ chest. “Would you carry me?” he asked in a small voice.

The warrior picked up his friend and headed into the Keep, ignoring everyone who stared at them. “If you wish to see Zevran, he could be in our room or in the Rookery.” Fenris asked as he reached the second floor and glanced at the other set of stairs before he noticed people watching. 

“I don’t care,” Belann murmured, his eyes closed as he rested his head against Fenris’ shoulder. “Take me wherever you like.” His voice was listless.

At that the elf carried Belann up to the Rookery, glad that he found Zevran working on reports and not gone. “ _Carissimi, he needs your advice._ ” 

Zevran glanced up, and as he stared at Belann in Fenris’ arms his expression altered slightly, an odd look in his eyes. “Ah,” he said softly. “It is time?”

Belann merely nodded. Zevran laid down his quill and sat back in his chair. “You wish to choose the hour and manner of your death,” he stated simply. “I can help you. If this is truly what you wish.”

Fenris set Belann down gently in the chair opposite Zevran. The Warden sat there, head lowered, his hands clasped in his lap. “I - I think so,” he managed. Zevran frowned.

“You are uncertain.”

Belann nodded. “I don’t know if I’m ready. But....” He finally lifted his head and stared at Zevran. “You know what will be coming for me if I don’t do this. And we are far away from the nearest entrance to the Deep Roads. Either I do this now, or... or I should travel to Vigil’s Keep.”

Fenris poured them all a drink, Belann’s had three fingers of whiskey while he gave himself and Zevran two of Starkhaven Malt. Belann’s hand shook as he took the glass, and he cradled it in both hands before sipping slowly. “I don’t know if I can go through with this,” he confessed quietly. “But the other choice....”

Zevran nodded, once, as he accepted his drink. “It is not an easy choice to make,” he said softly. “But I can give you a gentle yet swift passing if that is your wish.” His voice was calm and quiet; his eyes had taken on a distant, almost dispassionate gaze.

“He wishes to...say goodbye, one last time before he does anything.” Fenris said as he leaned against Zevran’s desk and sipped his drink. 

Zevran nodded. “Have you thought of where you wish this to happen?” he asked. “I will take care of... afterwards.”

Belann looked up, a grateful look on his face. “I hadn’t, but... thank you. I’m... I don’t know how to tell them, but I want to. Fenris has promised to stay with me until the end.”

Zevran tossed back the rest of his drink then rose from his chair to cross to a tall wooden cabinet. He traced his fingers along the top of various vials, then picked out two. He set out a small flask and an empty vial, then carefully poured a measure from one vial and added several drops from the second. Stoppering the vials, he picked up the flask and swirled it carefully, he stared at it intently as the clear liquid slowly took on a faintly amber tinge. He gave a satisfied nod then very carefully poured the liquid into the empty vial which he stoppered before turning back to them, the vial still in his hand.

“This poison will send you to sleep before stopping your heart. You will be dead within three minutes. It will be swift and painless,” he said quietly. “It is your choice whether to take this or not.”

Belann slowly nodded, swallowing hard as Zevran handed the vial to him. He stared down at it, then tossed back the rest of his drink before slowly getting to his feet. “Let’s go and find Anders. And Hal,” he said heavily. His face was pale, but a resolute look had entered his eyes.

Zevran nodded, downing his own drink as Fenris did the same before they went in search of the two healers.

Saying goodbye would not be easy.

 

***

Belann finally drew his last breath on a calm sunny morning a few days later with Fenris and Hal by his side; the funeral was a quiet affair, attended by the Inner Circle, Bull's Chargers, and the guards who had stood duty in the dungeons during Solona's incarceration. Anders performed the simple ceremony of the Warden’s last rites, donning his Warden’s blue and greys for the occasion.

When it was over, the Chargers headed to the tavern with the guards to hold their own private wake. Anders excused himself and went to his rooms in a sombre mood. It took Hawke and Zevran a little while to realise that both Hal and Fenris were missing - and that neither had accompanied the Bull and his Chargers to the Herald’s Rest.

Fenris had gone to the clearing near the Keep, his mind ill at rest as he thought on Belann. He found himself on one of the hilltops, his mind and gaze wandering to the sky. Eventually he knelt, brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on shifting, letting his form change to that of a dragon once more so he could take to the skies over Skyhold.

He rose through the clouds, white and silver wings taking him high as he could go before he spiraled down gracefully and passed by the battlements just close enough for the guards to see him overhead. After a couple of hours, Fenris landed on the top of the crumbling ruined tower that had been Belann’s old hiding space, and settled in for a bit before he realized he could see Hal across from where he rested. 

He stared at the young mage and brought his draconic gaze to bear upon him, the great emerald-green eyes focusing. He marvelled at how close he could focus, his sight so much greater, sharper, focused than it could ever be in his normal elven form. He could pick out Hal’s face, even to his eyes, right down to the tears clinging to Hal’s eyelashes below the troubled golden eyes.

Tears. Hal was crying. As much as a dragon could frown, Fenris realized did so as he noticed the tears of his friend. He flew over and offered his neck for Hal to climb onto him for a ride. He wished he could speak as Hal simply reached out and touched his snout instead of climbing on for a ride. He nudged at the mage as gently as he could to get him to understand what he wanted. He dared not try to ...what, roar, huff for fear he’d blow Hal away. He was also conscious of people gathered to stare at the dragon that was behaving oddly, the shouts and cries of alarm. 

Hal stared up at the dragon, lifting a hand to dash away the tears still spilling from his eyes as he stared up at him. He tried to smile, tremulously, as he reached out to gently stroke the dragon’s nose, before abruptly throwing himself forward to fling his arms about as much of the dragon’s head as he could, pressing his cheek against the dragon’s warm hide as he sobbed.

“You don’t know... you don’t know what it’s like, to have flown once and never again,” he gasped out between sobs. “And... and I’m so - so _lonely_... Endrin, he - he’s gone, he’s dead, he left me so... so I could live, a-and I _want_ to fly, to be a dragon as you are, and - and I _can’t!_ ”

Fenris gently nudged Hal back and shifted so the redhead could better get the hint. He made a low rumbling noise of encouragement, beckoning Hal with a slight movement of his head.

Hal blinked back his tears and pulled back from the dragon to stare at him in a little confusion. He wiped away his tears again with the back of his hand as he stared at the the dragon's long neck and the joints of his wings, taking in the huge size of him. 

"You... are you... do you want me to climb on your back? You - you want me to ride you?" he said, a little disbelieving even as an almost hopeful look lit up his tearful eyes.

Fenris dipped his head, _yes_ , and rumbled again, glad Hal finally understood

Hal drew a deep breath then stepped forward. He ran his eyes over the dragon, then carefully stepped onto Fenris' outstretched forelimb. He put one foot against the curve of the dragon's curved shoulder as he grasped the neck ridge, then tugged up the skirts of his robes so he could swing himself up and astride the dragon's back just in front of the huge wing joints, gripping firmly on with his knees as he braced his hands against the warm neck, much as he would have done on an unsaddled horse.

"I'm ready!" he called, a little nervous.

Fenris roared happily before he took off, careful not to go too fast or pull any moves that would unseat Hal. He heard Hal give a little gasp as Fenris lurched upright, and tightened his grip with his knees as the dragon’s immense wings beat down, launching into the air; and then as they soared up high above Skyhold, Fenris felt Hal slowly loosen his grip and relax.

As they glided high over the mountains, spiralling slowly on a lazy thermal, Hal stared down in wonder. The air up here was bitterly cold; it bit through his robes mercilessly, and stung his already tear-sore eyes; but he felt a strange euphoria as he clung to Fenris’ warm back and stared down at the snowy peaks far below. As the silver and white dragon swooped then dipped down to follow the course of a silvery stream far below, a cry of exuberant delight slipped from Hal’s throat and he grinned. The wind whipped wildly at his long red hair; it would be a tangled mess by the time they landed, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the chill wind that knifed through his robes, numbing his fingers and his cheeks, his chilled and cold legs. He was flying. _They_ were flying. And he wished he could fly like this forever.

Fenris dipped lower until he spotted a place to land and rest for a bit before they returned. He landed and turned so Hal could climb down. Hal stayed where he was for a moment before he slowly and stiffly climbed down from the dragon’s back. He stumbled as he dismounted, his numb legs clumsy, and he managed to stagger a few steps before falling heavily to the ground. He raised his head as the dragon swung his great head around to stare down at him in concern. Hal lifted a hand. “It’s alright, I’m just a little stiff,” he said, trying to reassure the dragon. “I’ll be alright in a minute. These robes aren’t very practical for riding - on horses _or_ dragons.” He grinned ruefully as he sat up and patted the white nose, and then a faintly stunned look came across his face.

“Maker. I just rode upon a dragon.”

Fenris huffed what could have been a laugh before he shifted back to his normal elven self and laid back to stare at the sky. "That's better, too odd not to be able to talk."

It was bitterly cold on the mountainside, but neither man cared for the moment. Fenris’ blood was still heated from his dragon blood, and Hal was too exhilarated from the ride. After a few moments however, Fenris became aware that Hal was shivering.

"Start a fire and come here so I can hold you. Unless you're ready to go back?" Fenris said as he gathered some wood and reached for the redhead. Hal scrambled over into Fenris’ arms and gestures at the wood, igniting it with a muttered word and a gesture before turning to curl up against Fenris, shivering violently in earnest now.

“Robes... n-n-not g-good f-f-f-for r-riding... riding d-dragonback,” he managed to get out between chattering teeth. “W-will wear - wear p-p-pants next - next t-time.” He huddled close against Fenris’ side, shaking. A moment later, his head jerked up, his wide. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he stammered. “I ass-ss-ssumed... th-that is, I-I-I....” His voice trailed off as his teeth chattered violently, his face flushing faintly pink in spite of how cold he was, mortified that he’d blurted that out. This had been a magical experience - and presumably Fenris would fly him back afterwards - but beyond that? How could he presume upon Fenris to take him for more rides? He didn’t even have any idea what transforming into the dragon even _did_ to Fenris. For all he knew, it might be actually painful for the elf to transform, much as using his brands had always been.

He only dimly remembered his own transformation in the Fade. He remembered the excruciating pain of the arulin-holm piercing his chest, his heart; his heart rending in two as it strove to beat around the blade thrust through it - and then heat, a warmth through the pain, his body left behind as he soared as a dragon - and then fighting, tearing, biting, slashing, blood and pain and fire before plunging towards the ground, his teeth embedded in scale-hide and flesh. Dim remembrance of another dragon, green, fighting at his side but he was fading fast. He saw the light in his enemy’s eyes go dark but he had lost too much blood, he was too weak, too cold through loss of blood and -

Someone was shaking him, calling his name. He opened his eyes to stare into Fenris’ frightened eyes.

"We're going back, I'm not letting you freeze to death out here. Can you hold on until we can get to somewhere warm?" Fenris asked shakily.

Hal shook his head. “Too cold,” he whispered. “C-couldn’t h-hold on. N-need... need you.”

"Ok...I'm going to change just enough for my wings to cover us. Hopefully it helps." Fenris closed his eyes, frowning a little in concentration; with a grunt from the elf, a large pair of silvery-white wings erupted from his back, tearing through his shirt and tunic. He curled his wings around them both, hopeful it would be enough to warm Hal. He grimaced ruefully at the touch of cold air upon his back through his torn clothes.

Hal lifted his head, his eyes wide as he watched the wings unfurl; a moment later, those same wings were enfolded around him as he huddled shivering against Fenris. He felt the warm leathery touch of the wings against him, brushing against his cold leg; and they felt warm, hot blood pulsing through them as the delicate silver tracery that spanned the snow-white surface glowed faintly.

“Is that... is that lyrium?” Hal murmured, lifting one hand to touch the shining web-like silver lines absently. He was slowly beginning to warm up and feeling strangely drowsy. He rested his head against Fenris’ chest and smiled faintly. “‘S nice. Pretty.”

"Yeah, even changing to a dragon won't undo these damned lines. " Fenris murmured. "Getting warm?" he asked. There was no answer; he frowned, then nudged the younger man. “Hal? Hal, talk to me.”

“Mmm? Sorry... so nice and warm, and I was suddenly very tired,” answered Hal, trying to stifle a yawn. “I think... maybe I got too chilled.” He was quiet a moment as he rested his head against the elf’s chest and listened to his heart beating, reassuringly strong and steady. Hal was fairly tall, if somewhat slender, but Fenris now stood taller, and with his warrior’s bulk Hal felt somehow smaller in his arms. He found his thoughts drifting towards the Iron Bull but mentally shied away from comparing the two men. “Do we have to go back just yet?” he added a little wistfully.

"No, we can rest for a while," Fenris replied as he curled against Hal. The redhead made a small pleased sound and nuzzled against Fenris’ chest.

After a while, he shifted slightly. “Fenris... do you think Belann is at peace now?” he asked quietly, his voice subdued.

"Yes, I think so. He was ill at ease until he made his decision. He smiled at us as he went." Fenris rumbled, his voice lower than usual with his partial change.

“I hope so,” said Hal softly. “Since Solona died, he’s been like - like a ghost, really. Only half-alive. I don’t think anyone knew how to help him. He was in the wrong world, out of place... like me, I guess.” He shrugged. “But he had no-one. I’m glad I have the Bull. And you.” He turned slightly and slipped his arms around Fenris’ waist. “Maker, there’s so much more of you,” he murmured; Fenris could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re taller than me now. I bet you could wield the Bull’s axe one-handed.”

Fenris made a noncommittal noise as he sat there. "I guess, I just wish I wasn't so self conscious about these changes."

“Don’t be,” murmured Hal as he hugged Fenris. “I like it. And... and I like you as a dragon, too,” he added shyly. “Even though I....” He ducked his head, and closed his eyes. “Even though I envy you that,” he finally added.

"I'd trade it in a heartbeat. It's making me self conscious," Fenris repeated.

“Does it... hurt?” asked Hal, lifting his head to stare at Fenris. “When you... change?”

"A little, it's not as bad as when I'd use my brands. If I could, I’d trade with you," Fenris said as he hugged Hal close.

“At least you don’t have to stab yourself in the heart to change,” Hal tried to joke; his laugh came out more like a strangled sob as he clung to Fenris. “When you crashed... I thought you were dead,” he breathed. “I thought Bull was dead, and then you were... and your body changed back and there was so much blood and I was so afraid you were both dead and I _tried_ , Maker I tried _so hard_ to heal you even as Corypheus attacked me and I was afraid it wasn’t enough, that we would die together there....”

"I thought I _was_ dead to be honest," admitted Fenris quietly. He sighed and nuzzled against Hal. "I was probably more surprised to hear you speak."

“And I...” Hal glanced away and swallowed hard. “I-I _was_ dead... wasn’t I? I’ve heard the rumours and whispers behind my back. Some say Anders worked a miracle and brought me back. Others... others say....” He closed his eyes and shivered, even though he was no longer chilled. “There’s a rumour that... that I’m an abomination. That a demon possessed my dead body, is pretending to be me, walking around in my form. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

"I don't know if he brought you back or not. I thought I'd lost my mind finally," said Fenris slowly.

“It was Endrin,” said Hal quietly. “He let himself die so I could live. Even though leaving my body meant oblivion; that he’d cease to exist. He told me that he died a long time ago and it was time to rest. And then I felt myself being carried, laid on wooden logs. I could smell lamp oil, and there was a cloth over me - and then I could smell burning but I was too weak to move.” He didn’t realise an urgent, almost frantic tone had started to creep into his voice. “And then I heard the fire hit below me, and I knew I was going to burn alive and- and Maker, I have never been so glad to see Anders’ face in all my life!” He turned and buried his face against Fenris’ chest, and suddenly all of the fear and terror, the loneliness and the delayed reaction from everything he’d been through came out at once and he was sobbing against Fenris’ chest.

"I'm glad he realized you were not yet gone, or back as it were. I was nearly unconscious in the infirmary when he brought you in. You're safe, you're safe." Fenris tried to comfort him as best as he could as they sat there.

Hal continued to cry, hunched over in Fenris’ arms, finally letting everything out that he’d been holding in. The torrent of tears held him in its grip for several long minutes as he shuddered, heartwrenching sobs torn out of him until finally it was over and he sagged against Fenris, wrung out, exhausted, but calm at last.

After a while in which Fenris merely held him gently, giving Hal the space needed to slowly pull himself back together, the younger man finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That was... I didn’t mean that to happen.”

"It needed to, I probably need to do the same, to be honest," Fenris admitted quietly.

Hal straightened, pulling away from Fenris slightly so he could turn and meet the elf’s gaze. “Fenris?” he said softly. He lifted a hand and cupped the elf’s cheek gently, his golden eyes still red-rimmed but understanding.

"I've not...there's a lot I've not dealt with. I don't know how to, Hal. I never learned how to deal with some of my feelings. Everything is so intense for me and I'm not always able to speak about how I feel," Fenris said quietly.

“I’m here,” said Hal softly. “If you’re able to talk, I’ll listen. And if you can’t... I’m still here.” He shifted slightly so he was sitting in Fenris’ lap, and he wrapped his arms around the elf’s neck and hugged him. “I’m here for you,” he murmured. “Whatever you need, however you need it - I’m here for you.”

Fenris laughed hoarsely. "Honestly, what I need is another visit with Bull to clear my head. I want a dark, violent night to get all this shit off my mind. They...don't get it. Zevran won't play with me like that, and I can't with Anders or Vic because they are mages."

Fenris drew a breath and sighed heavily. "I'm scared I'll mess up in my post as ambassador, who thought I'd be good at diplomacy?"

“Why... why does Anders and Invictus being mages affect things?” Hal asked slowly, and then his eyes widened. “Oh! You mean... blood-letting? You... you want to....”

Fenris laughed again with no humor. "Invictus and I used to have a relationship like you and Bull but I was in control. Anders is usually happier to let us take control of him. I was a slave in Minrathous so I have issues with letting a Mage control me that way."

“Oh,” said Hal; Fenris didn’t miss either the way the young man’s cheeks had coloured slightly, nor the relieved look in his eyes. “Um. Well, I don’t think I could have done that for you,” he admitted. “But Bull made it clear his door is open to you whenever you need to... to do that.”

"After an incident with Zevran, I've avoided blood play." Fenris said quietly. "Maybe I can ask for a visit before we leave for Nevarra, I need... I want, I need an emotional break and I can't get there on my own lately."

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hal asked gently. “Bull would do that for you but he’s not here right now - I am.”

“Oh Hal,” Fenris smiled softly. “Sweet, gentle Hal. My heart is a little lighter just knowing you live - that you’re here, alive, right now.” He drew the slender man back into his arms gently with a fond smile. “Even if you _are_ still a little cold and shivering,” he suddenly realised.

“Ground’s cold,” murmured Hal. “And these robes are my indoor ones. I hadn’t exactly anticipated taking a ride on dragonback through the freezing mountain air.” He glanced up. “I did love it though,” he added hastily.

“It is time to get you back to the warmth of Skyhold,” Fenris decided. “I will carry you in my hands, close to my chest so I can keep you warm.”

They rose to their feet and Hal stepped back, shivering a little, as Fenris’ form glowed with blinding silvery-white light, his shape changing and growing until the dragon towered over Hal once more. It stooped down and held out one immense, taloned hand, and Hal clambered up into his palm then clung to what he thought of as a thumb as the dragon straightened, lifting Hal up to cradle him against its smooth, warm chest, curling its other hand around him protectively. Hal lifted his head to peer over the dragon’s hands as it crouched, muscles bunching and contracting as it lifted its wings; and then with a mighty leap and a downbeat of the dragon’s wings they were airborne and winging their way swiftly towards Skyhold.

Instead of the slow, meandering, swooping flight they had taken before, they sped directly for the fortress; but still, Hal was exhilarated by the breathtaking ride - literally, for the cold mountain air seemed to snatch the breath from his very lungs. He didn’t care; he would not have traded places with anyone in all of Thedas itself at that moment - except, perhaps, Fenris himself. He would have given anything to be able to soar as a dragon himself, but perhaps riding a-dragonback or being carried, warm and safe, in the hands of such an immense winged creature was the next best thing.

The Iron Bull loved Hal dearly, but he had never been able to understand Hal’s fascination with and love of dragons. Bull had taken Hal along on precisely one dragon hunt, and it had been a disaster. Hal had screamed for Bull not to kill the majestic creature, and had wept bitterly over the dead dragon afterwards. He couldn’t bear to watch as they hacked off its huge head for a trophy, and he had refused to speak to Bull the whole way home - and locked himself in his room for three days afterwards, grieving the senseless slaughter. It had taken Bull a long time to get back into Hal’s good graces; thereafter, Hal remained behind in Skyhold when Meneris and Bull went dragon-hunting, and everyone tactfully avoided bringing the subject up in his presence.

He could see Skyhold ahead now; a distant speck that gradually took on shape and form as they winged ever closer. The evening was drawing in, the setting sun painting the snow-draped mountains in rose and gold as they spiralled high over the keep before slowly gliding down towards the Lower Courtyard. The dragon backwinged for a few moments, the downdrafts of his wings stirring up dust as he hovered, then he set his great hind feet down and folded his wings neatly on his back.

People were hurrying towards them; the dragon’s reappearance had hardly gone unnoticed, nor Hal’s disappearance, and armed men now ran towards them, the Bull in the forefront wielding his immense axe as he bellowed in fury and pounded towards the dragon even as it stooped to set Hal upon the ground.

“Bull, no!” shouted Hal as he clambered hastily out of the dragon’s hands. He stood in front of the dragon with arms outstretched as the immense kossith swung his axe. “Bull, stop! It’s Fenris!” He ran forward to try and halt the Iron Bull’s blow. "Katoh! _Katoh!!_ "

The Iron Bull’s expression changed to surprise and then horror; he tried to halt the swing of his axe.

Someone screamed; but Hal was silent as he crumpled to the ground, his hair in disarray about him and covering his face. Blood slowly pooled beneath his head, seeping slowly outwards.

The dragon’s form shimmered then shrank as Fenris returned to his elven form before dashing forward to drop to his knees next to Hal’s still form. The Iron Bull was slowly, gently turning Hal over, and there were horrified gasps as the full extent of what the axe swing had done became visible.

A huge gash had opened up Hal’s face; it bisected the faded scar of the Tranquil brand upon his forehead, splitting apart his eyebrow and right cheek and destroying his eye. White bone gleamed through the bloody ruin in places.

“The healer - send for the Grand Enchanter!” cried Cassandra as she and other members of the Inner Circle pushed their way past the gathered crowd of people who were exclaiming in horror.

“Look what you’ve done!” exclaimed Fenris; then louder, almost a scream. “ _Look what you’ve done!!_ Was it not enough that he died once but you had to kill him? For what?”

“You were.. a dragon, a monster, I was trying to protect him -” The Bull reached for Hal, his hands shaking.

“ _You_ are the monster!” screamed Fenris. “He was fine! I’d set him down unharmed, and then you come in swinging that bloody thrice-be-damned axe like some raving lunatic! You’ve killed him!” He smacked away the Bull’s hands. “Don’t touch him! You don’t have the right!”

“He is my Kadan!” roared the Bull.

“And you’ve _murdered him!_ ” Fenris roared back.

The Bull jerked back, stunned; Fenris reached for Hal’s still form and gathered him gently into his arms as he rose to his feet.

“Make way!” roared Cullen as he and Cassandra beat back the crowds to let him pass with his precious burden. Fenris didn’t see or hear them; he was focused only on getting Hal to the infirmary and Anders. He could hear only the laboured breaths that Hal struggled to take, weak and feeble, and prayed he could reach the infirmary in time.


	79. Chapter 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders pulls Hal back from the edge as Fenris falls further and further away from them all.

Fenris shouldered the door open, screaming for Anders as he found a vacant cot and talked to Hal, promises and pleas to keep breathing as he turned to look for his husband. “Anders! Anders...please.” He turned to Hal and let his brands light again, hopeful he could pull off the same trick he’d done before. “Mythal if you care about me at all, help me...please.” Fenris whispered as he turned to see Anders before him. “Help...him please.” he begged.

Anders stared down at Hal, a little out of breath himself having raced through the halls of the keep to reach the infirmary the moment a panicky runner told him the bare gist of what had happened. He still wore the Warden blues he’d conducted Belann’s funeral in; he shrugged off the quilted jacket even as Parcival hurried forward to help him out of the tunic. Clad in his shirtsleeves, he pushed them up to his forearms and laid his hands over the ruined mess of Hal’s face, his palms already glowing bright blue.

“What happened?” he said tersely as he frowned in concentration. “Maker, this is a mess. Parcival, I need you to monitor him, keep his heart beating and lungs functioning whilst I deal with the head injury.”

“Yes, Grand Enchanter,” murmured the other healer as he moved to the other side of Hal and laid his hands upon the young man’s chest, his hands glowing blue.

“I ...we flew for a while, and when I landed Bull came out swinging, Hal got in the way and he couldn’t pull back in time. He was going to take an axe to me, Anders,” Fenris said shakily as he watched Anders work.

“I guess he saw a dragon and got excited,” Anders said distractedly. “I want Meneris down here. Now.” He closed his eyes and became still, a small frown still furrowing his brow, even as one of the nearby Chantry sisters dashed off immediately to do his bidding; distracted, Fenris couldn’t recall her name. As Fenris stared anxiously down at the still form of the red-haired mage, he could see the rent flesh and skin of his face slowly drawing back together, the white sheen of bone mercifully soon hidden by rewoven muscle and then skin growing over the fresh raw scar that stood out so livid and dark against Hal’s pale face. Anders’ head dropped lower, and Fenris knew the mage’s consciousness was wholly sunk now within the damaged tissues of Hal’s head, his brain, delicately repairing the damage that the Iron Bull’s axe had wrought. In this state, Anders was oblivious to all around him. The light around his hands had turned silvery and pale; as Fenris stared at Anders, his eyes drifted half-open, and the elf could see that the warm amber of Anders’ eyes had been replaced by the golden glow of spirit energy.

Fenris didn’t interrupt, he just lit his brands and offered his hand in case Llyria or Anders needed more energy from his lyrium. He felt tears on his face but didn’t move to dry them. He was focused on Hal and Anders only. Even the noise of shouting from outside the infirmary was a distant buzz to him.

Anders lifted a hand without looking and Fenris stretched his own hand towards him; they laced their fingers together, Anders drawing gently upon the power of the elf’s lyrium. Fenris could feel the power flowing painlessly through him into the waiting hand of the mage and directed down into Hal’s body.

Sister Rebecca had appeared beside him at some unknown point; she was gently wiping away the blood, cleaning it out of Hal’s loose tresses with a wet cloth, her eyes full of gentle concern for the healer.

Hal suddenly gasped, then moaned faintly.

Fenris frowned slightly and pushed more power into Anders, as he rested his other hand on Hal’s shoulder, his worry slowly easing as Hal seemed to be coming around. He was going to have it out with Bull once the young mage was out of danger.

Hal opened his left eye slowly and blinked; his right eyelid was motionless, a scarred mess that was red and livid. Anders’ hands still glowed silver.

“Where am I?” said Hal weakly. “Why can’t I open my eye?”

“In the infirmary, be at rest.” Fenris finally dashed at his face with his free hand and grimaced at the blood he noticed. “Bull...he was going to attack me when we landed and you took the blow. I’m afraid you won’t be able to see fully again.”

“What... what do you mean, not see fully again?” Hal asked slowly, an anxious note creeping into his voice. “Fenris?”

“I don’t know how to say this but....your skull was split, his blow landed across your face and your right eye ...it’s not gone but it’s …” Fenris looked up to Anders at a loss for how to explain the mess that had been made of Hal’s face.

Anders lifted his head with a visible effort, his hand still glowing silver and the other hand not breaking contact with Fenris. “Trying to save it,” he said tersely. His head lowered again as he closed his eyes.

Hal’s good eye stared up at Fenris, frightened; in spite of his fear however, he managed a weak smile. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice shaky.

“He should have struck me, I wish he had,” Fenris said softly as he let his fingers card through Hal’s hair. “I am going to have words with him about that. He won’t think to take an axe to me again when I’m done.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you,” began Hal, then broke off with a faint hiss, stiffening as he closed his good eye.

“Sorry,” murmured Anders. “It’s... Parcival, nerve block. Quickly.”

The other healer reached over and pressed a hand gently to the side of Hal’s head; his fingers glowed blue, and a moment later Hal visibly relaxed.

“You’re ...a noble man, Hal. Rest alright? I...I need to clean up and change clothes. I’ll be back to sit with you a little later, is that ok?” Fenris realized he was shaking now that Hal was out of immediate danger and he needed to get away from the infirmary before he lost his composure.

“Fenris! Please, don’t leave me!” pleaded Hal, reaching a hand towards Fenris even as the elf pulled his fingers away from Anders’ grasp. The blond mage opened glowing golden eyes to stare seemingly through him wordlessly, before he turned his face away and closed his eyes, bowing his head once more as he focused on healing Hal’s face. The scarring was already less livid, the ruined skin smoother, less raw and angry-looking.

Fenris halted and let Hal hold on to him. He glanced down at the mage then up to Anders as he concentrated. He let his brands light again, taking Anders’ hand once more, and let his husband work.

Meneris and Dorian burst in suddenly, Cullen only a couple of steps behind.

“...Maker, it was a mess, Inquisitor - we have the Bull confined to quarters for now, but -” Cullen’s voice trailed off as they came to a halt a respectful distance away from where Anders worked to heal Hal. After a moment, Meneris heard the Commander’s voice murmuring a fervent prayer to Andraste quietly under his breath.

Fenris glanced up and snarled until he saw who it was. He felt a tiny squeeze to his hand and relaxed as Hal held on to him. He prayed to Mythal instead, his voice low and soft as he pleaded for Her help.

“Easy, Amicus,” said Dorian, his voice slow and soothing. “It’s only Meneris, Cullen and I. Cassandra is keeping everyone else out. How... how is he?”

Parcival glanced up. “He is conscious and out of immediate danger. Anders is trying to save his eye.”

There was a stifled sob from Hal, who bit his lip as he blinked up at Fenris.

“Easy Hal, easy…I’m here.” Fenris said softly as he looked to Dorian and then back to Anders. He let his brands light a little more as he watched Anders closely. “Take all you need from me.”

The Inquisitor caught himself from going into an utter rage as he realized that Anders needed to concentrate. “We have barely stopped that ancient asshole from destroying us, yet we have this happen? I ought to ship Bull back to Par Vollen in a crate,” he hissed as he paced.

Hal stared at Fenris, never taking his gaze from the elf’s face. His good eye blinked rapidly as he fought to hold back tears. He said nothing however, merely tightened his grip on Fenris’ hand.

The scars across Hal’s face were smooth and faded now, silvery against his olive skin, but still the injured eye wouldn’t open. Anders was slumping now, and Sister Rebecca laid aside her cloth to step to his side and support him with her own sturdy strength.

“I’ll pack him up myself after I snap his horns off for a trophy,” Fenris snarled.

“No, he’ll be judged and I won’t just let my anger get the better of me right now. But I am most displeased,” Meneris said wearily.

“Hush,” ordered Anders tersely. “I can feel his heart speeding up. You’re distressing him. Can you have this discussion elsewhere, or else be silent?” His eyes were still closed, his brow beaded with sweat as he worked on the delicate connections inside Hal’s head and eye, still working to try and repair the damage and trauma.

Hal’s fingers were gripping Fenris’ hand so tightly, his knuckles had whitened.

“Apologies, Anders; come - we should let him work in peace. Dorian and Cullen, to my office please?” Meneris requested.

“ _Forgive me, I will abide by your wishes Hal._ ” Fenris said in Tevene as he was glad for once that Hal couldn’t really hurt him with how hard he was gripping his fingers.

Hal’s damaged, scarred eyelid suddenly twitched, then half-opened.

“It itches,” murmured Hal.

“Don’t try to open it yet,” said Anders, visibly sagging against SIster Rebecca’s support in spite of the power of lyrium Fenris was feeding into him. “The healing’s not finished, but I’ve done what I can I think. The rest... the rest will have to come naturally. Rebecca, the eye will need a dressing - it needs to be kept covered for at least a week. We’ll see then if the eye has been saved. I’ve reconstructed it as best I can but the nerves need to regrow. I’m just glad there was enough tissue there to regrow it.” He let his hand fall away and the silvery glow faded. Anders lifted his head to glance at Fenris, the golden glow still glazing his eye.

“Thank you for helping, love, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured as the golden glow slowly faded and he stumbled.

“Easy now, let’s get you sat down, Grand Enchanter,” said Rebecca. “Parcival, if you’d give me a hand?”

Between them they helped Anders to a chair, the blond mage protesting wearily that he’d be fine, he only needed a little rest and a chance to catch his breath. The Chantry sister returned to dress and bandage Hal’s eye. With Fenris’ help, the young man was able to sit up as she worked.

“The Grand Enchanter is a marvel indeed,” she murmured. “His powers are so much greater now he shares his spirit with that of the elven healer; I do not know of any other healer who could rebuild an eye like that. If anyone can save your sight, it is he.”

Hal remained silent, not answering; he held still as she placed the soft dressing over his right eye then gently wound a white bandage around his head to hold it in place. “Do not touch it, and do not get it wet,” she instructed him. “I will change the dressing in two day’s time.” As she stepped away, Hal nodded understanding and opened his good eye.

“Hal, are you going to be alright now if I go wash up and change clothes?” Fenris asked once Sister Rebecca was done. “I won’t be long, I promise and I will...I will not seek out Bull. Whatever you ask of me, I will abide your wishes.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” said Hal shakily. “I’d rather rest in my room. Or... or yours... if that’s OK?” He glanced at Fenris anxiously.

“If Anders says it's fine, I’ll take you to my room.” Fenris said tiredly. He turned to his husband for the ok to move Hal.

“Anders says that’s perfectly OK,” replied the blond mage wearily. “And in fact Anders says he rather likes the thought of going to his own room and falling over for a few hours.”

“Do you need Hawke --, Invictus to help you to your room?” Fenris said as he picked Hal up in his arms and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead.

Anders pondered for a moment and shook his head, about to speak, when Sister Rebecca spoke up.

“That would probably be for the best, Ambassador Hawke,” she said firmly. “I don’t think the Grand Enchanter is in any fit state to go wandering off on his own. I wouldn’t trust him to take five steps without falling over right now.”

“Alright, if you can wait a bit, I’ll send for Ha--Invictus to take you.” Fenris said as he grumbled to himself about too many damned Hawkes. “I’ll be in my rooms with Hal if anyone needs me.”

Hal was quiet and withdrawn as they made their way towards Fenris’ rooms. He rested his head upon Fenris’ shoulder, not glancing around at their surroundings or paying attention to the guards who pulled doors open and regarded them sombrely as they passed, nor heeded the whispers that broke out behind them in their wake. The keen eared elf caught the word “dragon” several times however.

“I am never leaving my room again; now they’re going to see me as more of a freak than I’ve already become,” Fenris muttered as he set Hal down on his bed. “I’ll just be in the bathing chamber for a bit; can I get you anything?”

Hal shook his head wordlessly; after a moment, he curled up on his side and opened his good eye to glance up at Fenris.

“What will I do if Meneris sends the Iron Bull away?” he said dully.

“I don’t know, I don’t think he will send him away for good.” Fenris said as he tugged his tunic off and grimaced at it as he wadded it up for the laundry basket. He scrubbed himself quickly and was almost back to Hal when the door opened.

“Love, I heard Hal was hurt,” Vic said.

“Long story; right now Anders needs your help to get back to his rooms from the infirmary. I’ll explain later, alright?” Fenris answered. Hal glanced up at the former Champion with his one good eye, not moving from his spot on the bed, curled up.

“Of course, I’ll come by around dinnertime. It seems you need time with Hal. You might want to get him out of those robes though, I’ll have some sent after I get Anders to bed.” Vic nodded at them both, his gaze softened as he took in Hal’s state and the dried blood that stained the front of his pale grey robes. “It will be alright, whatever it is.”

Hal let his gaze drift away, lifting one shoulder in half a shrug listlessly. “Perhaps,” he said dully.

Invictus gave a sympathetic nod to Fenris before he left them alone.

Fenris just got up and started the tub going before he came back out and offered his arm to Hal. “We both need a bath, and as much as I like you, I’d rather not sleep in your bloodstains. Come and we can relax.”

Hal glanced at him, then slowly pushed himself upright and got to his feet. He tried to take a couple of steps on his own, but stumbled and clutched for Fenris’ arm. He frowned as he tried to focus on his feet. “I have no depth perception,” he muttered peevishly. He ducked his head and blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m... this is awkward,” he added. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance.”

Fenris picked him up without a word and carried him to the bathing chamber where he helped Hal get out of his stained robes. “Never call yourself a nuisance again. Let me rinse you then I’ll get in the tub with you.” He was ever glad for the dwarven plumbing that let them have hot water from the taps as he filled a bucket.

“We should probably be cautious until Anders can work on you more. I’m only going to rinse you from the shoulders down, and I’ll wash your hair...somehow,” Fenris said.

Hal sat on the stool and watched as Fenris filled the bucket. He lifted his right hand and pressed it to the side of his head, wincing as he swallowed hard. “The room is spinning,” he said quietly.

“You nearly had your head lopped in half, I’m not surprised. I’ll be fast as I can and get you potions once you’re cleaned up,” Fenris apologized as he rinsed Hal from the shoulders then gently got him into the tub. “Will you be alright while I rinse off?”

Hal nodded very cautiously and leaned back in the tub as far as he dared without wetting the bandages. He closed his eye, enjoying the steaming warmth of the bath.

“Fenris... what if... what if Anders _can’t_ fix my eye?” he asked after a while. “What do you think Meneris will do?”

“Honestly? I don’t even know,” Fenris said as he made his way to the tub and slipped in behind Hal. “Sit up a bit so I can wash your back.” The elven warrior was quiet as he scrubbed blood and dirt off Hal, unsure what to say to the mage’s question.

“I don’t even remember him hitting me,” confessed Hal. “I remember you putting me down, and I shouted to Bull to stop - and then nothing until I opened my eye and feeling this incredible pain in my head and right through my eye until Parcival put in the nerve block.”

“I’m surprised you remember that much,” Fenris said as he started to clean Hal’s hair, careful not to wet the bandage. “One thing, your Tranquil mark is gone now. I noticed as Sister Rebecca bandaged you.”

“It is?” exclaimed Hal, surprised. “How odd. It all seems hazy and dreamlike - even waking. I think the last thing I remember clearly was looking down at Skyhold as you circled over it. Everything after that feels like it happened in a dream. I’d think I were still dreaming now, if my head didn’t ache so much.” He was silent a moment. “Fenris,” he added in a quieter, more uncertain tone. “How... how bad is it? Really?”

“Your injury?” Fenris said as he gathered Hal’s hair to rinse it. “Bad, I could see bone as you lay there. However Anders is a master healer and he saved your life, and likely your eye if you could even open it after that blow.” The elf was quiet as he washed himself, but he finally steeled himself to ask what Hal would do.

“Will you stay with him?” he queried, ready for the younger man to rail at him or even cry.

Hal went still. After long moments in which neither man moved or spoke, he finally stirred a little, turning his head slightly to one side. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“I will keep my own counsel, so I do not cloud your thoughts with my anger. No matter your decision, I will abide by it and support you. I care a great deal for you Hal, and your happiness is most important to me. Know I wish to ...speak to him about raising an axe to me, but it will be at your indulgence.” Fenris sighed as he sat the flannel and soap aside. “The water is getting cold and you’re shivering, come.”

“It’s not the water that makes me shiver,” murmured Hal softly. “I’m... cold inside.”

“I’ll keep us warm, if you will let me hold you.” Fenris said as he rose and got them out of the tub and dried Hal first before he helped the young mage into a clean robe. “Want to try walking?”

Clutching the robe closed about him with one hand, Hal took a few cautious steps, catching one hand against the door frame for a moment to steady himself. He found that if he looked up instead of at his feet, the lack of depth perception was not so bad. He made his way into the other room and managed to make it to the bed, where he lay down and drew the covers up over himself and curled up, one hand clutching at his aching head.

Fenris got him a couple of healing potions and a lyrium potion for good measure, quiet as he uncapped them and let Hal take them one by one, careful to catch the empty vial when the other man’s hand shook a bit. “I’ll light the fire and we can rest.”

Hal lay back, his eye closed as he merely nodded. He half-opened his eye as Fenris moved away, already drowsy.

Fenris tried to light the fire a few times before he got frustrated and snarled at the fireplace. He tilted his head at the wood and wondered if he could...breathe fire when he wasn’t fully changed to a dragon.

“What are you doing?” slurred Hal, blinking sleepily at the frustrated elf.

“Trying to ...breathe fire to light this damned thing. My hands are shaking a bit too much to get it going.” Fenris replied as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

Hal blinked. “That’s funny, I could have sworn you said -” he began as he sat up.

Fenris didn’t answer, instead he snorted and coughed as he failed to bring up fire without changing. “Maker dammit,” he sniffed between gagging. “Let me concentrate, Hal.”

The red-haired mage was now staring at Fenris in consternation, his eye wide. He didn’t turn away even when the door opened and Hawke stepped in.

Fenris had tuned out Hal and didn’t notice the sound of Vic entering right as he let out a stream of fire to set the fireplace going.

Hal jumped and let out a startled scream.

“I...I didn’t see that,” Vic said in a small voice. Hal was still staring at Fenris in disbelief.

“You _did_ see that, I can turn to a dragon remember?” Fenris said as he stood. “How’s Anders?” he asked, unwilling to make things even weirder. “Close your mouth Hal, flies will get in.”

“He’s...fine. Love, how did you do that without changing?” Vic asked in bewilderment.

“He has wings too,” Hal blurted out. “I mean, he can grow them. Wings, I mean. Even when he’s not a dragon.” He clutched his head suddenly. “I’m babbling. Shut up Hal. Ow.”

“Vic if you could do a bit of healing, I’m going to get a drink. I need it after today.” Fenris ignored them both in favor of a strong drink as he pondered what else he could do.

Hal glanced up at Invictus. “I’m sorry, I have a splitting headache,” he confessed. “The healing potions don’t seem to be relieving it much.” He glanced over at Fenris, then back up at Invictus. “Have you... heard anything? About Bull?” he asked very softly.

“Not yet, they did send word you are not dead and with Fenris for now. I think Meneris will be by tomorrow to check on you, see how you’re doing before he sees Bull.” Vic gently pressed his fingers against Hal’s forehead and let a bit of healing trickle through him.

“Pretty nasty injury, did that help at all?” he asked as he watched Fenris studiously ignore them both while he drank. Vic wondered how in the Maker’s name Hal didn’t die on the spot but he didn't dare say that.

“A little; thank you,” Hal nodded gratefully. “Anders said we should know in a week if I’ve lost the sight in that eye or not; it has to finish healing naturally and the dressings stay on for a week. Then...” He shrugged, but there was a worried look in his one good eye. “I shouldn’t be ungrateful,” he murmured. “Blind in one eye is better than dead, after all.” He suddenly laughed ruefully. “Maker, what must everyone in the keep think of me? I come back from the dead only to nearly die -” He broke off with a choked sound.

Fenris dropped his glass at Hal’s words and turned towards the fire as he tried to collect himself. He knew that Bull was at fault, but he blamed himself as well. He should have gotten in the way, stopped the kossith somehow.

“Fen?” Vic asked when he heard the shattering glass. Hal had wrapped his arms around himself and curled inwards, drawing his knees up towards his chest as he fought down sudden hysterical sobs.

“Shit…” Vic turned to Hal and tried to comfort him. “Hal, you’re ok now, you’re not going to die...again,” Hawke said as he glanced to Fenris again.

“I’m sorry, I just...it hit me, when I heard Hal say that. I need to sit down I think.” Fenris sat in front of the fire and stared at it as he tried to collect himself.

“Wh-why... _why_ does this keep happening to me?” begged Hal, his voice high and wavery. “What did I ever do to deserve this? Is the Chantry right after all - did the Maker truly curse me when I was born with magic?”

“No, you didn’t do anything to deserve this Hal. You are not cursed ok? It’s going to be ok, Fenris is here, he’s going to be with you. You deserve only the best Hal, and we’ll make sure you get better ok? Please don’t think that way, it only leads to bad things.” Hawke brushed his tears away gently and smiled.

“But _why_?” Hal pleaded. “It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve... I’ve died twice, and come back. It’s... things aren’t supposed to happen like that. People don’t die and come back, but I’ve done it twice, and now I nearly died again, didn’t I? I can see it from your face. I shouldn’t have survived this - that’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” He stared up at Invictus desperately.

“ _Why is this HAPPENING TO ME??_ ” he screamed.

Fenris jumped back, his form suddenly flashing bright silvery light for a moment as he was startled into half-shifting at Hal’s scream, his wings erupting from his back.

“I don’t… I don’t know Hal,” Vic replied, at a loss for what he could say to the other mage’s question.

“Stop...please stop,” Fenris said quietly as he tried to keep from shifting entirely to his draconic form in a space that was far too small for him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Hal wept as he curled in upon himself and closed his eye. “I just... I just don’t understand.”

Fenris let his wings stay out but forced the claws that had started to form back to normal. “Nor do we but we are here for you Hal. Sorry, I guess I don’t have as much control as I thought,” he said when he noticed the way Vic gaped at him.

Hal stayed curled up as he fought to control his breathing, scrubbing at the tears running down his cheeks with one hand. “Well, that must be a good sign,” he remarked shakily. “Look, I can cry from that eye at least.... Oh. Now the dressing is wet and... Maker, I’m a mess, and I’m sorry,” he sniffed. He straightened a little and glanced around, his good eye red-rimmed and still swimming with unshed tears. He blinked to try and clear his blurry vision.

“It’s alright Hal, it’s alright. Just lie down and we’ll rest. Mythal knows I just want to sleep for a damned week right now.” Fenris’ voice was shaky as he approached the bed and tried to figure out a way to lie down with his wings. “This was easier before.”

“Can you...put them back somehow?” Vic asked even as he reached out to touch one of the leathery wings.

“Put what - Oh.” Hal managed to wipe the tears from his eye enough to see clearly; he stared at Fenris’ wings. “Yes, he can pull them back in,” he said. “Be careful though - that’s lyrium running through the wing veins. It made me feel... fuzzy. Warm. Or was that because I was chilled and half-asleep?” He glanced at Fenris with a small frown. “Maker, I’m not making any sense even to _me._ ”

Fenris turned and hissed at Vic before he caught himself. “Sorry, I...think I’m forgetting myself when I change half-way like this.” He pulled the wings in and laid down next to Hal with a whimper. “Sleep...just want to sleep and pretend this is all a bad dream.”

Hal slowly lay down. “A bad dream... I wish it were,” he murmured. “Then maybe Belann wouldn’t....” His eye drifted closed before he could finish the sentence.

“Both of you rest, I will make sure you aren’t bothered until tomorrow. I’ll bring dinner by later.” Vic kissed Fenris on the cheek and tugged the covers over both of them. He slipped away, worried for the two men, and for what would happen with Bull once Hal was recovered.

Fenris waited until Vic was out of the room and sat up slowly, glad Hal was seemingly deep asleep. He got another drink and came back to bed, his mind unsettled as he wished for sleep to claim him. He didn’t find sleep or oblivion before the door opened and Zevran entered. “Hey,” was all Fenris said before he took another sip.

The Antivan spymaster closed the door silently behind him and took in the state of the other elf at a glance. He crossed over to the bed and stared down at the sleeping Hal, then up at Fenris.

“A little crow tells me you have been stretching your wings in the most unexpected places, _carissimi_ ,” he remarked softly.

Fenris nodded and crawled over to wrap his arms around Zevran’s waist, so he could rest his head against the other elf’s chest. “Hal nearly died...again,” he whispered.

“I was aware of this,” Zevran nodded. “I have... a most enviable view across both courtyards from my balcony. Alas, it is one thing to see something unfolding below you, another to try and halt it from so high above; and though my birds tell me many things, they cannot hold back an angry Qunari with their wings. I am sorry Hal was hurt, my heart.” He bent down and kissed the top of Fenris’ head gently. “I understand that he was quite distressed when he had had a chance to process what had happened to him.”

“Yes, he was. As am I, it’s why I am not yet passed out as well despite the drink. He startled me so badly, I have shifted without thinking.” Fenris looked up at Zevran, worried he was going to have his own break. “People keep talking about me changing...they are going to think I’m more of a freak. What if they try to lock me up or send me away?” he asked.

“Do you honestly think they could plan such a thing without my knowledge, _carissimi_?” said Zevran, arching one eyebrow. “Believe me, my heart - should the thought cross their minds, _I_ will know it before they can lift one finger against you.”

“I’m a freak, maybe you’re better off if they do send me away,” Fenris said as he sat back and scrubbed at his face. “I’m not fully an elf anymore, I grew a damned foot overnight, I’m dangerous...I don’t know my own---” whatever else he was going to say was cut off by Zevran’s hand over his mouth, wedding bands cool against his lips.

“You are the husband of Zevran Hawke,” the Antivan said softly, a dangerous note in his voice. “And I will not hear such things from anyone. If any man or woman dares call you a freak, I will know it - and I shall cut out their filthy lying tongue with my own blade. Do you believe me?”

Fenris nodded slowly as he felt his husband’s hand pull back. “I...he nearly died in my arms. Bull...Bull was going to attack me, he saw me change and yet he was ready to ..hurt me.”

Zevran turned and sat next to Fenris on the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around the larger man’s waist. “I think perhaps it is one thing to see a companion change so during the heat of battle. It is another to see a creature one has hunted fly away with one’s lover and then return hours later. I think perhaps worry for Hal drove reason from his mind; it was not _you_ he attacked, _carissimi_ , but the dragon that had taken away his love. I do not think he was in his right mind, my love.” His frown deepened. “But it is troubling that he should lose control so easily. You set Hal down unharmed. It is not as though you returned with him in your jaws, as perhaps a wild dragon would have done. You did not attack anyone; you did not breathe fire upon anyone. Indeed, your behaviour as a dragon was most... _un_ dragon-like.”

Zevran leaned against Fenris and sighed. “I do not envy Meneris this headache. But I am glad it is not mine.”

“I don’t even know he saw me fly off with Hal. But I trusted him Zevran, I let him...I let...I trusted him,” Fenris said before he finally let his hurt show to his spouse.

Zevran straightened and tugged at Fenris until the white-haired elf was lying on the side of the bed with his head in the Antivan’s lap. He gently stroked his hands soothingly through Fenris’ hair, rubbing the pads of his fingertips in slow circles against his scalp.

“It is hard for men such as we to give our trust,” he murmured quietly. “And how much harder to take betrayal of that trust once given. He has wounded you sorely, _carissimi_ , as surely as if his axe had struck your flesh and not poor, innocent Hal. He has wounded you both grievously.”

“I want to hide Zevran, just fucking hide in here and never leave. I want to protect Hal, we just… we just said goodbye to Belann and now this! My heart can’t take all this,” Fenris said as he tried to get himself together.

Zevran’s hands stilled in Fenris’ hair a moment. “Hal is not beholden to the Inquisition in quite the way we are,” he said slowly. “And we have some time before you are expected to take up this role of Ambassador. _Carissimi_... I think that we shall perhaps delay our little trip for a week or two whilst Hal recovers... and then take him with us, yes?”

“If he wants to; I promised I would abide his wishes, Zev. Much as I want to just take him and fly us away I won’t do that to him. He’s still undecided as to what to do about Bull.” Fenris looked to see if Hal was actually sleeping before he continued. “I want to kill Bull for this, and never let Hal be alone with him again. But I cannot take over his life, and take away his choice.” he finished softly.

Zevran glanced back at the sleeping young mage, then dropped into Antivan. “ _The Bull is a large man, and such men often do not live as long as other men do. It is not unheard of for them to simply die in their sleep, their hearts simply... giving up. It is possible that the Bull might not live till morning._ ” He did not look at Fenris.

“ _No, not yet. Let Hal make the choice. If he does expire suddenly, you and I will be suspect. Besides, he does yet love him and I will not be responsible for our young charge losing his mind from grief. Let it...let it sit for a couple of days. Besides, Meneris has final say in this,_ ” Fenris replied in Antivan as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m finally tired, will you stay?”

Zevran turned his head and finally smiled. “Of course, my heart,” he said quietly. He got to his feet and began to undress. He paused as Hal whimpered in his sleep, making some half-articulated sound of protest.

Fenris lit his brands slightly and rested against Hal, careful of his injuries as he waited for Zevran to join them. “Rest Hal, it’s alright.” he murmured.

Hal had curled up, flinging a hand over his head protectively. “No...no, don’t... Bull, no!” he whimpered.

Zevran stared down at Hal then glanced at Fenris, lifting one eyebrow.

Fenris scowled before he turned to shake Hal awake. “You’re awake, you’re safe Hal, wake up.”

“No, don’t, please don’t hurt me - katoh, _katoh!_ ” cried Hal as he suddenly stiffened, his good eye opening wide as he tried to pull away from Fenris. He stared up at Fenris, his eye seeming to stare right through the elf for a moment before he focused on him. A look of profound relief mingled with embarrassment crossed his face before he groaned and curled up slightly and tried to bury his face in the pillow.

Zevran turned away and continued undressing unhurriedly.

Fenris didn’t say anything, he just pulled Hal into his arms and spoke quietly with the younger man in an attempt to soothe him. “Do you wish a sleeping potion?” he asked finally.

Hal shook his head. “Won’t work... it would just trap me in the dream,” he murmured. “I don’t... I don’t want to remember.” He closed his eye and bit his lip to try and stave off the whimper he felt building inside again. “I dreamed... I saw the axe falling towards my face, he - Bull, he -” He broke off.

“What do you need then? To be held, to walk around? I’m tired but I could sit with you for a bit,” Fenris offered unsure what else to do for Hal.

Hal sat up slowly. “I don’t know. Not to sleep, to dream right now,” he answered slowly.

Zevran paused, his shirt still in his hand, clad only in his pants and boots. He glanced at Hal, then at Fenris, before pulling the shirt back on then crossing to the drinks cabinet to grab wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Pass me the whiskey then love?” Fenris said as he sat up against the headboard.

Zevran set the wine glasses on the table and then placed the bottle of wine down next to them before turning back for the whiskey. Hal glanced around, startled.

“I thought we were alone,” he said, his cheeks blushing with heat.

“I can leave if you wish, but it is nicer to drink with company, no?” said Zevran, not turning around as he busied himself with the cork of the wine bottle.

“No,” nodded Hal, echoing Zevran’s turn of speech. “I mean, yes, it is,” he hastily corrected himself. Zevran glanced back and grinned, then turned and walked back to the bed. He held a glass of whiskey out to Fenris, then pressed a glass of wine into Hal’s hand before retrieving his own glass.

“Zevran came by while you were briefly asleep,” Fenris said before he took a sip and closed his eyes.

“Oh,” was all Hal said before taking a sip of his wine cautiously. Zevran noticed the wary way Hal tasted his wine and merely grinned.

Fenris opened his eyes long enough to make sure he didn’t miss his mouth before he took a sip and closed them again. He realized he was crying when either Hal or Zevran swiped a thumb over his cheek. As Fenris opened his eyes, he saw Hal’s single eye regarding him with concern.

“Fenris? Can you... do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. “I mean - I’ll understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, but... I’m here, if you want to.”

“As am I, _carissimi_ ,” added Zevran softly as he regarded Fenris from his own seat in a chair beside the bed.

“I miss Belann....he was a better friend than I deserved. I...I’m fighting the urge to touch you to be sure you are here, alive and mostly whole Hal. That’s some of it...I’m also hurting, so much from the thought at Bull raising a weapon as if he …” Fenris faltered and covered his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Hal sat up and stared at Fenris. “I’m here, I’m real, I’m alive,” he said. “Touch me. I exist; I’m not dead, some ghost of your imagination.” He smiled wryly. “I doubt a ghost would ache as much as I do.” He lifted the hand that didn’t hold a wine glass, and gently cradled Fenris’ cheek with his hand. “I’m not sure I could ever forgive Bull for lifting an axe to you,” he confessed. “And for what he did, I -” He broke off and bit his lip, glancing away for a moment before glancing back at Fenris.

“Touch me,” he whispered. “I’m real. As you are.”

Zevran sat back and watched, sipping his wine slowly and saying nothing, his expression unreadable in the firelight.

Fenris trailed his fingers over Hal’s face gently and smiled. “So I’m not entirely crazy, not yet anyway,” he laughed slightly before he took Hal’s free hand in his before he looked to Zevran. “Sit with us, please?”

Hal looked around, startled; for a little while, he’d forgotten the other elf’s presence once more. The knowing grin Zevran gave him told him the spymaster was very well aware he’d been forgotten.

Zevran gestured for the other two to move over as he set his glass aside. He tugged his shirt off again, throwing it aside carelessly before he tugged off his boots then slowly stripped off his pants, well aware both men’s eyes were on him as he did so. He turned slowly and tugged the half-ponytail out of his hair, shaking his long locks loose as he bent to pick up his wine glass. He smiled as he took in the looks on the two men’s faces as he set a hand on his hip and looked down at them; Hal’s good eye was wide, his cheeks tinged an amusing pink, whereas Fenris’ eyes were lit up with a somewhat different emotion.

“You like what you see, gentlemen?” teased the Antivan elf before he downed his glass of wine, setting the empty glass down before he stretched out along the foot of the bed, pillowing his head upon his arms as he regarded them with amused golden eyes.

“You know I always like what I see my heart.” Fenris replied as he eyed the smaller elf.

Hal was regarding Zevran with that same wide-eyed look. “Do- do you usually walk around naked?” he squeaked.

“Only when there is someone pretty who will appreciate the view,” replied Zevran with a wink before his eyes flicked to Fenris. “Is that not right, _carissimi_?” He lifted one eyebrow. “ _Thinking to take his mind off things, my heart? Or your own?_ ” he asked in rapid-fire Antivan that Hal would have no chance of following; even Fenris himself could only barely follow as it was.

Fenris glanced at Hal then back to Zevran. “ _I...do not know if he is well enough for such things carissimi. Do you wish to, entertain him then?_ ” he asked.

Zevran shrugged. “ _You care for him and you are concerned for him,_ ” he replied. “ _It would be a good way to help him forget for a little while, no? But perhaps you are right. I would not wish to cause him harm._ ”

Hal was staring between them both, looking bewildered.

Fenris looked to Hal and smiled gently. “Zevran thought to take your mind off things if you wanted, with me but I worry you are not well enough for such things.”

Hal blinked, then shot Zevran a startled look. The Antivan elf shrugged a tawny shoulder. Hal put a hand to his head, blinking slowly.

“It... wasn’t even on my mind, I....” He set his wine glass aside and slowly lay back, looking a little stunned. “Do... do you make offers like this often, Zevran?” he asked quietly.

“No, not generally,” answered the Antivan. “Since I took up with Fenris? Only to Hawke - Invictus, I should say - and Anders. Anders only finally accepted upon our wedding night. It seems I had to put a ring upon our blushing Grand Enchanter’s finger before he would accept.” He glanced at Hal. “Do you, also, require a ring?” he asked innocently.

“No!” exclaimed Hal as he sat up suddenly. “That won’t be -” He broke off and gritted his teeth as he groaned, pressing a hand over the soft dressings covering his right eye, and fell back against the pillows. Zevran sat up, all trace of mirth gone.

“Should I fetch Anders?” he asked in a low voice, glancing to Fenris.

“I’ll get him, Vic is not as proficient and I’m dressed, sort of,” Fenris said quietly.

The Antivan elf nodded as he rose from the bed and reached for his pants. Hal was clutching his head, teeth gritted and his good eye screwed closed, his breath coming in short, fast pants.

“Be swift, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran as he moved to Hal’s side. He managed to disengage one of Hal’s hands from where he clutched at his head and held it; Hal gripped it so tight his knuckles were white though Zevran seemed to pay it no mind as he sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the red-head’s hair gently as he murmured soothing words in a low voice.

Fenris ran to Anders rooms, uncaring of what people thought and barged in to find Anders laying on his side, face slack in sleep for a moment before his eyes opened. “Sorry...Hal he’s in a lot of pain.”

Anders sat up, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes. “Pass me a robe,” he asked as he threw aside the cover and ran his hands through his hair before he rose and crossed to the washbasin stand and splashed cold water over his face to wake up. He tossed his head to get the water out of his hair then turned and took the robe Fenris handed to him, gesturing to Fenris to lead the way as he pulled it on and strode towards the door, tying the robe’s sash belt as he walked, uncaring that he was in bare feet.

Where once Fenris would have had to trot to keep up with the healer’s long stride, now he was able to match it, pace for pace.

“What happened?” asked Anders as they turned the corner down the hall Fenris’ rooms were on.

“We had a bath, and he was in pain, even with potions he’s still clutching his head, the side with the eye injury. He was holding my hand so tight his knuckles were white love. Maybe another nerve block while he heals?” Fenris asked.

Anders nodded. “I can do that; I need to have a look inside to see why he is in such pain. Maybe a nerve reconnecting inside as he heals; I can’t be sure until I look though.”

They reached Fenris’ rooms and Anders strode inside, taking in the sight of Zevran leaning over Hal as the young mage gripped the elf’s hand tightly, his teeth gritted as he gave a strangled moan.

Anders leaned over Hal and laid a hand over his forehead, his hand glowing blue as he closed his eyes. A moment later, Hal abruptly relaxed with a soft whimper, the lines of pain etched into his face smoothing away as his grip upon Zevran’s hand loosened. The elf lifted his other hand to hold Hal’s hand gently between his own, still murmuring soft reassurances in what sounded like Nevarran.

“Should he be in the infirmary? I can’t heal, and I don’t want to make things worse.” Fenris said as he perched on the other side of the bed. 

Anders shook his head, not opening his eyes. “I don’t want to move him whilst he’s like this - and in any case, his own room is closer.” He frowned a little. “Huh. That’s interesting,” he muttered, half to himself.

Hal’s eye was fluttering open; Zevran’s voice fell silent a moment, then he softly called the young man’s name. After a moment, Hal opened his eye and glanced up at Anders.

“It... it doesn’t hurt any more,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” Fenris asked as he glanced at his husbands then back to Hal.

“It’s hard to explain,” said Anders. “It’s... his connection to the Fade, it’s... I don’t know how to describe it. But it’s... changed.”

“Endrin has... left me,” said Hal slowly. “When I came back, he... he sacrificed himself.”

Anders’ eyes snapped open. “I am so sorry,” he murmured.

“That’s how he came back, Mythal…” Fenris crawled back over to Hal and took his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Hal blinked a tear away. “I miss him. And... I feel there’s something missing inside.”

“I felt much the same when Justice was ripped away from me,” nodded Anders. “It’s only really since I joined with Llyria that I’ve felt... complete, though her presence is different from Justice. I’m still working out how she’s changing me.”

“But why did my head hurt so much?” asked Hal. “Is it... is it affecting how I heal?”

“Maybe,” nodded Anders. “There’s... new nerve connections forming, and your connection to the Fade seems to be affecting it somehow. I’ve put in nerve blocks and reduced some inflammation. You should sleep; you’ll heal faster and you’ll experience less pain.”

He turned to Fenris. “I really don’t want to move him, and I’d prefer to monitor him myself, at least for the next twenty-four hours. Can I stay here, love? I’ll take a chair or something.”

“Of course, don’t get a chair, if Hal does not mind you can take the bed. I’m tired but I’m too worked up to sleep. I’m going to sit by the fire with this drink and ...just be quiet for a bit.” Fenris said quietly.

“I don’t want to kick you out of bed, love,” said Anders gently. “And... I’m not sure Hal would want to sleep with someone he doesn’t -” He broke off and glanced at Hal.

“It’s alright,” murmured Hal. “It’s not as though we’re planning to do anything other than sleep, after all.”

“If you’re sure then,” said Anders. He moved around the bed, tightening the sash upon his robe before slipping into the bed, keeping a little distance from Hal as he sprawled upon his back. A little while afterward he began to snore very softly.

Zevran moved to a chair by the fire and glanced to Fenris. “You could come to my room, _carissimi_ ,” he suggested quietly.

The elven fighter pondered the fire for a bit before he simply nodded and rose to put on clothes and his boots. He scribbled a note to them so Hal wouldn’t be distressed upon waking to find him gone and let Zevran lead them back to the rookery. He was glad for the warmth of the room as he sat on the bed, and watched his husband disrobe again.

“I have brandy if you wish something to help you sleep, my heart,” said Zevran as he folded his shirt and set it aside. 

“I don’t know what it will take for me to drink enough so that I may sleep. All these changes are a fucking curse Zev,” Fenris said.

“I have some preparations that may help,” suggested the former assassin. “A few drops in a glass of brandy should do the trick, hmm?”

“Fine...I don’t care. I’m going to have nightmares probably, I’m sorry.” Fenris watched Zevran prepare his drink with an odd detachment, no concern for what he could be taking as long as it put him under.

Zevran returned to his side and handed him the glass before raising his own and touching it to that of Fenris with a small smile at the glasses chimed. “Do not apologise for what is beyond your control, _carissimi_ ,” he replied. “I shall be here beside you to comfort you.”

Fenris took his drink down in a few sips, his eyes started to drift closed. “Zev...I love you.” he mumbled as he laid back, and was soon out for the count.

Zevran waited until he was certain Fenris was asleep, then made his way to a cupboard where he kept some first aid supplies. He eyed the bruises blossoming upon his hand ruefully, then deftly applied healing balm, dressings and a bandage before returning to the bed. Stripping off his pants, he slid naked into the bed and curled up around Fenris and was soon asleep.

Even with Zevran’s concoction, Fenris didn’t rest easy, his mind replaying the incident with different outcomes, sometimes with Hal being entirely decapitated, or Bull laying into him, hacking into his chest before he changed and died in Hal’s arms instead. He whimpered as he slept, unable to wake up and escape the images that tormented him. Soon he called out for help, for Hal...even begging for Bull to stop.

Each time, Zevran would wake and reach for him, seeking to calm the distraught sleeping elf with quiet soothing words. At least twice, he was awakened by Fenris thrashing wildly in his sleep. By morning the Antivan was sporting several bruises, a black eye and a nasty gash down his arm there Fenris had partially transformed in his sleep, wings erupting from his back as he lashed out with claws, raking them down Zevran’s arm before his hand curled around the Antivan’s wrist in a vice-like grip before slowly loosening as the former assassin called softly to him.

When Fenris woke some time the next morning, Zevran was already dressed, his long shirt and the leather sleeves of his customary armour hiding the bandages winding up his left arm from wrist to shoulder, his fingerless gloves hiding the bandages upon his hands. He was unable to hide the black eye; he sat in a chair beside the bed, perusing a report, that side of his face turned away with his hair falling over that eye.

Fenris sat up and saw Zevran, glad his dreams hadn’t driven the Antivan away. “Morning, you’re up early.” he stretched and made a few noises at the aches he felt. “It feels like I had a fight in my sleep.”

“You were restless,” Zevran agreed. “But it was to be expected, no?” He frowned at the report upon his knee and made a little annotation.

“There’s restless and feeling like I was sparring.” Fenris looked around for his clothes, and dressed slowly. He couldn’t find his amulet the one he wore all the time even in sleep since Vic gave it to him. “Zev...did you take my amulet off?”

Zevran glanced up, ignoring the long loose hair that fell into his eyes. “I have not seen it. Did you not take it off when bathing? Perhaps it is still in the bathing chamber?” he suggested.

“No...I could barely remember to get Hal out of his bloody robes, I don’t think I took it off. Vic gave that to me after the battle, it’s special.” Fenris said as he felt under the pillows and started to get annoyed.

“I do not remember seeing it,” shrugged Zevran. “I shall help you look in a moment, yes? There is coffee upon the desk, _carissimi_. The amulet can wait a little; it cannot have gone far.”

“No...I can’t have lost it, Vic … ordered it especially for me.” Fenris said as he flipped the covers back and froze. “Zevran...there’s blood, why?”

Zevran went still. “It is likely old,” he said quietly. “Perhaps from when I returned here after I was released from the infirmary.” He shrugged, then glanced up at Fenris, something in his eyes telling him the Antivan was unwilling to speak more on the subject. After a moment, Zevran dropped his gaze and glanced back to his report.

Fenris frowned as he approached for the coffee, sipping it slowly as he took a seat across from Zevran. He was quiet as he let the other elf work, and he tried to calm himself. “Sorry...I guess I’m still on edge from yesterday.” 

Zevran glanced up and gave him a reassuring smile as he laid the report aside then reached for his own coffee. “It was a strange and distressing day,” he allowed, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “Belann laid to rest, and then this business with the Bull.”

“I don’t want to think about him. My nightmares...they have distressed me.” Fenris set his cup aside and rose to go. “I should let you work, but perhaps a kiss before I leave?” 

Zevran set his cup down and smiled. “Of course, _carissimi_ ,” he said as he extended a hand towards Fenris. As the white-haired warrior moved around the desk, Zevran tilted his face up for the kiss, closing his eyes.

Fenris halted when he saw the dark ring around the other elf’s eye, his expression stricken. “So I did have a fight in my sleep. What did I do to you?”

Zevran’s eyes opened and he stared up at Fenris, the smile slipping. “You were restless. You did not know what you were doing. I do not bear you ill will for what you did not do wittingly, my heart. A few bruises here and there - what is that to me? I was far more concerned for you, my love.”

“What did I do to you? What else are you hiding?” Fenris asked in a low rasp as he stepped back. “See...I am a monster, I hurt you even when you slept next to me! I told you, I damned well told you Zevran.” 

“No...not a monster, my love. Never that.” Zevran rose to his feet, lifting a hand to lay it gently upon Fenris’ chest over his heart as he stared up into Fenris’ green eyes. “Never that,” he said softly.”

“No...I am, why can’t you accept that?” Fenris backed up and left in a hurry, his feet carrying him to Belann’s old hiding spot as he ignored Zevran’s calls to stop.

“Fenris!” called Zevran desperately; as his cries elicited no answer, he strode swiftly to the balcony of the rookery. He called to the other elf as he saw him cross the courtyard swiftly, but Fenris did not look up even once.

He turned and stared at the ravens upon their perches, then turned to the two nearest.

“Go. Watch.”

The birds leapt from their perches, winging their way into the sunlight to swoop lazily, gracefully about the ruined tower. The people below paid them no heed, familiar by now with the whir of wings from the rookery.

Zevran watched, and waited.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes to talk to Fenris. The bandages finally come off, and Hal finds out what has happened to his eye.

Fenris lit the fireplace and shook out the blankets from the small bed that Belann had put into his space; he curled up and watched the fire burn slow and steady as he let his mind wander down a dark road. He was exhausted and finally fell into a fitful sleep, just as restless as the night before.

Fenris wasn’t the only exhausted one. 

Dorian regarded Meneris ruefully as the elf paced restlessly. The Altus’ hair was dishevelled, even his usually immaculate moustache a little mussed, and the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of how late Meneris had kept him awake two nights in a row. The Tevinter mage felt thoroughly out of sorts, almost punch-drunk from sleep deprivation and a little sick, his head pounding as he rested an elbow on his knees and his cheek on his fist, his eyes following Meneris as the elf paced, swearing. 

He’d seen Meneris angry before, but rarely in such a towering rage - and never sustained for so long.

“Love, you are exhausting me, merely to look at you,” Dorian finally said dourly.

“Then take a potion and get some rest, I’m going to take a walk.” Meneris replied as he continued to walk and rant.

Dorian sighed. “Amatus, the least you could do is pour me a cup of that coffee which is no doubt cooling rapidly upon your desk. It’s been most shamefully neglected, as have I.” There was a slightly wistful yet reproachful note in Dorian’s voice as his eyes flicked to the pot upon the desk.

Meneris poured him the coffee without complaint, got himself a cup and sat down finally. The elf was so angry he had gone full circle and didn’t know how else to let his anger out. “I don’t know what to do. If I go see Hal while I’m so angry, I might frighten him. Have you spoken to him or Fenris?” 

Dorian shook his head. “Anders had to go to Fenris’ room the night before last as I understand it, and has remained there to nurse him. Fenris was seen hurrying across to that old ruined tower early yesterday morning, but I have no idea why. A lot of raven activity from the rookery though. Zevran keeping an eye on things much as Leliana used to, no doubt. He seems to have an even greater affinity with the birds than even she did.” He sipped slowly at the coffee and groaned thankfully.

“I am worried, though Fenris may or may not be in a place to hear it. He has to be upset over Hal and that Bull was going to take a weapon to him. Perhaps we should call upon our troublesome kossith? I can take Hawke with me while you rest? Maybe you can reach out to your amicus?” Meneris said as he refilled his cup.

“Amatus, perhaps so much coffee is unwise? You’re jittery enough as it is,” pointed out Dorian before draining his own cup. He set it aside then threw back the down comforter before pushing himself to his feet with a muffled groan. He stumbled a little as he made his way to the wardrobe to find clean clothes, muttering quietly to himself in Tevene, still not much better than half-awake in spite of the coffee.

“Aren’t you going to rest? I can get Hawke to go with me, Dorian.” Meneris said as he sat his cup down and frowned at his betrothed.

Dorian waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I am upright and somewhat awake now,” he said tiredly. “I shall take elfroot for this confounded headache and then go look for our reclusive dragon friend, hmm? In your mood... well, I’m not sure it’s wise you speak to Fenris _or_ the Iron Bull like this. I wouldn’t blame Fenris for taking off at a run, frankly, and you are _not_ in a rational frame of mind for passing judgement on Bull.”

He turned, buckling up a white overtunic, and raised an eyebrow as Meneris frowned and opened his mouth. Dorian levelled a finger at him.”Don’t even think to argue with me, Meneris. I know you far too well, and in this mood you will say or do something you will much regret later. Sit on that thought, and for Andraste’s sake try to calm down. Maybe think about looking up Cassandra or Cullen for a sparring match, work off some of that anger and frustration.”

He reached for his staff and slung it upon his back before crossing to the small box where Meneris kept various potions. He picked out a small flask of elfroot and downed it with a grimace.

Meneris had gone out to look over the balcony, a bit of his rage cooled by his partner’s words. He stared over the mountainside and pondered if he even wanted to stay there, to remain as the Inquisitor. He just wanted to take a trip with Dorian, away and enjoy themselves. 

Dorian joined him on the balcony. He lifted a hand to rest it against the small of Meneris’ back, leaning in against the elf slightly. “It will all come out right in the end, amatus,” he said quietly. “A kiss before I go?” As Meneris glanced up at him, he saw that the Altus had tamed his unruly moustache into its usual groomed lines, though his hair still looked a little tousled. Meneris was shocked to realise there were a few strands of silver creeping into the raven-black hair at Dorian’s temples.

“Always my heart.” Meneris leaned in and kissed him slow and easy for as long as he could before he needed to take a breath. “Good luck.”

“You sound as though you think I’ll need it,” joked Dorian before pressing a gentle kiss to Meneris’ forehead. “Try not to break anything, amatus,” he added with a wry smile before he pulled away and made his way towards the door.

“I’ll try, I’ll try” Meneris replied before the door swung closed.

**

Dorian glanced up at the ruined tower as he crossed the courtyard and noted that ravens still circled it lazily; he took that as a good sign that Fenris were still inside. He headed in and up the crumbling stone steps, picking his way carefully. It wouldn’t do to fall and break his neck, after all.

He reached the third floor, where the steps crumbled away altogether, and made his way over to the ladder which reached up to a hole in the floor above.

“Fenris! Are you still there?” he called up. There was a creaking from the floorboards above his head, and trickles of dust peppered the floor as something moved above him. Dorian frowned a little then with determination he headed up the ladder.

He emerged through the hole in the floor to come face-to-face with a white and silver dragon that regarded him with unfriendly green eyes. The creature, whilst not as large as the beast that had carried away Hal, nonetheless filled the entire room of the tower.

Dorian froze. “Fenris?” he said, a little uncertainly. 

The dragon tilted its head in consideration then dipped its head once. It stared at the Altus with a wary gaze as he curled up a bit to give Dorian room to pass.

Dorian swallowed hard as he watched a little wisp of smoke drift up from the dragon’s nostrils; he thought he caught a glimpse of long, curved fangs as he climbed slowly into the room then edged past the dragon to press his back against the wall of the tower.

“You’ll have to forgive my nervousness; I’m not used to talking to dragons,” he said, impressed his voice didn't shake. “My usual response is to scream rather a lot, try to avoid being roasted alive and praying I don’t do something frightfully embarrassing like faint in front of the others.”

Fenris opened his mouth and nothing but a rumble came out as he attempted to answer. He scowled but it just looked like he was about to open his mouth and eat Dorian.

Dorian flattened himself against the stone wall and turned his face away as he screwed his eyes shut, a frightened whimper escaping his lips upon a gasped breath before he managed to choke back a scream. “A-amicus,” he managed faintly. “Please... it’s me, D-Dorian. Please... d-don’t -”

Fenris snapped his mouth shut and turned his head away with a low snarl. He didn’t think he could speak as a dragon and it was frustrating him. He was tempted to change back so he wouldn’t scare Dorian further.

He heard a muffled thud and turned his head; Dorian had slid down the wall, sitting down suddenly and looking very pale and shaken as he kept his face turned away, trying to control his breathing from the shallow pants that gasped from his pale lips. He pressed a shaking hand against his chest as Fenris watched.

That settled it for the elf, he shifted back to his usual self and sat on the bed tiredly. He pulled the blanket around him before he huffed fire at the logs to warm the place back up. “Is that better?”

Dorian had cracked his eyes open a little; at the sight of Fenris breathing fire he let out a shriek before his eyes rolled back and he slid over onto the floor in a faint.

“Dumat save me.” Fenris muttered before he picked Dorian up and tucked him into the bed next to him and went back to pondering the fire. He wasn’t too hungry since he’d hunted as a dragon but the elf could have done with a drink. He remained quiet until he felt the Altus stirring behind him. “Easy, you passed out after you shrieked like a maiden in a story book.”

Dorian groaned. “How mortifying,” he said weakly. “I don’t suppose you have any wine up here do you? I find myself in need of something to steady my nerves.” After a moment he added in a small voice. “Thank you for not eating me. Or breathing fire at me.”

“I’m not going to eat anyone, Mythal save me from stupid ideas.” Fenris griped before he unbundled and got a bottle of wine for them. “Here, I’ll even use a bottle opener.” 

“I wasn’t sure just how much of your mind you retain when you...change,” said Dorian slowly as he sat up cautiously.

“Enough to not eat people, damn.” Fenris took a swig and passed the bottle back while he curled up under the blanket again. Dorian accepted the bottle with a nod then took a long pull at the bottle before finally lowering it.

“I’m sorry, I’ve not really slept in two nights and then being confronted with a dragon was a little much. I’m afraid I’m not really at my best, amicus,” he admitted as he lay down next to Fenris. “In fact, I apologise in advance if I fall asleep or pass out again.”

“You should go back inside and rest, where it’s warm. I can stay hot when I change so until now I wasn’t bothered by the weather. It’s not _that_ cold but I can’t keep warm.” Fenris said as he took the bottle back and let Dorian’s warmth seep into him.

“Please don’t make me face that ladder and all those stairs again,” complained Dorian. “I only just climbed them, after all. And I wanted to be sure you were alright. Well,” he amended as he took back the bottle again, “as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I understand Hal is not doing too well at the moment?” He took another long pull. He knew it likely wasn’t a sensible move to drink like this on an empty stomach with inadequate sleep, but his head was still aching a little. At least he didn’t feel quite so queasy when lying down.

“Anders was looking after him, I don’t know what happened after I left Zevran’s rooms. You should leave when you are able, I’m not safe to be around.” Fenris curled up on his side and avoided looking at the other man. “You thought I was going to eat you, I can’t be trusted not when I’m such a...I don’t even know what I am.”

“You are my friend,” replied Dorian quietly. “Amicus.”

Fenris started to laugh at that under his breath. “I’m a fucking monster, you should run.” 

Dorian’s hand came to rest upon Fenris’ shoulder. “I am not so much a coward as to run when a friend needs me, amicus,” he said quietly.

Fenris didn’t answer, he just choked back a sob before he broke down at how gentle Dorian was being with him.

“Amicus,” said Dorian gently, then repeated it: “Amicus.” He gently but firmly rolled Fenris over to face him then wrapped his arms around the sobbing elf and held him close as Fenris clutched at his tunic and wept. Dorian stroked the long soft hair and murmured reassurances quietly in Tevene.

“Leave me, just leave me here.” Fenris said as he tried to squirm free, and gave up. “Just let me...alone, please. I’m dangerous, I hurt people just go. Bull was probably right to attack me!” 

“I’m not going anywhere whilst you’re in this state,” chided Dorian sternly. “You haven’t attacked _me_ , regardless of how embarrassingly I behaved when you simply _looked_ at me earlier. I’ll admit my previous experiences with dragons have not been exactly the most pleasant, but if you can overlook that, then I am certainly willing to do likewise. Now. Look at me, amicus.”

Fenris glared and turned away as far as he could instead, he knew he was in a dark place but had just enough presence of mind not to take it out on Dorian, yet. 

Dorian kept his grip on Fenris’ shoulder, even as Fenris turned away, dragging the smaller man with him until Dorian found himself sprawled atop the elf, staring down at him.

“Fenris, I am _not_ leaving. So unless you plan to toss me off the top of the tower or - or _eat_ me, then you’re stuck with me. You can either talk to me or - or so help me, I shall simply _lie_ here on top of you until one or both of us falls asleep, and I can’t swear I shan’t be the one who closes their eyes first, I warn you now!” the altus declared, allowing a note of weariness to creep into his voice.

“You say that like I can’t just set you out of this room and lock the door. Falling asleep on me is no threat Pavus.” Fenris said wearily as he turned over and stared at Dorian. “Go to sleep, you can’t even pretend to be threatening.”

Dorian stared at him, then finally gave a small sigh of defeat. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I can’t. But please... be here when I awaken. I want to talk to you, Fenris.” His eyes drifted half closed. “I’m... worried about you,” he managed drowsily, the wine on top of the earlier adrenaline and two days without sleep finally taking their toll upon the exhausted mage. As Fenris watched, Dorian’s body slowly relaxed into sleep, the small frown between his eyebrows slowly smoothing away, the dark circles beneath his eyes telling their own story of his exhaustion and ennervation. His hand fell away limply from Fenris’ shoulder.

Fenris sighed and threw another log on the fired before he pulled the covers up and rolled over to cuddle with Dorian. He was tired as well and it was nicer to sleep like that than half shifted, irritated and wary. He was soon out for the count, until he felt something jabbing his shoulder and calling him to move. 

“Fenris... please, amicus!” Dorian’s voice slowly penetrated the fog of sleep still shrouding the elf’s brain in cotton wool; the altus’ voice sounded somewhat breathless. As Fenris opened his eyes, he found he was sprawled across Dorian, pinning the other man to the pallet as he lay atop the man’s chest. “Can’t...can’t breathe,” Dorian gasped.

“Sorry!” Fenris scrambled back and fell off the small bed. “See...see.” he rasped as he tried to get to his feet.

Dorian managed to get an elbow beneath him to push himself into a semi-reclining position. “See what,” he panted, pressing his other hand against his chest with a wince. “That you’re heavier than me? Believe me, it wouldn’t be the first time a sleeping partner has nearly flattened me by rolling over atop me.” He glanced up at the elf. “Oh _do_ stop looking so frightened, Fenris. I’m not hurt, just a little out of breath.”

“I broke Zevran’s ribs by landing on him. I’m a little sensitive to these things.” Fenris replied testily as he poked at the fire.

“I can assure you, nothing’s broken,” said Dorian as he sat up. He glanced at the small window. “We must have slept several hours; it looks like late afternoon from the light.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I still feel tired, though not as exhausted as earlier.” He glanced up. “And you? Do you feel any better?”

“I’m hungry, I’m not going to feel better for a while.” Fenris said as he glanced outside. “Think I should go in? I don’t want to face them, but I want a hot meal and not something I hunted and a bath.”

“Why don’t we go in together? I’ll admit I’m not too keen on going back myself if Meneris is still in the same foul mood he was in this morning,” confessed the mage. “And I think I could do with a hot bath myself. I probably ought to eat before I drink any more wine.”

“Can I hide in your room then?” Fenris said half seriously. “Promise I won’t eat you.” he tried for a smile but it didn’t quite work the way he wanted.

“Be my guest,” shrugged Dorian. “Though I should warn you that I am very strongly tempted to drink myself into a stupor once I am washed and fed. You’re welcome to join me in that, too, if you wish.”

“Alright, though I hope I can be left alone once Zevran realizes I’ve left the tower.” Fenris put out the fire, even dumping a bit of water on it before he put his boots on and let Dorian lead them back.

“I shall lock the door and leave a note on it threatening to fireball anyone who disturbs me,” Dorian called back over his shoulder. “You could breathe fire on them and they wouldn’t know the difference anyway, but I generally find the note does the trick. Even Meneris usually avoids me - at least for the first couple of days, anyway.”

“Alright.” Fenris trailed behind Dorian, somber as they made the trip to the Altus’ rooms. He waved Dorian away so he could start the tub while he put a note on the door. “Funny how I’d rather have struck you down just a year ago than share a bath or bed with you now. Not amusing funny...just how ridiculous is my life funny.” 

“At least you aren’t trying to throw me off a balcony or plunge your fist into my chest. I’d count that as something good, wouldn’t you?” as he closed the door and locked it, leaving the key in the door. He knew Meneris had a spare, but leaving his own key in would thwart the elf for a little while at least and ensure that Fenris perhaps wouldn’t feel hemmed in too much. It would also allow for a quick escape if Dorian suddenly found himself confronted with a hysterical dragon. Given the strange, high note in Fenris’ voice he wasn’t entirely sure that was entirely off the cards just yet.

“You’re my friend… I don’t hurt my friends. I try not to anyway.” Fenris said as he wandered back in the bath and undressed. He felt off kilter, lost a bit as he rinsed off.

Dorian slowly undressed, taking time over his buckles then folding his clothes neatly and setting them upon a chair before gathering up Fenris’ clothes and folding them neatly as well. He felt a strange reticence about the elf viewing his naked body, even though Fenris had had him bound, writhing and begging the elf to fuck him senseless in this very room. That was merely sex; there was something rather more intimate about sharing a tub. He wasn’t even sure the elf would _want_ that.

He hesitated, then selected a silk robe and slipped it on before wandering to the doorway of the bathing chamber. “Would you like me to scrub your back?” he offered quietly.

Fenris nodded and slipped into the tub, grateful it was big enough for them both. “ _I’m sorry to be a burden on you. I’m not dealing with things well, or losing Belann, or ...Hal’s injury._ ” he said in Tevene before he let his head drop to his hands and allowed Dorian do as he wished.

Dorian drew up a stool then rolled up the sleeves of his robe before wetting a cloth and beginning to wash Fenris’ back. He couldn’t help but admire the broad strong back, rippling with muscle; the way the lines of lyrium twined and swirled across the elf’s skin - particularly with the delicate additional tendrils that wove in and around the existing lines ever since he had risen from Mythal’s pool - was really quite fascinating and beautiful. His fingers itched to trace them but he kept his fingers to himself. He couldn’t help but wonder if Fenris were quite in proportion all over. _Really, Pavus - thinking about sex again?_ he mentally scolded himself. He couldn’t help but remember how it had felt before, Fenris fucking him into the mattress, and felt a stir between his legs. He was glad Fenris’ back was towards him as he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

“It is a lot to deal with at once,” he managed huskily. “Belann’s death... I suppose one day that will be the choice I’ll have to face. A sobering thought.” He suddenly pulled a face as he realised how insensitive that might sound. “Forgive me; you don’t want to hear my fears,” he apologised. _Not when you must already be afraid of the same happening to Anders. How long does he have anyway?_

Fenris remained quiet as he felt Dorian work and turned only when he felt the Altus move back from him. “Are you getting in?”

Dorian let his forearms drape over the edge of the tub and very aware of his erection; he couldn’t stop the tantalising thoughts dancing through his head of those firm hands pinning him down as Fenris rutted into him, how it had felt... “If you like? That is, if you don’t mind us sharing?” Dorian was quietly glad he managed to pull off a diffident tone.,

Fenris turned his head, noticed the tenting of the Altus’ robe and arched his eyebrow. “Is that what you want from me?”

Dorian shifted a little, casually moving his legs. “To share a bath?” he said casually, his tone belying the pinkness of his cheeks.

Fenris stared at him as if he couldn’t believe the other man was being so obtuse. “Dorian…”

Dorian’s eyes slid away from Fenris for a moment. With those green eyes boring into him, he couldn’t get the mental image of the elf leaning over him, imagine feeling that strong grip around his wrists... _Get a grip, Pavus._ “We could share if you like,” he ventured.

“You’d like me to get a grip on you, Pavus?” Fenris asked in a low voice.

Dorian’s eyes widened, and then his face went blank, all thought leaving his head. He sat there stunned, unable to tear his eyes away from Fenris’ green gaze as though hypnotised. After a moment, he finally spoke, his voice small and quiet. 

“Yes.”

He had no idea how the elf had plucked the thought from his head like that, but the moment Fenris had spoken, it was as though something inside Dorian simply... surrendered. 

He rose and shucked off the robe, then stepped into the tub, slowly lowering himself into the hot water, dropping his gaze involuntarily to stare at Fenris’ cock under the water. _Why not look? He knows, after all._

Fenris tilted his head, much like when he’d been a dragon earlier as he pondered Dorian. “Why me? Why now? Or is it curiosity about how much I am changed all over?”

“I don’t know. A little of both perhaps. And... after the way our... play... ended....” _A flash of memory; crimson rope tight around his wrists; enjoying how helpless he felt, the uncertainty of what Fenris would do to him. Fenris’ hand. His cock. A flash of wanting._ Dorian lifted his head and stared at Fenris. “I... can’t hide this from you, can I?” he slowly realised. “You...you _know._ ” His face still held something of its blankness.

“It is ...disconcerting. Maybe because I am not able to hide much of my mind, or because of something that connects us, I don’t know. I am married, and you are betrothed however. Are you allowed to play still?” Fenris said as he watched Dorian like a hawk.

“Within limits,” replied Dorian, transfixed by the elf’s disconcerting gaze. “Only with...with people he has already allowed me to play with.” A stray thought crossed his mind; the Bull was likely off that list, now and forever. After what he had seen of the terrible wound the kossith had inflicted upon Hal, he realised that that was something of a relief. “You are on that list,” he continued quietly. “Within certain limits you can do what you wish with me.” _To me._ He blinked.

“What if I want you to do things to _me_?” Fenris asked warily.

Dorian blinked, startled, momentarily shocked out of the blankness. “To - to you?” he said, surprised. “But - I thought -” He gestured at Fenris helplessly. “You’ve always come across as so... _dominant!_ ”

Fenris turned away, his expression closed off. “I do not feel ...as if I should indulge in that side of myself since I changed. I could hurt someone too easily, I don’t know my strength anymore. I would rather slit my throat than hurt anyone during sex.” 

“I would remind you that it wasn’t you who hurt me last time; it was my own damned fool fault for trying that lightning trick like that,” Dorian remarked acerbically, a little more of himself coming through in his voice though his face was still a little empty as he stared at the elf.

“I’m bigger than you, I pinned Zevran down and I am not.” Fenris blew out a breath in frustration. “Look, I am uncomfortable with being in that role. I’d be so cautious with everything it would not be fun for me, and I doubt for you.” 

Dorian stared at him. “Do you have enough self-control to stop if I asked?” he asked quietly.

“I would think so. I haven’t...I haven’t tried to, Zevran won’t with me anymore.” Fenris ran a hand through his hair and turned away. “Let’s just dry off and see what happens, I’m getting cold.”

Dorian rose out of the tub and stepped out, holding his hand out to Fenris.

Fenris did the same and dried off before he did the same for Dorian, then he sat on the bed, feeling awkward and out of sorts. “So…”

Dorian glanced at Fenris, then rose and moved to stand before Fenris. He waited until the elf looked at him, smirking a little as the elf’s gaze flicked from his stiff cock to his face; then he dropped to his knees between Fenris’ legs and leaned forward to take Fenris’ member into his mouth, lifting his hands to brace them upon Fenris’ thighs as he leaned forward further, relaxing his jaw as he took the elf further down almost into his throat.

That got a reaction from the elf, a cuss that was between something in Tevene and Dorian’s name as he rolled his hips up slightly. Dorian made an encouraging sound as his head bobbed, drawing back before plunging down. The head of Fenris’ cock brushed the back of Dorian’s throat, and the altus deliberately swallowed. He glanced up at Fenris, his lips reddening around the elf’s cock, stretched by the girth.

“Do...Dorian…” he moaned before he tried not to shove the other man down further. “Maker...yes…”

Dorian grinned as he drew back, slipping Fenris’ cock free of his mouth as he continued to pump it slowly with one hand, looking more himself. “What do you want, Fenris? To fuck my throat until you come? Or to fuck my ass? Choose.” He bent forward to swirl his tongue about the head of Fenris’ cock teasingly.

“Keep doing that and I’ll come in about five minutes.” Fenris gasped as he leaned back and fought the urge to grab Dorian by the back of his head to make him suck until he filled the Altus’ mouth.

Dorian merely grinned as he tightened his hand around the base of Fenris’ cock until the urge receded a little. “Which do you want, Fenris?” he asked softly.

“M...mmm...mouth.” Fenris stuttered, as he stared down at Dorian. The Altus rose to his feet gracefully.

“Get up then,” he told the elf. “I need to lie on my back for this.” As Fenris got to his feet, a little confused, Dorian stretched out upon his back and let his head hang over the end of the bed. In a flash of thought from Dorian, he suddenly realised why he’d suggested the change of positions. He held his cock to Dorian’s lips and the mage opened his mouth; and in one smooth thrust the elf was able to sink his whole length right down into the warm, inviting wetness of his throat.

“OH...oh...yes, yes.” Fenris moaned as he got into fucking Dorian’s mouth in steady, strong strokes. “Dorian...oh ..oh…” he tried to not buck hard enough to hurt his amicus but it was hard with how good the other man’s mouth felt on him. Then Dorian deliberately swallowed around Fenris’ cock, his throat constricting in a wonderful wave of tightness, even as the mage fisted his own cock and began pumping it, fingering himself with the other hand.

“Fuck...fuc...fucccck.” Fenris hissed as he moved fast as he could… “Close, already, what...oh, oh Dorian.” he moaned when the Altus started to hum slightly each time he felt Fenris pull back.

Dorian’s breath was coming in fast, frantic pants between each thrust of Fenris’ cock down his throat. He was feeling dizzy from lack of air even as he tasted a little liquid seeping from the tip of Fenris’ cock. Without thinking this time, he swallowed, even as his fingers brushed his own sweet spot inside and felt himself perilously close to coming hard.

Fenris’ eyes closed as he felt his orgasm taking him over…”Co...gonna come…” he warned Dorian before he stilled over the other man and let him swallow. “I almost blanked out...Maker.”

Dorian twitched and jerked beneath Fenris before his back arched and he came over his own hand and stomach. He coughed, throat full of Fenris’ seed and barely able to breath, dizzy and lightheaded, disoriented after coming hard himself. He tried to swallow it down before he could choke.

The elven warrior rolled to his side and panted. “Thanks..”

Dorian coughed then rolled over onto his stomach and spat, breathing heavily for a few minutes before he let his head drop. “Welcome,” he managed between pants.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked as he sat up and tugged Dorian so the other man was fully on his bed. Dorian waved a hand at him as he turned his head to the side to regard Fenris with slightly dazed grey eyes.

“Just breathless,” he wheezed. “Give...give me a moment.”

Fenris frowned a bit but didn’t push. “Guess I needed something to distract me.” 

Dorian smiled hazily. “Glad to help,” he said quietly. He swallowed then winced slightly. “Could I trouble you for a glass of wine?” he asked.

Fenris poured the both a glass and handed Dorian one before he settled on the bed, cross legged as he pondered the other man. “Was I too rough?”

Dorian had managed to sit up and was propped up with his back against one of the upright posts of his bed, one leg stretched out on the bed and the other drawn up and tucked beneath his knee. 

“Not at all,” replied the mage. “Just my own climax came upon me just as you came, and for a moment I couldn’t quite catch my breath. That was... very intense.” He frowned slightly, his gaze distant for a moment in thought. “Ah. So that would be the allure of breathplay,” he guessed.

“It can be very intense yes, maybe once I know myself better I will try it again with one of you.” Fenris said quietly as he sipped his drink.

Dorian dropped his gave to his glass of wine and sipped slowly, a thoughtful look in his eyes as his gaze flicked briefly to Fenris’ hands then back to his wine.

“What’s the problem amicus?” Fenris asked softly.

“It’s... not a problem, exactly,” said the mage, staring into his wine. “Only...” He frowned again.

“Please, I don’t have it in me to guess at things right now Dorian.” Fenris said as he sat his wine aside and got under the covers. “Chilly....”

Dorian drained his glass then set it aside before slipping beneath the covers to lie next to Fenris. He was silent for a moment.

“Fenris... would you indulge me in something for a moment?” he asked quietly.

“Depends on what you want, I’m not in...the most giving mood.” replied the elf.

“Would you....” Dorian frowned, trying to think how to phrase it. “I... I want you to... put your hands around my throat. Only - don’t squeeze, I... just want to know what it feels like before I... before taking this any further at some point in the future.” He turned his head to look at Fenris. “I’d rather know rather than find myself freaking out unexpectedly,” he added.

“Now?” Fenris asked in confusion. 

“Please? It won’t take long,” said Dorian.

“Ah...alright” Fenris turned so he could indulge him. He put his hands around the other man’s throat and simply left his hands there. 

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat a little at the sensation of hands around his throat. He felt a vague sense of panic rising as he felt Fenris’ thumbs resting against his windpipe. “Hold my throat,” he whispered. “Don’t - don’t squeeze, but so I can...can feel it properly.”

As Fenris’ hands encircled his throat properly, his thumbs now firm against Dorian’s throat, the Altus gasped audibly. “E-enough - enough!” he managed quietly, glad he managed to keep the panic out of his voice. As Fenris took his hands away and studied Dorian’s face, he managed a hesitant smile. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” he said softly.

“You hated it, I can tell by the look on your face.” Fenris said as he folded his arms and stared at the Altus.

Dorian sat up and leaned his back against the headboard, running a hand slowly over his face. “I was curious. Curiosity sated, thank you,” he said briskly. “Breathplay is... not for me I think.” he couldn’t meet Fenris’ eyes as the elf continued to stare at him.

“Very well.” Fenris slipped to his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Lie down, you’re bothered.”

Dorian swallowed hard, then slowly slipped back down beneath the covers and lay on his back. “Yes, I...hated it,” he finally admitted. “I could feel myself on the edge of panicking. I’ve never been strangled before and I have a rather overactive imagination at the best of times. But perhaps better to find out now than suddenly panic later on, hmm?” He glanced to Fenris. “Thank you for letting me find that out for myself in a safe way,” he said softly. “You’re... not angry with me for asking, are you?”

“Not angry, just...tired.” Fenris said as he let his eyes close finally.

Dorian studied him, his expression worried. He was sure Fenris was lying, he just couldn’t figure out why. “Fenris,” he murmured softly.

“That’s my name.” rumbled the elf without opening his eyes. “I think I want to go by Leto for official business, especially in Minrathous. What do you think?”

Dorian frowned at the deflection, but turned his head to stare at the ceiling. “Leto,” he echoed slowly. “I’m... that will take a little getting used to,” he admitted. It troubled him that Fenris - _no, **Leto** ,_ he reminded himself - was obviously avoiding his question; it only caused his anxiety to peak more.

He had mixed feelings about returning to Minrathous. He missed his home terribly - but Halward and Aquinea were waiting back there, and he couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t try to manipulate him once more. He didn’t think they would move directly against him as Ambassador for the Inquisition - but there were so many other ways they could get at him, ways that would be harder to counter - and his father had always been very good at the indirect approach.

He tried to quell the inward growing tide of anxiety. The last thing he needed was for Fenris - _LETO!!_ his brain hissed at him in the back of his mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Aquinea when he’d picked up the wrong fork at some elaborate dinner party she’d hosted - to pick up on his worry. 

Fenris frowned as he turned to look at Dorian, he could pick up on the other man’s distress without his gift. “You are worried about returning there, and I have upset you.” 

“No,” said Dorian slowly. “More concerned about what may be waiting for me there.”

“Your father?” Fenris guessed as he turned to his side and reached out to caress the other man.

Dorian shot him a startled glance at the touch, then relaxed a little as he nodded. “We... didn’t exactly part on the best of terms,” he explained. “There are... certain things he did that I can’t forgive.”

“If you wish to divulge, I will listen. If not I understand.” Fenris said.

Dorian took a deep breath. “You won’t like it,” he said warningly. “Meneris certainly didn’t.” He glanced sidelong at Fenris, weighing his words carefully. “You’re... aware of how inverts like myself are viewed in Tevinter. You couldn’t fail to be aware.”

“To a degree yes, but remember who owned me.” Fenris said softly.

“Danarius was too powerful for anyone to voice their derision openly.” Dorian shrugged. “And... slaves it seems do not count.” He glanced to Fenris. “A view I do not share, by the way,” he added.

“I know you don’t. So what did your father do, or rather try to do that has you hesitant to return?” Fenris asked.

“I was a disgrace to the name of Pavus,” said Dorian, staring at the ceiling. His voice dripped with bitterness. “They were ashamed of me. They wanted me to settle down with the perfect wife in the perfect house and be the perfect son and produce a line of perfect children, all a credit to House Pavus like the dutiful son I was supposed to be.”

“But you couldn’t live a lie?” Fenris continued.

“Got it in one,” said Dorian. He was blinking rapidly, his breathing coming a little faster. “It would have killed me inside. It wasn’t who I was. I suppose my father became... desperate.”

Fenris frowned as he sat up a bit straighter. “What did he do, just tell me.” 

“He....” Dorian swallowed hard. “He tried to... change me.”

“Maleficarum..maledicion!” Fenris snarled as he felt his claws start to extend in anger. “Calm yourself, fucking calm down.” he repeated to himself until he was no longer shifting.

Dorian was regarding him with worry. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” he said. “Yes. My own father tried to use blood magic on me. Locked me in my room for over a week whilst he made preparations for a ritual that could have destroyed my mind, change me into someone I wouldn’t even recognise as myself! Better my mind be destroyed than that I continue to bring disgrace to his house. And Aquinea _helped_ him. My own parents.”

He sank back against the pillows. “My father always said blood magic was the last resort of a weak mind. But even he turned readily enough to it in the end. I managed to escape late one night with the help of one of my father’s slaves. I gave him gold, told him to get out of Minrathous, and then ran to Gereon’s house in only the clothes I stood up in. And then got horrendously drunk.” 

“Maker…I’m sorry Dorian. How did you wind up in the south?” Fenris said with worry.

“I stayed in Gereon’s house a few weeks. He made arrangements to get me out of Minrathous, paid ship’s passage for me to the coast and gave me just enough gold to get to Ferelden safely. I drifted here and there until I ended up at Redcliffe and ran into Felix again, and found Gereon was caught up with this whole Corypheus business. I took up with the Inquisition and here I am.” He shrugged.

“Glad you made it here then. Sorry if I frightened you by changing half way.” Fenris said sheepishly.

“Not as much as you did when I came to find you earlier and came face-to-face - well, snout - with a dragon. The breathing fire though - that was what really did me in.” He turned his head and stared at Fenris. “How does that work, exactly? The whole breathing fire thing?”

“I...um don’t know really. I just closed my eyes, concentrated on it and it worked.” Fenris admitted sheepishly.

“You don’t know?” Dorian suddenly chuckled. “How fascinating! I wonder just what the mechanism is - does your throat change somehow, inside perhaps? I’d ask for a demonstration but I’m afraid my room is a little too flammable.” He gestured at the silk drapes and the curtains around his bed.

“Dining hall, let’s really frighten Cullen.” Fenris gave him a mischievous grin, which made him look younger in the firelight.

Dorian threw his head back and laughed, then rolled onto his side, propping his head on his fist. “You really are the most fascinating creature, Leto Hawke,” he smiled. “I am glad we are friends.”

Fenris grinned at him and reached over to put his lips on Dorian’s. “Glad I stopped hating you Dorian Pavus.”

Dorian’s eyes widened as Fenris kissed him before they fluttered half-closed and he groaned into Fenris’ mouth. One hand lifted to thread fingers into Fenris’ hair.

The elf leaned in and kept up the kiss as long as he could before he needed a breath. He stared at Dorian for a moment before he leaned down and let the mage explore him if he chose.

Dorian was light-headed by the time Fenris drew away; his eyes opened a little, his grey eyes soft and dreamy as he gazed up at Fenris.

“What... what are you....” he murmured, not quite able to complete the question.

“I wanted to kiss you, is that alright?” Fenris gazed at him before he pulled Dorian to his chest and started to kiss him on his face, and neck in little spots. “I want to show I can be gentle too, that I’m no monster Dorian.”

Dorian seemed rather bemused; after a moment’s hesitation, he draped his arms around Fenris’ neck and allowed the elf to have his way with him. “You’re no monster, Fenris; I already told you that.” As Fenris kissed slowly down his throat, he tilted his head back a little. “This is... very nice though,” he admitted. “If unexpected.”

“I need to know I can be gentle, please…” Fenris repeated as he ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair again.

Dorian lay back. “Do with me as you will, Ambassador Hawke,” he chuckled quietly. “I can assure you I’m not complaining. Quite the reverse in fact,” he added with a groan as Fenris trailed kisses up his throat and along his jaw before claiming his mouth with another kiss, stealing away anything else the Altus might have said.

“Call me Leto...please.” Fenris said as he leaned in for more kisses. “You may touch me as well.”

“Leto,” Dorian murmured softly, tasting the syllables as they rolled off his tongue like honey, his fingers trailing across Fenris’ skin, his palms smoothing over the elf’s ribs.

“It was my name before… I was remade by Danarius.” Fenris said softly. “Touch...please.”

Dorian ran his hands lower over Fenris’ body, marvelling at the rock hard abs and taut stomach before his hands swept lower towards the elf’s groin. “Leto, you are beautiful,” he breathed.

The elf groaned as he felt Dorian’s hands on him. “Never… beautiful, just..me.” he amended.

“Beautiful to _me_ ,” Dorian corrected him as he curled a hand around Fenris’ cock, feeling it begin to stiffen in his grasp.

“I...please…” Fenris moaned as he felt Dorian’s hand on him. “What do you want?”

“I was going to ask _you_ that,” murmured Dorian as he lifted his eyes to meet Fenris’ heated gaze.

“Be kind, just...make me happy?” Fenris asked softly. Dorian smiled gently.

“I’ll try my best,” he agreed. “What would you like to do? This? My mouth on you? You in me? There’s oil on the nightstand to your left....”

“You already gave me your mouth, if you wouldn’t mind...a bit more touching and kissing? This is nice, and it’s not, I can’t mess this up.” Fenris said as he laid back and let Dorian take the lead.

Dorian sat up and stared down at the elf for a minute, then reached for the oil. “Turn over,” he ordered. “On your stomach.”

The warrior did as he was asked and waited, comfortable and warm with the other man.

Dorian poured a little oil into his hand then capped the vial and set his aside. Coating both hands with the oil, he rubbed them together to warm them a little, then swung a leg over Fenris’ legs and settled himself across the elf’s hips and ran his oiled hands slowly up the elf’s back then back down, noting where he felt muscles tense before setting to work to massage the knots out with practiced, deft hands.

Fenris made little noises as he was massaged, his fingers flexed with each press into a knot of muscle and he whined just a bit when Dorian hit a really tense spot. The Tevinter Altus murmured a soothing apology in their native tongue as he let a little mere trickle of fire magic warm his hands and worked firmly at the knot, teasing and pushing at it until the bubble shifted and dispersed beneath his fingers.

By the time he’d worked his way over the whole of Fenris’ back, his hands were aching and tired and Fenris limp and relaxed beneath him. Fenris’ eyes had closed while Dorian worked and he actually was snoring by the time the Altus asked him if he needed anything else.

The Altus stared down at the sleeping elf in his bed with mild dismay before finally shrugging with a sigh. With a tired wave of his hand, he doused all the candles until the room was lit only by the flickering firelight before yawning. He snuggled down and tugged up the covers before curling up against Fenris’ side and closing his eyes.

He fell asleep shortly afterwards, warm and comfortable and relaxed.

 

***

 

Hal sat still on the chair as Anders slowly unwound the bandages about his head then carefully removed the dressing as Fenris, Hawke and Zevran looked on. Meneris was watching from the door, Dorian by his side; neither man had spoken of the Inquisitor’s reason for being there, but they were all aware that much hinged on whether Hal regained the sight in his eye or not.

Once the last dressing had been removed, they could all see the scar that ran from mid-forehead down across his brow, across the eyelid and biting into his cheek. Though the scars were silvery and looked faded, as though old, still they stood out pale against Hal’s olive complexion.

“Can you open your eye?” asked Anders.

Hal frowned and tried. “It’s... I can’t -”

“Wait; it may have gummed up,” said Anders. He reached for the nearby bowl of warm water, dipping in a cloth then carefully and gently wiping at Hal’s eye. “Try now,” he suggested.

After a moment, Hal’s scarred eyelid fluttered slightly then slowly opened.

Dorian muttered an oath as Hal’s eye opened and the light hit it. The iris had changed colour to an almost colourless ice-blue.

“Can you see?” Fenris asked worriedly.

Hal turned towards him; as the light from the window fell upon his eye, the pupil contracted visibly and Hal ducked his head away with a wince, lifting his hand to ward away the light. 

“Too bright,” he exclaimed. “Everything’s blurry.”

“But can you see at all?” Fenris asked again.

“Invictus, draw the curtains please?” asked Anders as he moved to crouch in front of Hal and stare up into the strange-coloured eye. “Don’t rub it,” he added to the young mage.

“It itches,” replied Hal as he blinked rapidly, his eyes watering.

“That’s to be expected; it’s been healing under dressings this past week,” replied Anders as the Champion drew the curtains.

Hal slowly straightened then cautiously opened his eyes, looking around slowly. “It’s... everything’s blurry,” he said slowly.

Anders held up a hand to cover the left eye then held up three fingers. “Can you see my hand? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“I...I can see your hand but... it’s blurry, I can’t count your fingers,” Hal answered slowly.

“That’s good right? That he can see blurry fingers yes?” Fenris asked as he tried not to get too excited.

Anders smiled and nodded. “Very promising,” he agreed. “The eye is healing well; as it adjusts to being used again, more nerve connections should form and the eye will strengthen. You should regain full vision in time,” he told Hal. “It’ll be sensitive to bright light at first; I’d advise you to keep indoors, maybe draw your curtains and use a few candles to light your room.”

“Maybe a word with Dagna? She may be able to come up with something to help protect his eyes?” suggested Dorian.

“I can take you to her if you want?” Fenris offered.

“For now, I’d suggest a thin silk cloth over that eye to protect it,” suggested Anders. “It will keep out bright light but allow you to make out shapes and shadows.” He turned to the table and picked up a square of silk with thin tapes stitched top and bottom. Stepping behind Hal, he tied the square of silk over the scarred eye.

“How... how bad is the scar?” asked Hal hesitantly.

Fenris held a mirror up and waited for Hal to react. Hal stared at his reflection then slowly, hesitantly tugged the eyepatch off and stared at the scar that bisected his eye, lifting a hand to touch the scarred tissue on his eyelid, then just beneath his eye as he stared at the pale blue iris of his eye. He blinked, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears before he turned away and bowed his head, hiding his face behind his hair so they would not see his tears fall.

“At...at least I’m not blind,” he said thickly.

“I’m sorry Hal.” Fenris sat the mirror aside and tied the eyepatch back on gently before he put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “Do you need some time?”

Hal nodded, not lifting his head. “Please,” he said, his voice colourless.

Wordlessly they filed out of the door, and Hal was alone.

He curled in upon himself and began to cry, very softly.


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delayed reaction catches up with Anders; Zevran comes to an unexpected realisation, and Hal finally confronts the Iron Bull.

As they gathered outside the door, Anders pulled it closed behind them then turned to face the others.

“His reaction is about what I’d expect,” he said slowly. “He’ll regain the sight in his eye fully in time, but it’ll take him a little while to come to terms with the scars - the ones in his mind as well as on his face.” He sighed heavily, then glanced to Meneris. “What will you do now?”

“I’ll speak with Hal first, once he’s gotten over his initial shock; I understand he was concerned I was going to send Bull away for good?” Meneris said as he looked at Fenris.

“Well you _did_ say you were going to send Bull back to Par Vollen in a crate,” Dorian remarked in a maddeningly-reasonable tone of voice. Meneris shook his head at Dorian as he scowled in clear _not now Dorian_ fashion.

“Yes, he still loves him...for some damned reason. I promised I would abide his wishes Inquisitor, so if he wants him to stay and for me not to take vengeance, so be it.” Fenris replied.

“Very well, tell Hal I’d like to see him before dinner if he’s up for it. I need to see Cullen before he and Cassandra leave for ...Honnleath I think is where they are going.” Meneris said.

“I think it would be best to leave him be for today, Inquisitor,” said Anders as he shook his head. “He’ll be in no fit state to discuss anything, much less the Bull. As his healer, I have to deny your request.”

“That wasn’t a request, Grand Enchanter,” said Meneris, surprised.

“Nor was my reply... _Inquisitor_ ,” Anders replied, fixing the elf with a steely stare.

Meneris regarded Anders thoughtfully for a minute then slowly nodded before he glanced at the other elf. “I’d like to talk with you too Fenris, if you don’t mind. Today,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Anders. 

The warrior caught himself before he asked what he’d done wrong; instead he nodded and agreed to find Meneris in a couple of hours in his office. 

“You’re not in trouble, I just wanted to talk. I’ll be in my office after lunch.” Meneris turned to leave them, his mind busy with all that had to be done before people took off on their journeys. “Love, you coming with me?”

“Of course,” said Dorian, straightening up from where he’d been leaning with folded arms against the hall wall. He nodded to Fenris, glancing briefly at Anders before he turned and followed after Meneris.

Fenris glanced to Anders then to Zevran, worried that his his spouses were still put out with him for running off. “Zevran, do you have some time to talk?” he asked before he glanced at Anders again. 

“Of course, _carissimi_ ,” nodded Zevran.

Anders was regarding Fenris with a faintly perplexed look. “Fenris... is there something...?”

“I want you to look me over before I speak with Meneris, these changes...Mythal explained, but I want you to examine me. For my peace of mind - and I owe you all an apology for how I reacted earlier this week.” Fenris said quietly.

Anders glanced back at the closed door of Hal’s room, then gestured for them to head down to his own rooms. As they entered, he walked over to the windows and drew the curtains before turning back to them.

“Zevran, would you shut and lock the door please?” he requested. “I don’t want us to be interrupted.”

“Why do you want the door locked?” Fenris asked warily.

“Because if you suddenly transform - even part-way - then the last thing any of us need is for someone to barge in unexpectedly and see you like that,” Anders replied. He was stripping off his outer robe and washing his hands in the washbasin.

“Why...why would I transform? What are you going to do?” Fenris asked as he tried to remember it was Anders, he was safe. He could leave if he wanted. “Being locked in a room ...doesn’t really make me feel good about this.”

Anders glanced at Zevran, who moved to the table and took a seat.

“Fenris, I’m not sure what will happen when I touch you with my magic,” the healer said slowly. “And believe me, I don’t like being trapped in a locked room any more than you do. Possibly even less. I know you’re wary, and frankly if something unexpected happens and I find myself locked in with a possibly angry and undoubtedly distressed dragon then I’m going find myself really regretting that locked door as well. But I just don’t want to risk a runner or someone like that walking in at the wrong moment and startling either one of us.”

Anders took a step closer to the elf, and Fenris realised with a start that the healer had no idea what would happen and was actually afraid, though he was hiding it well. But his draconic senses could pick up on the distinctive, almost sour scent of fear that clung to the mage as he stood in front of Fenris.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Fenris said quietly.

Anders closed his eyes and swallowed hard before he nodded and opened his eyes. “May I... touch you?” he requested quietly.

"Yes; I know you won't hurt me, Anders." Fenris closed his eyes and waited for his husband’s touch, both his hands and his magic.

Anders reached for Fenris’ hand but he hesitated before finally curling his fingers loosely around Fenris’ wrist as he closed his eyes and let his healer’s senses sink into the elf. Delicately he probed inside Fenris, let his consciousness be tugged along the lines of lyrium, exploring how they had expanded. He opened his eyes, unseeing, his eyes widening as he realised how the delicate thin tendrils of lyrium that swirled around and through the original brands extended somehow _into_ Fenris’ flesh. He hadn’t been aware of it before, when he healed Fenris after the battle with Corypheus; but as he let his consciousness reach out and touch the lines, he was aware of them on a whole different level.

As he let a little touch of magic trickle into the lines, it was as though someone had rung a bell; like a chime on the rim of a glass, the sound vibrating through him and yet not sound. He felt the surge of power through the lyrium lines and was aware of Zevran crying out in alarm, but was unable to withdraw his mind from the sensations of the lyrium come alive in Fenris’ flesh.

He was distantly aware of a hand upon his chest, and then he was falling backwards; the floor struck his back hard, and the hand upon his chest was too large for any human hand. Something sharp rested against the hollow of his throat. He opened his eyes to stare up then blinked. The room was filled with blinding white light, through which he could dimly make out the form of the dragon. It was a claw of the creature’s foot that rested against his throat, even as his hands rested upon that foot, his magic still flowing, drawn into the perfect lines of lyrium that sang in his blood so loudly that he could barely draw breath.

Fenris growled at Anders, his eyes glowing as he pondered the human under him. He huffed in confusion as he tried to get away from the pulling on his brands, the singing and glow in the room.

Anders lay still, staring up at the dragon, afraid to move - indeed, _unable_ to move. He could feel the lyrium still drawing upon his magic, a living thing that seemed to reach out to him. He felt the lyrium lines somehow shifting within Fenris’ body painlessly, the tendrils questing through the surface of the dragon’s skin, swirling down around the dragon’s foot until the dragon’s talon sheened over with a skin of lyrium that touched Anders’ throat.

He felt a blossoming warmth where the lyrium touched him that slowly choked him, and then he knew nothing.

Zevran circled slowly around the dragon, lifting his hands placatingly when the dragon’s head whipped round and the wings lifted, half-spreading as the dragon hissed warningly. The Antivan elf could barely make out the dragon’s shape through the blazing light as he edged his way closer to the still form of Anders, pinned under the dragon’s foot.

“Easy, _carissimi_ , easy,” said Zevran soothingly. “It is only Zevran. Careful, my heart; it is Anders beneath your foot. You do not wish to harm him, hmm?”

The dragon stared at him, then turned his gaze down to the mage pinned beneath his talon. Anders’ hands had fallen away from the dragon’s foot and he lay, arms outstretched, fingers half-curled and hands limp. He gazed sightlessly at the ceiling. As they both stared, his eyes slowly became suffused with a golden glow.

Fenris’ form glowed brighter for a moment and Zevran turned his head away, briefly blinded. As the light dimmed then faded away, he glanced back to see Fenris crouched upon the floor, returned to his normal shape, one hand laid against Anders’ throat as the mage lay sprawled beneath him, still staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Fenris yanked his hand back and scrambled away. "No...not again!" he said.

Zevran moved swiftly to his side, one hand dropping to Fenris’ shoulder and checking his attempted retreat as he reached out to press two fingers to the pulse point in Anders’ throat. After a moment he glanced back at Fenris.

“He lives, _carissimi_ ; I think perhaps he is only stunned. Help me get him up off the floor.”

Fenris reached out tentatively, then let his hand rest on Anders’ chest. "Are you back?" he asked. Anders didn’t answer, his eyes still unfocused although his breathing was calm and steady. "Anders?! Come on, _one_ of you answer...." Fenris called as he shook the blond Mage. Anders’ head rolled limply to one side, his gaze still distant, seeming to stare through Zevran as the Antivan stared down at him. The former Crow frowned, though his hand tightened reassuringly on Fenris’ shoulder briefly.

“Easy, _carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “Give him a moment.” As they stared, Anders slowly blinked, and then he slowly moved one arm, lifting it off the floor to lay his hand over the elf’s hand gripping his tunic.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't trying to change! Are you ok? Make it so it stops, please!" he asked as Anders turned to look at him. Anders blinked again, his eyes for a moment staring through the elf before gradually focusing on his face as though the blond healer were waking from a very deep sleep.

“I’m... alright,” he said faintly. “Just... just a little stunned I think. It all happened so fast.” He glanced up at Zevran then back at Fenris. “It’s OK love,” he managed. “I don’t think it will happen again. Everything seems fine. You’re healthy, there’s nothing physically wrong with you that I could find.” He stirred slightly then winced. “Ow. Could you help me sit up please?”

Fenris helped him up and to a chair before he started to pace. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate this! Hal got hurt, Zevran got hurt, I scared Dorian into a faint and now this. I hate this so much." Fenris stopped by the door and stared at them, sure both men would try to explain he wasn't at fault.

Zevran fetched a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for Anders; the mage glanced at it then took it with a nod of thanks. His eyes were still a little unfocused as he tried to follow the elf’s pacing. Fenris sat down finally but put his head down and refused to look at either of them.

Zevran stared at him then shook his head, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Will someone explain to this poor ignorant boy from Antiva just what exactly happened just now?” he asked.

"I don't know, he used his power and I changed," Fenris said miserably.

Anders downed half his glass of wine then stared down at it as he held it between his palms. He looked as though he were about to speak then frowned, tilting his head to one side as though he’d heard something. He was still for so long that Zevran started forward, afraid he’d slipped back into that strange trance state he had been in before; but at that moment Anders straightened.

“The lyrium runs all through your body; it’s like... blood vessels, only lyrium instead of blood, and alive, aware, in a way that blood isn’t,” he said, glancing at Fenris. “We already knew this - that lyrium is a living thing; it’s reached out and tried to fasten onto my magic before, if you remember. The part where it weaves all through your flesh - that’s new, however. Part of Mythal’s work, no doubt. The lyrium is what enables you to change. It’s also... self-healing; more than that, it will heal _you_ , if need be. The only reason it couldn’t put you back together after the fight with the archdemon is because there was just too much damage for it to deal with all at once. But you notice you were up and back on your feet far faster than Zevran.”

“I guess so, it still felt like I’d been put back together like a puzzle. I hated being so weak.” Fenris frowned as he glanced at them. “Then why did I take so long to heal?”

Anders stared at him. “Fenris, was I talking to myself? Do you not realise how much worse your injuries were than Zevran’s? Shattered bones, ruptured internal organs, your skull was fractured, and you had burns over more than half your body! By comparison, Zevran had been hit with a lightning bolt and poisoned himself. It should have taken far longer for you to be up and about, but you were out of your bed only a couple of days later whilst Zevran was still flat out!” He stared at Fenris disbelievingly. “Fenris, you shouldn’t by rights even be out of bed yet, even with all my healing power!”

“Almost two months later?” Fenris asked quietly. “I nearly died, it was Hal and you and Hawke that kept me alive.” he said.

Anders stared at him intently. “Shattered bones, Fenris. Your spine was severed in two places. I could barely even count the number of fragments your left leg was shattered into. How you didn’t die on impact I will never know. If it had been anyone else, they likely would have. It was all I could do to stabilise both your hearts - simultaneously, I might add! - to keep you both alive long enough to be able to work on you.” He shook his head slowly. “You have no idea. You really have no idea.”

“Excuse me, I need to be going now.” Fenris hadn’t realized how close he was to death after that fight, not really. “Wait...you said both of us?” 

Anders had set his glass down and dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this,” he murmured to himself. “What? Yes, I did; what of it?” He didn’t raise his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tiredly.

Fenris fell silent as he let his thoughts run back to the fight, the feeling of being a dragon, getting hit and falling, hitting the ground. He stared at Anders then to Zevran before he dropped his gaze to the floor again.

Zevran laid a hand gently on Anders’ shoulder as he came to stand beside the blond mage; Anders leaned into his touch and let his head rest against Zevran’s leg, his eyes closed. “You were both dying. Zevran because he’d taken poison on top of being hit by the same sort of attack that had taken Vic down. You because you’d taken out an archdemon single-handed, and even dragons aren’t built to handle that much damage. Either I let one die whilst I attempted to save the other, or I could try and bring you both back from the brink and hope I could hold on long enough for help to come. So I did.”

“I...never realized how close I was to dying. I thought it was just a few broken bones, maybe other things. Anders, why am I not dead?” Fenris asked in a small voice.

“Because you are Mythal’s Chosen,” the mage finally answered as he opened his eyes and looked at Fenris. His amber eyes were dark with the remembered pain of trying to save the lives of two men he had been wed to less than a full day and deathly afraid he might kill himself trying to save them and still not bring them back; a day when too many had died. When for a little while he had thought Invictus dead before Corypheus took him down as well. He stared at Fenris, and for a moment all he could see was the elf’s body as it had been - burned, bloodied, broken.

It was suddenly too much, and he dropped his head, reaching for the glass of wine at his feet with a hand that shook badly.

“I need something stronger than wine and to be alone for a while. Excuse me.” Fenris said hoarsely before he tried to leave for his rooms, Belann’s tower, anywhere but there.

Zevran wordlessly walked to the side cabinet and picked up a bottle of brandy; uncorking it, he walked over to Fenris and shoved the bottle into his hands before returning to Anders. He crouched down beside the blond mage who was shaking; he picked up the wine glass and gently held it to Anders’ lips so he could drink. 

The warrior took a long pull before he sat the bottle on the table and stared at Zevran taking care of Anders. He had no words for what was going on in his mind, so instead he drank and discovered that the drink wasn’t doing as good of a job as before of dulling things.

Zevran had refilled Anders’ glass and persuaded the blond mage to sit up a little straighter; Anders was still trembling, his eyes closed, but as Zevran touched the glass to his lips he sipped slowly, finally managing to cradle the glass with both hands as Zevran steadied it. The elf glanced up at Fenris from time to time before turning his attention back to Anders, saying nothing. There was nothing of reproach in the glances he spared Fenris, but the warrior felt somehow chastised nonetheless as the Antivan took care of their husband much as Fenris himself might once have done.

Fenris drank until he’d nearly emptied the bottle, and put his head down when he finally felt a bit of a buzz from the alcohol. He’d have stayed like that if not for the banging on the door. 

“Anders, open this damned door!” Vic called as he tried to rattle it open.

Anders was draining the dregs of his third glass but jumped, startled, the glass smashing upon the floor at his feet as Zevran glanced towards the door.

Fenris opened the door and let Vic in without saying a word to his perplexed expression at finding him there.

“Why is the door locked? Why are you here Fenris? Meneris was expecting you a while ago and why do I feel like I walked in at the worst possible moment?” Invictus asked as he took in the scene.

Anders was staring in dismay at the shattered glass at his feet; he reached towards it but Zevran stopped him. Anders dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders began to shake.

“Invictus, a hand if you would?” murmured Zevran. “I think things have rather caught up to Anders and his mood is... a little fragile, no?”

“Um, alright.” Vic came over and helped Anders up and steered him towards the bed. “Love, look at me, what do you need right now?”

Anders shook his head, his eyes red and swimming with tears as he scrubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m - I’m sorry, I looked at - I can’t, I couldn’t - I looked but all I could see was - blood, and burnt, and I couldn’t -” He couldn’t get anything else out for the sobs rising up to choke him.

“It’s alright, we’re safe...come on let me get you to bed, and we can sit for a while until you’re a bit more at rest.” Vic offered as he glanced at Zevran then over to Fenris with a mouthed ‘what happened?’ for the Antivan.

Zevran gave Fenris a pointed look; he stood with his arms folded, but after a moment when it was clear Fenris wasn’t going to move, he threw his hands up and crossed to the bed to help Invictus with Anders. Dropping his voice low, he murmured a brief explanation in Invictus’ ear as between them they managed to get Anders into the bed. By the time he’d finished, Anders’ torrent of tears and sobbing had calmed and he was hiccuping quietly and exhausted, the wine finally taking hold of him.

“Easy love... I’m here now, let’s just have a bit of a nap alright?” Vic said as he started to disrobe so he could join Anders under the covers. He nodded at Fenris but the Tevinter elf was as good as not there for all he acknowledged either of them.

Anders curled up against Invictus, resting his head against the Champion’s chest, his breath still hitching in his chest with the occasional hiccup. Zevran was carefully clearing up the shattered glass; with the mage’s habit of stumbling about his room barefoot and half-asleep in the mornings, not to mention Fenris’ penchant for going barefoot whenever possible, except in the bitterest winter months, it would not be a good idea to leave broken glass lying around. He didn’t glance up at Fenris as he worked, intent instead on sweeping up every last fragment of glass.

“Thanks Zev, I appreciate it.” Hawke said from where he’d cuddled with Anders, his hand carding through the long blond strands that had escaped the long braid Zevran had taken to doing for him. “Better love?”

Anders nodded, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

Zevran tipped the last of the broken glass into a waste-paper basket then poured himself a generous glass of wine. He took a long look at Fenris before he drank.

The elven warrior sensed his husband’s irritation and sat up to look at him, gauging if it would be better to remain silent or speak.

“No need to apologize Anders, sounds like you had a bit of a delayed shock. I’m here now, it’s ok my heart. Just relax, I’ve got you.” Vic said as he pressed a kiss to the other mage’s temple and let his head hit the pillow.

“I was... for a minute, it was like I was back there again, seeing you go down and not knowing if you were dead before I was struck down myself - and then seeing Zevran and Fenris, knowing they were both dying, not knowing who to reach for - who to save, who to let die, just - desperate, and all I could see was Fen - Fen lying there, the blood and.... and the smell of burnt flesh, and -” He bit his lip, feeling an hysterical sob trying to rise in his throat. He swallowed hard, willing himself to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “It just hit me all at once.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s my fault.” Fenris said dully before he turned back to face Zevran. “ _You’re upset with me, I’m sorry. I’ll go to my room now, and if you wish you can yell at me there so you don’t upset Anders. He hates yelling._ ” Fenris added. 

Zevran’s eyes narrowed, hearing Fenris slip into Antivan. “No,” he answered, deliberately using Trade. “You heard Invictus; Meneris is expecting you. Don’t you think you have kept him waiting long enough? And you know already that there is nothing wrong with you, your lyrium; that was what this was all for, was it not? Anders reassuring you once more?” He arched an eyebrow. “We will speak after, if there are words to be said.” He lifted his glass to his lips and swallowed.

The Tevinter elf nodded and rose to go, shamed and ready to be away from the intense gaze of his Antivan spouse. He gave Anders and Invictus a look and fled for the Inquisitor’s office.

Zevran sighed, and slumped into a chair. He stared at his glass, then glanced over at Invictus. “Am I too hard upon him?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know, what exactly happened? He looked like you kicked his mabari and mine.” Vic asked from where he had Anders in his arms, holding him close. 

“Once again, when Fenris has done something for which he feels ashamed, I think - or which he _thinks_ he should feel ashamed,” the Antivan amended, “He turns for reassurance from Anders by a roundabout route. This time, he insisted that before he go to Meneris he must have Anders check him for some nameless problem, even though that business with Mythal was supposed to fix all such problems.” The elf frowned. “Anders being Anders, of course he did not question it, even though had there been anything physically wrong with Fenris then Anders would already have uncovered it whilst he were in the infirmary and indeed after as Fenris recovered, yes? But Anders indulged him.”

Zevran glanced down at his glass of wine then took a mouthful before continuing. “He touched Fenris, and the lyrium responded. Fenris became a dragon, and Anders collapsed beneath him. I think perhaps this Llyria stepped in, broke the contact between them; it took Anders a little while to recover himself afterwards, and Fenris panicked.”

“I see… I think.” Vic frowned as he thought on things for a bit. “How did he react exactly? He’s been not right since Hal was hurt.”

“Anders told him it is the lyrium that allows him to become a dragon. It is also what saved him. He explained to Fenris that the lyrium is what allowed him to heal so swiftly after he was so terribly hurt. Fenris did not believe he had been so badly hurt - after all, he was up out of bed, walking and returned to his own room a full three days before I, even though he were far worse injured. He would not believe it until he drove Anders to tell him precisely how bad his injuries were when he was brought in. That... was not good for our husband to remember.” Zevran glanced over at Anders, who had remained silent all this time; Invictus wasn’t entirely certain if he had fallen asleep or not.

“I see. I don’t think he did it to be malicious Zevran, do you?” Vic asked confused as to the way Zevran seemed to be angry at Fenris.

Zevran frowned and got to his feet restlessly, tossing back the last of his wine. he set the glass upon the table then approached the bed to sit carefully on the edge as he reached out a hand to gently stroke a stray strand of hair away from Anders’ closed eyes with care.

“He does this too often, and always it is Anders who pays the price,” said Zevran softly. “And I find that, love Fenris as I do, I cannot stand by and say nothing when he does this yet again. I... do not want to see Anders hurt... Vic.” He lifted troubled golden eyes to meet the Champion’s gaze.

“Zev...ran, I don’t understand. He’s not doing this to hurt Anders on purpose, you have to know that.” Vic glanced between the two men and his frown deepened. “You have come to care for Anders in a whole new way, and you are being protective. Like you usually are with Fenris, or were I suppose. You ...love him don’t you?” 

Zevran blinked, startled, then dropped his gaze to Anders’ tranquil face. He hesitantly stroked down the side of Anders’ face with the backs of his fingers.

“Is that what this feeling is?” he whispered. “How is it that you can see this and I... I could not?”

“Too close to it? I dare say after all you’ve been through you probably didn’t want to see it either.” Vic said with a smile. “I’m not always a blind fool you know.”

Zevran was staring at Anders almost as though he had never seen him before. “I... love him,” he said, his voice barely breathing the words. “And I would not see him hurt, even... even inadvertently.” He glanced up at Invictus. “How is this even possible?”

“Are you asking me how you fell in love with him? Look at him, at that face. Besides, Anders is a kind soul and would not hurt a fly. It’s easy to love him.” Vic said with a smile. 

Zevran ran a thumb slowly over the faint silvery remains of the Tranquility brand. “Now I know why he always refused to join our games,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I have a feeling it would have been pretty bad if he’d let himself hope for more than was there. Perhaps you should stay here and I’ll talk with Fenris? He’s probably going to hide out, if he even went to see Meneris.” Vic gave them both a smile as he slowly moved so Zevran could take his spot.

Zevran darted him an alarmed look, but when it was clear he could either take Invictus’ place or else let Anders tumble over into the spot where the mage had rested, he slipped swiftly into the bed and slid his arm around Anders’ shoulders, staring down at him.

Anders shifted slightly, a frown briefly furrowing his brow as he snuggled his head against Zevran’s shoulder before going still once more, his face relaxing into smoothness again. Zevran glanced up at Invictus.

“I... thank you,” he said softly.

“No problem, just keep him safe and maybe cut down on snarling at our poor elf hmm?” Vic dressed and waved at them with a devious grin which fell once he was down the hall and on his way to find Dorian.

The Tevinter Altus was sitting in the little corner of the library he’d long ago carved out for himself as his own personal niche. An opened bottle of wine sat by his feet, a half-full wine-glass perched precariously atop a stack of books to his left near his elbow as he studied a large book spread open in his lap, comparing a diagram with something written in the notebook in his hand.

“One of those days you are going to ruin your books with a spilled glass of wine Dorian.” Vic said as he leaned down to see what the Tevinter warden was reading.

“I never spill decent wine,” murmured Dorian absently without looking up. He picked up the glass and sipped from it slowly before glancing up at Invictus. 

“Well hello to you too. Got a few minutes to talk?” Vic asked as he snagged the bottle and stole a sip.

“Research,” said Dorian as he set the notebook down then closed the large book and set it on a stack near his feet. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Your Amicus and this whole thing with Bull. I need to talk with someone who I’m not married to about it all so I can get perspective with distance.” Vic replied.

“Ah. Which would also leave out a certain someone I’m _almost_ married to, and obviously Hal himself is out of the question.” Dorian darted an involuntary glance at the ceiling in the direction of Hal’s room, and Invictus suddenly remembered that Hal’s room was directly over that of Dorian.

“Hal is a bit out of sorts I’m gathering. Besides, he has ...little perspective when it comes to Fenris you know that.” Vic glanced up as well and then down the hall to Dorian’s room. “Safe to talk in your room or should we go elsewhere?” 

“It’s been quiet for a little while - at least an hour since I heard breaking glass and he shouted at me to go away. He shouted a few other things as well that I shan’t repeat,” added Dorian with a frown. “My room should be safe enough.” He rose to his feet and led the way.

Dorian’s room was as comfortably warm as Invictus remembered from the only other occasion he’d spent more than a handful of minutes there. Dorian set the wine bottle on the table next to a couple of empties then fetched a clean glass for Invictus. He set it down next to a chair then took the other himself, leaning back in his chair as he lifted his own glass in silent toast.

After getting a drink and settling in from across from Dorian, Invictus took a long pull and thought on what he wanted to say. He finally found some words, and hoped they were the right ones. 

“The easy question first, any idea what Meneris will do about Bull?” Vic asked as he let his gaze drift to the four poster bed that took up a good portion of Dorian’s bedchamber.

Dorian sighed, his own gaze drifting towards the cheery fire glowing in the grate. “Not a thing, I’m afraid,” he confessed. “The problem is, I suspect, that nor does Meneris. I think he’s waiting to speak to Hal and then decide based on that - but if what I heard earlier was anything to go by....” He sighed again.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you heard.” Vic said right before he spotted a strand of red rope dangling off one of the posts. His mouth went dry and he missed whatever Dorian had said in response.

“...Hawke? _Venhedis_ , man, are you even listening? What are you - oh.” Dorian’s eyes had followed Hawke’s gaze and spotted the length of rope. He set aside his wine glass and rose to cross to the bed; he tugged upon the rope, then deftly untied it before turning away, coiling it in his hands to stow it in a drawer, oblivious to the way Hawke’s eyes flicked from the rope to Dorian’s wrists then to the bedpost. Dorian retook his seat and picked up his wine glass, unaware of the way Hawke’s pupils had dilated.

“As I was saying; Hal isn’t reacting too well to the scarring and everything else that’s happened; I heard smashing glass - possibly a mirror. If Meneris is to speak with him, it shan’t be today, I fear.” Dorian tipped his head back, closing his eyes briefly as he downed the last of his glass of wine.

“Yeah. that’s probably for the best.” Hawke replied even as he kept glancing at Dorian then back to where he’d stored the rope. “I’m sorry… got a bit distracted for a moment.”

“Quite alright,” said Dorian waving a hand as he reached for the wine bottle. “You’ve had your own worries, after all. I’ve merely been tied up -” He paused, concentrating on refilling his glass. “-tied up in research; quite different from what you’ve been dealing with, though I do escape to relax from time to time.” He glanced up and winked.

Hawke narrowed his eyes for a moment, sure the Altus was having him on. It didn’t help that he’d let his mind wander back to when he’d tied him to that same bed, or ...wondering what it had been like with Fenris. “Devil…” he muttered.

Dorian was just setting the bottle down; his head jerked up with a startled look. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“You...what you said about being tied up. It ...made me remember that time. It made me wonder what it was like with Fenris for you. Sorry, that’s the last place my mind should be at right now.” Hawke took up his wine instead and drank about half of it down in one go.

Dorian stared at Hawke, one eyebrow slowly arching upwards. “Hawke, are you implying that I am the kind of man who would kiss and tell?” he said slowly. “Do you think I told Fenris all about what you did to _me_? With me?” He leaned forward, an intense look in his storm-grey eyes. “Should I tell him what you’re asking me right now?” he inquired, his voice dangerously soft.

“I don’t know what you share with each other, I’m implying nothing. Forget it, my mind went down a dirty path when I saw the rope. Forgive me, I’ve misspoken.” Hawke said tiredly. 

Dorian sat back and glanced away, taking a sip of his wine. After a moment, he glanced back at the other man. “What did he tell you of me?” he asked, curiously. “Did he tell you how loudly I screamed? That I begged for it?” He tilted his head to one side as Hawke gaped at him. “It’s true,” he assured him. “I may even have suggested he gag me.” He took another drink of wine, enjoying the expression on Hawke’s face and the way he squirmed in his seat.

“He told me nothing, I didn’t ...just drop it!” Hawke snapped.

“So I shouldn’t tell you he’s had me more than once then,” remarked Dorian in a dry tone as he glanced away. He smirked a little to himself. “Serves you right for wanting to know, perhaps.”

“I’ll see you later then, if this is how our visit will go. I...just drop it, please?” Vic said quietly.

Dorian turned his head then leaned forward, one hand uplifted towards Hawke as though in entreaty. “Hawke, wait, don’t go!” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, that was unkind of me, and I should not have taken this so far. I’ve been a frightful ass. Please, do sit down. I am sorry.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk about Fenris, not like that. Just...forget it, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Vic said. 

Dorian dropped his gaze to the floor. “I am an idiot. I am sorry. Let us forget the whole conversation.” He took a sip of wine, then lifted his head a little, not quite looking at Hawke. “Is... Anders well? He has been kept very busy of late. I’ve been... doing some reading recently on healing magic - complete antithesis of my area of expertise, really; did you know that healing two people at once is supposed to be impossible? Something about directing the mana in different directions simultaneously. Quite remarkable how he managed that, don’t you think?” His voice was tentative, almost nervous.

“I don’t understand theory the way you do Pavus. I think I’m going to go, if you want to check on Anders yourself I suggest waiting until he comes out from his rooms. I’ll see you later.” Vic finished his drink with a frown. “Thanks for the wine.”

“You’re welcome,” said Dorian quietly with no trace of his usual self-confidence or bravado. He kept his eyes on his glass as Hawke rose and left. 

Alone, he sat still for a moment, then set his glass down and leaned back in his chair with a low sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have been an utter ass,” he said quietly to himself. “Dorian Pavus, you are an idiot and a prat of the lowest order.”

He got slowly to his feet, stripping off his outer tunic slowly as he made his way to the bed. Dropping it onto the floor, he threw himself down on the bed and pulled a pillow over his head as he swore quietly at himself, calling himself all the most vile names he could think of.

It didn’t help much.

***

Meneris had waited for Fenris to show for a while but he’d given up once the other elf seemed to have forgotten or perhaps was avoiding him. He wandered down to see Cullen, if the man wasn’t running around in preparation for his trip with Cassandra. 

The Commander was standing by the side of his desk, a report in each hand and frowning at them both as Meneris entered. Josephine was reaching for the one in his right hand; Cullen merely lifted it up higher out of her reach, not taking his eyes off the page as he raised it.

“Commander, I must insist...!” she protested. She turned her head and spotted Meneris. “Inquisitor! Please inform the Commander to put those reports down! He should be packing for his trip to Honnleath, not burying himself under paperwork again!”

“I just want to check these reports before I go,” said Cullen in an obstinate tone of voice.

“Cullen, you are officially on vacation as of now. Give those reports to Ambassador Montilyet and take a walk with me. That’s the last order you’re getting until you return from your trip, am I clear Commander?” Meneris gave Josephine a wink as he saw the expression on Cullen’s face change.

“I, ah, ah, Inquisitor, I just....” He glanced at the report, down at Josephine, then at Meneris before a look of resignation came across his face and he surrendered the reports to the grinning Ambassador. He gave her a last betrayed look, then followed Meneris.

“Oh come now, don’t look like I took your puppy away. You serah, need a break more than anyone I know. Come, walk with me so I can ask your opinion on something before you go.” Meneris led them out towards the battlements, a slower path to the side steps that would lead to his quarters eventually. 

“Would this be concerning a certain Qunari who is currently confined to quarters, Inquisitor?” asked Cullen heavily as he glanced out over the lower courtyard.

“Tal-Vashoth, but yes.” Meneris replied as he stopped and tugged his cloak around him a bit closer before he turned to his friend and commander. “Damned if I know what to do with him. It’s so odd, like he was...I hate to even say it but possessed. He likes Fenris, I don’t understand why he attacked.” 

“He’s not certain himself, Inquisitor,” said Cullen as he paused to lean on the battlements and stare out at the mountainside. “I’ve asked him. All he can say is that he saw Hal in the dragon’s hands and was terrified for him. He just remembers a sense of utter terror - and you know what the Bull’s response is to being scared; hit something as hard as you can. Preferably the thing scaring you. He’s utterly mortified that he struck Hal; apparently all the Chargers had to dogpile him at once to hold him down because he was certain he’d killed Hal and couldn’t live with himself. It’s taken a lot of work to persuade him that Hal is alive.” He glanced at Meneris. 

“Which is also unlike him, Inquisitor. I’ve seen the Bull in despair before now - when he turned his back on the Qun and threw his lot in with us permanently, and when we all thought Hal was dead. Not once was he inclined to take his life. This....” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “There’s something going on, Inquisitor, and I’m not sure what.”

“Creators...what in the void made him scared though? He _saw_ Fenris change during the battle! Hal was safe on the ground from what people told me. He was acting in the most undragonlike manner possible!” Meneris got himself together and stared over Cullen’s shoulder. 

“Whatever it was... whatever he saw, I don’t think it was Fenris, Inquisitor,” said Cullen slowly. “What we saw, and what he saw... He didn’t see Fenris set Hal down carefully. He saw Hal fall from the dragon’s jaws - not step down from his hands.”

“What do I do Cullen? Hal is dealing with the scars, inside and out. He was worried that I was going to send Bull away, which I want to, I really don’t want a kossith that will fly into a rage over his lover running around. I’m also worried about Fenris but he didn’t even keep our meeting today. Dorian told me he sees himself as a monster now, blames himself wrongly I might add for Hal being hurt.” 

“I think... maybe we need to arrange some safe way of allowing Hal and Bull to meet and talk,” said Cullen slowly. “As for Fenris, that sounds unlike him - to fail to meet with you as agreed. Maybe we should go check on him and make sure nothing’s wrong? Hawke or Anders should know where he is.”

“Perhaps we can have them meet in the Infirmary, or the Tavern on the top floor? That way Bull is in a space where he’s familiar, there’s enough room to give Hal space if he needs to go. Make sure he can leave first and keep Bull guarded. I don’t know if Anders would agree to using the infirmary honestly.” Meneris said as he started to pace in from one side to the other.

“There are too many people who could be hurt if something untoward happened in the infirmary. Why not the Great Hall? We could have guards with crossbows stationed around the upper gallery in case something goes wrong.” Cullen didn’t feel the need to mention their crossbows would be trained on the Bull; they both knew the danger would not come from the young red-haired mage.

“Keep it cleared then? A lot of people come in and out of there too. But we can clear it for Inquisition business as it were. I’ll draft the order for it to be cleared once I speak to Hal. From what Dorian told me, it won’t be today.” Meneris gave Cullen a smile as he saw the expression on his Commander’s face change. “Don’t even think about delaying your trip, unless you want Cassandra’s rage to be known throughout the Keep.”

Cullen smiled ruefully. “I see your point, Inquisitor. It wouldn’t do to keep Cass waiting.” He blinked and straightened. “Cassandra! The Seeker,” he corrected himself hastily.

“You two are happy yes? I won’t tell Cass about your slip up. I like keeping healthy.” Meneris grinned mischievously as he nodded towards the stairs. “Come, let’s find our brooding friend before I send you back to your Seeker.”

 

***

The Iron Bull sat immobile upon the floor and stared at his hands.

It didn’t matter how long he had sat there. Time meant nothing; an arbitrary demarcation between _then_ and _now_. Between the moment his axe struck his kadan, and this point in time where he stared at his hands and wondered, not for the first time, just who he was really.

Ben-Hassrath. Tal-Vashoth. Murderer. Spy. Betrayer.

He closed his eyes and replayed in his mind once more; the beast swooping low, his kadan in its slavering jaws. Hal’s broken body hitting the ground with a sickening sound; his axe swinging towards the beast to end its existence - 

\- and Hal standing, impossibly, in his way, hands upraised, screaming _katoh_ even as Bull tried to pull his swing, felt the sickening impact -  
No. That had to be wrong.

Rewind. Replay. How did it happen. _How did it truly happen?_

The dragon wheeling overhead -

No. That sound was a foot upon the roof above. Someone trying not to be seen. Bare feet on shingles; the slight scuff of leather as the unseen intruder crouched by the edge of the roof. His back was to the window, but even as the unseen ghost swung themselves through the window, he knew.

“Fenris. Do you come to end this?”

The elf pulled back his hood and stared at Bull as he considered his answer. “I don’t know, I want you to hurt. I want to know why you raised a weapon to me.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you I do not know?” said the Bull quietly, not turning his head from where he sat in the middle of the floor, legs folded, hands resting upon his knees as he faced away from the window.

“Considering how I’m feeling right now, no. So the truth, since you prided yourself on that once in awhile.” Fenris snarled.

The Bull sighed voicelessly and bowed his head for a moment. “I saw a dragon. Black, with red eyes. It swooped down before me, and spat out my kadan from its jaws like some discarded toy. I attacked, but my kadan was suddenly before me, crying for me to stop. I could not pull my swing in time and I struck him.” He dropped his head into his hands. “And that is the truth. I do not know what happened, Fenris. I have replayed it over, and over, and over in my mind and I do not know what happened. I have destroyed that which I most valued. I do not know what came over me. But I swear that it was not you I raised my axe to.”

“Liar...you saw me change on the battlefield! You knew it was me, why would you come out swinging? You are so lucky I didn’t chew you up or fry you on the spot. Be grateful for Anders or else you really would be grieving Hal now.” Fenris said in a low voice as he approached Bull slowly. “You can’t even fucking turn and face me.”

The Iron Bull slowly turned his massive head and stared over his shoulder at Fenris. “The dragon I saw was black, not white,” he said quietly. 

“Is something wrong with your vision then? How did you see a black dragon? Hal was SAFE from me!” Fenris yelled.

The Bull dropped his gaze to the floor. “There _is_ something wrong. The dragon I saw was black, and it carried my kadan in its jaws. This is what I saw. I cannot explain this, Fenris.”

Fenris snarled as he tried to find words for what he felt, what he wanted the kossith to understand. “How am I supposed to ever trust you again? Do you know...do you have any idea ...how Bull, how could you have done this? I can’t believe you saw something entirely different! Stop lying to me, it was your old name under the Qun, you were a professional liar. Stop and at least tell me the damned truth.” the elf’s voice waivered as he caught himself before he let Bull see him break. That wasn’t happening again, ever.

“What oath could I swear to make you understand I tell the truth?” asked the Bull as he lifted his head to stare into Fenris’ eyes, his expression one of deep, heartfelt sorrow, his face stained with tears and his one good eye bloodshot. “What use are lies, when my kadan nearly died once more by my hand? And how can I be sure you are not lying to me - that my kadan still lives? Perhaps this is the lie, that when I allow myself to believe, you will tell me the truth - that I killed him and this time, he will not come back?”

“If Hal had died? I’d have killed you myself. That’s how you know it’s true.” Fenris said flatly, his expression dark.

“I have not lied to you,” said the Bull softly. “I am not lying to you. I know what I saw - and I cannot explain how I saw it.” His face darkened into a look of frustration. “I cannot explain what I saw, and it maddens me.”

“I don’t believe you and I never will. I will never trust you again Bull. You hurt Hal, damn near too his head off. If for some reason Hal stays with you I will hold my tongue, but if I ever hear of you even raising your voice in anger I will take you apart slowly, use every trick that Zevran taught me to make you suffer before I let you die. If he has sense and leaves you, I will keep him safe until my dying breath.” Fenris’ voice did crack a bit as he spoke but he kept his tears in check. It pained him to say those things to Bull, but his trust had been broken irreparably and there was no going back for him.

“And if ever I lift a hand to him again I would deserve all of that and more,” said the Bull in a voice so soft, he was barely breathing the words. “I do not deserve him. If he walks away, it is no more than I have earned.” He bowed his head.

“Don’t play at pathetic with me, it does not fit you. I hope he leaves you, I hope he does it in such a way people will speak of it for years to come. I hate you for what you’ve done to him.” Fenris said finally, his gaze hard as he stared at the man before him.

Bull turned his face away, straightening a little. “Of course you do. It would be strange if you did not.” He turned his gaze to the door. “Krem,” he said, raising his voice. “Tell the Inquisitor I will speak with him.”

The door slowly opened and Krem stuck his head cautiously around the door. “Boss?” he said slowly, his eyes flicking to Fenris then back to the massive kossith who sat there.

“You heard me. Tell the Inquisitor I am ready to speak with him.”

Krem glanced at Fenris again then slowly nodded. “Sure thing, Boss,” he said.

Fenris nodded at Krem then went to the window with one final look at Bull before he climbed out to make his way back to his room.

 

***

The Great Hall had rarely been this deserted and empty.

Meneris sat upon his throne, Dorian standing a couple of paces away. Cullen stood upon the steps, staring down at the Bull who stood, silent and impassive, his eyes not meeting the gaze of anyone there.

If the Bull were aware of the crossbowmen up in the gallery, their weapons trained upon him - and he would have had to have been both deaf and blind to be ignorant of their presence - then he showed no sign of it.

It was only when the great doors to the hall opened and Hal entered, Anders to one side of him, Zevran to the other, that the Bull finally stirred, glancing back over his shoulder; his impassive face softened a little as he watched the slender red-head slowly walk the length of the hall towards him, his long dark robes swishing softly across the polished floor.

Hal walked until he were level with the Bull, his eyes on Meneris; Anders and Zevran hung back a few paces, Anders’ staff in his hand. Hal bowed slightly towards the Inquisitor.

Meneris gave a nod in return, his gaze kind as he looked to Hal, but it changed as he looked at Bull. He gave one glance to Hawke who was in the back, attempting to seem casually interested but failing. 

“Iron Bull, you are here because Hal needed...wanted to speak with you despite the harm you have caused him. We allowed this at his request, and it is only at his indulgence that you are allowed to see Enchanter Hal. You two may speak when he is ready.” Meneris steepled his fingers and stared at the massive kossith, unconcerned about his feelings on the matter.

The Iron Bull inclined his head slightly, the only sign he’d heard. He had eyes only for the young mage.

Hal stared at Meneris, for a moment, then he stared straight ahead, his gaze unfocused as his hands clenched into fists at his sides and he swallowed hard, steeling his nerve. He took a deep breath and slowly turned to face the Iron Bull, lifting his gaze to stare up at him.

Bull’s expression softened to a wistful expression. He made as though to speak, but Hal raised a hand, halting him. He was clearly trying to steady himself. After a moment, he set his shoulders and straightened, lifting a hand to the square of silk over his eye, and abruptly he ripped it off, staring up at the Bull in something akin to defiance.

“You did this to me,” he said, his voice high and wavery. “You struck me.” He swallowed hard. “Why?”

“Kadan -” began the Bull in a soft voice.

“ _Don’t call me that!!_ ” screamed Hal, his voice cracking. Bull flinched, as though Hal had physically struck him. “Don’t. Just don’t,” the mage repeated, quieter, his voice shaking as he fought to get himself back under control. “You don’t have the right.”

The Bull stared at the ground, then nodded. He lifted his eye to look at Hal once more.

“I saw something that was a lie,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I did not know it was you I raised my axe to.”

“What do you mean - a lie?” said Hal, staring at the Bull. He was trembling slightly; Anders took a step closer to him, halting only when Zevran laid a hand on his arm and leaned up to whisper in the tall mage’s ear.

“The dragon I saw was black, not white, and it carried you in its jaws,” said the Bull.

“And it didn’t occur to you that if a dragon had carried me away like that, it wouldn’t have brought me back?” asked Hal, his voice shaking. “You’ve hunted dragons, Bull. Tell me - what dragon would return to bring its victim back?”

The Iron Bull was silent. Hal’s mouth twisted in anguish. He flung a hand up towards the waiting crossbowmen. 

“Do you honestly believe that the good, honest men and women of the Inquisition would just _let a wild dragon land in the courtyard and not open fire??_ ” he shouted.

“I... was not in my right mind, Ka- Hal,” the Bull caught himself. “I cannot explain it. But I am sorry. I would never hurt you, Hal. I was not myself.”

Hal stared at him, and the tears finally began to run down his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t you see? Nothing you can say matters. I can’t trust you ever again. I’m only alive because _he-_ ” his hand shot out, pointing straight at Anders, “is the most talented healer alive in all of Thedas. He saved my life, he saved my eye - and every time I look in a mirror I will be reminded of what you did to me.” He wiped at the tears, and a sob escaped his lips. “I’m only twenty-two,” he whispered brokenly. “And I’ve died twice, nearly a third time and I. Can’t. I can’t do this any more.” He stepped back and away from the Bull. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Bull. It’s over.”

He turned and fled.

“ _KADAN!!_ ” the Iron Bull bellowed in anguish; but Hal was gone, fled weeping, with Anders sprinting off after him.


	82. Chapter 82

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has a price, but is it too high?

The massive kossith stared at the doors, then slowly drew himself upright. He drew a deep breath, and the face that he turned to Meneris was utterly impassive.

“What is your will, Inquisitor?” he asked flatly.

“Iron Bull, for your assault against Enchanter Hal, and by extension Ambassador Leto Hawke of the Inquisition, I exile you. You have one week to get your affairs in order before you are required to leave Skyhold. Any association with the Inquisition is stripped from you and you may never set foot in this fortress again. Let it be known this does not extend to the Chargers, should they wish to remain here. I will not hold them to staying with their leader gone, but they have a place here. As does anyone who doesn’t come within a hairsbreadth of murdering one of our own. Dismissed.” Meneris watched with no compassion in his gaze at all.

“I shall be gone by nightfall,” replied the Iron Bull. “Farewell, Inquisitor.” He bowed stiffly, then turned on his heel and strode unhurriedly from the hall, his face impassive as though carved from stone.

Meneris rose and headed to his chambers, he’d meant everyone could go not just Bull. He nodded at Dorian and glanced up at the rafters, his gaze landing on Fenris without much effort before he turned back to go.

The crossbowmen lifted their weapons at a quiet command from their captain then filed quietly out as Zevran and Cullen fell into step behind Dorian. Zevran glanced up and exchanged a glance with Fenris before they filed out of the hall.

“I must go,” said Cullen in a quiet voice to Zevran. “Cass- Cassandra’s waiting. We should have left yesterday, but....”

“I understand,” nodded Zevran and patted his arm. “Go, and enjoy Honnleath.”

“You’ll send word?” asked Cullen.

“Yes, yes; look for a raven on the fifth day. Now, go - I do not wish to face the Seeker’s ire,” smiled the Antivan spymaster, waving the Commander off.

Fenris remained in the rafters, he’d go to Hal later once he was alone and they could speak freely. He also didn’t trust himself not to complete his promise to kill Bull. Hawke fell in with Zevran and glanced to the stairs that led to the College. “Should we go help Anders? Hal’s heart must be breaking and poor love shouldn’t be left to handle it alone.” 

“I had had the same thought also,” agreed Zevran. “You go ahead, I shall find some good strong drink.”

“Alright, hopefully Fenris will come out of the rafters like a damned bat.” Hawke said as he leaned down and gave Zevran a kiss on the cheek. 

“And scare all the servant-girls? Hmm, I should like to see that, but Hal must come first, no?” smiled Zevran. He returned the kiss then headed off towards the stairs that led down to the wine cellar.

By the time Hawke reached Hal’s set of rooms, directly over Dorian’s room, he found the young mage sprawled upon his bed, face buried in a pillow and sobbing, heartbroken. Anders sat upon the bed beside him, gently rubbing Hal’s back and murmuring comforting nonsense to him. He glanced up at Hawke as he entered, and gave him a sad smile, beckoning for his husband to come in.

“Hey, Zevran is bringing something to drink and I figured you might want some more company Hal?” Vic said as he took up on the other side and tried to comfort the young man as well.

Anders glanced up at the window as it was suddenly darkened by a large shape; his eyes widened in alarm and he reached for his staff until Fenris climbed in the window and darted him a piercing look. Anders exhaled and laid his staff aside.

“Sorry, love, you startled me,” he exclaimed a little breathlessly.

Hal lifted his head and turned his tear-streaked face towards Fenris, his eyes red and sore. “Fenris!” he said despairingly. 

The warrior glanced at Anders, then approached slowly and gave Hal a sad look. “I’m here if you wish my company, if not I will abide your wishes Hal.” He said quietly.

Anders sighed. “Fenris, does he _look_ as though he doesn’t want your company? Trust me - he needs you right now. I did my best but I’m not a white-haired elf.” He nudged Fenris towards the bed.

“I want you here,” Hal nodded, fresh tears running down his face.

“I will not presume Anders, I didn’t know if he wanted to be alone.” Fenris replied before he pulled his cloak off and joined Hal on the bed. He’d barely sat against the headboard before he had his arms full of a distraught young man. Hal curled up against him, sobbing brokenly; he tried to stifle his sobs with his hand but the tears would not be stopped.

“I-I-I- _love_ him s-still... it hurts, b-but, I just c-c- _can’t_ anymore,” he wept. “Oh F-Fenris, I-I _miss_ him and it _hurts!_ ”

“I know Hal, I know...it will hurt for a while. We’re here for you as you … grieve.” Fenris said softly, his arms around the redhead as he sobbed brokenly.

“It’s not easy Hal, but you’ve got us, Dorian, we’ll be here for when it hurts. You can always come with us too. If you’d rather a break from Skyhold.” Vic offered.

“Possibly a little early to suggest that yet, love,” murmured Anders as Hal continued to weep. “Let him cry out the worst of it.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What did Meneris decide?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Hawke said with a glance at Hal. 

“Just say it, it’s not like it will make a difference now.” Fenris said as he caressed the back of Hal’s head and tried to soothe him. 

“Exile; he has a week to get his things together but he said he’d be gone by tonight.” Vic said quietly.

“Probably for the best if he doesn’t hang around,” Anders nodded. “I’m... kind of glad. I’m not sure I could have faced an execution.” He kept his voice low, not much more than a whisper near Invictus’ ear. “Maker, but this week has been one long nightmare. Stay here; I have the feeling Hal could probably use a dose of the sleeping draught I have down in the infirmary so he can sleep tonight.”

Vic frowned, he’d thought Anders had stopped making that draught after he nearly killed himself. “I thought… you’d left off it after that time you nearly killed yourself with it.”

Anders shrugged. “There were so many unable to sleep after the Clearing, I had to start brewing it again - I just had an unending line of people begging for something to help them sleep. I have a whole load of small, single-dose vials locked away in the dispensary and a ledger where I keep tally of who’s had it so I can watch out for anyone developing a dependency on it.” He patted Invictus on the shoulder. “It’s alright, I learned my lesson. Wait here and I’ll fetch a vial for Hal.” He headed towards the door.

“Very well.” Vic said as he slid over to a chair so Hal and Fenris could take the bed. “Maker... “

“The Maker is dead.” Fenris said dully as he felt Hal squeeze him around his waist. “Easy, I might be stronger but I’d rather not throw up on you.” 

Hal managed to gasp out a faint apology between wracking sobs as he clung to Fenris and buried his face against the elf’s tunic. He was panting for breath between each paroxysm of weeping, the prolonged fit of grief steadily wearing him down and exhausting him. By the time Zevran appeared with several bottles of wine and a servant trailing behind with glasses, the worst of his crying was done and he was curled up with his head in Fenris’ lap, hiccupping occasionally as his breath hitched in his chest, drained and wrung-out.

“It will be ok, eventually.” Fenris said every few minutes as he continued to massage Hal’s head and let him cuddle against him. “You said my wings were pretty, do you want me to show them? Will that make you feel a little better?”

As Anders returned to the room, he found Fenris sitting with his back to the headboard, his wings stretched to the sides, one curled a little around Hal like a great leathery silver-and-white cloak as Hal rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder and cradled a glass of wine in his hands. Hawke was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking tired as he sipped his own glass of wine, whilst Zevran regarded him with an amused expression.

Anders let himself in and set a small vial of dark green liquid on the bedside table. “Hal, just in case you have trouble sleeping tonight - that should help.”

Hal opened his eyes and looked at Anders, then at the vial, then nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice a little hoarse.

“I’ll stay with him tonight, if you want and if you all don’t mind.” Fenris offered.

“Please,” pleaded Hal softly.

“Of course,” Anders said as he took the chair near the bed and nodded thanks to Zevran as the elf passed him a glass of wine. He glanced to Invictus. “I have no problem with that - do either of you?”

“I do not object,” shrugged Zevran as he glanced to Invictus.

“You can stay as long as Hal needs you love. Just let us know if you need us ok?” Vic said as he raised his glass to them. 

“Guess I’m yours for a while huh?” Fenris said quietly as he shifted to ease the pressure from resting against his wings instead of using them. 

Perhaps it was the warmth of the room combined with the wine, but for whatever reason, Anders suddenly felt quite drowsy. There was a faint ringing in his ears, almost like the distant chiming of a bell. He let himself relax in the chair, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

“Anders… you’re falling asleep, go on and rest.” Fenris said as he tried to unfold his legs and straighten them. 

Hal’s head had steadily gotten heavier upon Fenris’ shoulder, and Zevran arched an eyebrow at him. “It looks like Anders is not the only one who is tired,” he remarked. He glanced at Invictus. “It seems our two healers are finding their exhaustion finally catching up to them, hmm?”

“Get them to their room? I’ll send a note or check in tomorrow after we’ve slept some.” Fenris said softly.

“Yeah, bed sounds good actually.” Vic yawned before he tugged at Anders to get up. Anders’ head had fallen forward onto his chest; as Invictus tugged his arm, the wine glass tumbled from his slack fingers to spill wine upon the floor. Zevran darted forward and caught the glass before it could shatter.

“Thanks for the catch, I’ll get that when I get up again.” Fenris said as he watched them gather themselves up to head out. Zevran and Invictus seemed to be having trouble rousing Anders; he opened his eyes blearily as between them the two men managed to get him to his feet.

“I’ve got you love, come on.” Vic held Anders up as Zevran went ahead to open doors and get them back to their rooms. The blond mage seemed to gradually revive and wake up as they got closer to his own room, rubbing his eyes and looking a little embarrassed at having zoned out in Hal’s room. 

“Sorry, loves; not sure what came over me there,” he said, bemused. “I think I was just drifting off - couldn’t keep my eyes open, for some reason. I was almost dreaming of music, but couldn’t quite make it out. Like someone singing far away, and you think you’ll figure out the words if you can just get close enough?”

“Fenris’ lyrium perhaps? I was starting to nod too and I felt wide awake before.” Vic said as he helped Anders undress.

Zevran was staring at Anders, his eyes a little wider than usual though his face was impassive. “How long have you been hearing this... music?” he asked quietly.

“Hmm? Oh, I was only really aware of it when you two woke me up,” shrugged Anders. “I told you, it was just a dream. I’m fine now, though I suppose getting an early night won’t do any of us any harm.”

“I’ll run a bath and get a tray sent up. I’m famished.” Vic said as he went to catch a servant before he started the tub.

Zevran laid his hands on Anders’ shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him backwards until Anders’ legs hit the seat of a chair and he fell, rather than sat down.

“Zevran, what are you...?” began Anders but fell silent at the expression on the elf’s face.

“This song. Tell me. Have you been having nightmares?” asked the elf quietly.

“When do I not?” snorted Anders; Zevran merely raised an eyebrow. Anders sighed. “Yes, I have, but after everything that’s been happening, is it any wonder?” He stared up at Zevran. “Zev. It’s not my Calling yet. Trust me - I’ll know when it’s time.” He smiled gently as he laid his hands on the elf’s hips. 

Zevran stared at him for a moment then sighed as he stepped closer, cradling Anders’ head with his hands. “I would not lose you so soon, Anders. Not after Solona, and now Belann. I know your time cannot be far off, but not yet, I pray. Not yet.”

Anders buried his face against Zevran’s tunic and wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist. They remained like that in silence; it was thus that Hawke found them a little while later.

“I can go to my room if you need time alone.” Vic said as he pulled a sweater on and waited to see if they did want to be to themselves.

Anders pulled away from Zevran who stepped back. “No, it’s... we’re good,” said Anders, rubbing his eyes with one hand before slowly getting to his feet. “Zevran was just worried about how close my Calling may be. I’m fine though. I’ll know when it’s time - just as Belann did. And it’s not yet.” He smiled at Zevran who gave a rueful, lopsided shrug.

“It is an understandable fear, no?” replied the elf.

“Yes, but if you need to talk I can go for a while. A walk wouldn’t be bad to clear my head.” Vic said as he stood there, unsure what to do.

Anders merely raised an eyebrow at him then held out his hand towards the other mage and waited.

“Ok, I get it.” Vic said as he joined them. “Let’s have a good night? I miss you, all of you.” he whispered before he leaned in to kiss Zevran, then Anders. Anders returned his kiss ardently as Zevran wrapped his arms around both of them and glanced up with a fond smile.

“Shame we don’t have access to that wonderful huge tub you had back in Kirkwall,” murmured Anders when they finally parted for breath. “We could have fitted all three of us in - remember?”

“Yeah… but I’d rather not think of there now. Let’s have dinner, then we can have a bit of fun yeah?” Vic said before he got the door and set their food down. He idly wondered what Fenris and Hal were doing, assuming the young mage was still awake.

**

True to his word, by morning the Iron Bull was gone. The Chargers were left behind in Krem’s capable hands; the next day, they appeared at their customary training ring but they all had a dissolute, lost air about them, and none seemed inclined to spar. After looking at each other aimlessly, the whole troop left the fortress for several hours, not returning until long after sundown.

The next day, they were back sparring in the ring as usual as though nothing had ever happened, save that now, they all looked to Krem, and Krem in turn reported directly to the Inquisitor.

Meneris sat with Krem, worried for what the new leader of the Chargers though of him. “Be honest with me, Krem; are you pissed off at me?” 

“Why would I be, Boss? Just business as usual for the Chargers,” shrugged Krem. “Nah, we’re good.”

Meneris’ eyes widened at his reply. “I...why _wouldn’t_ you be?” 

“Boss, what happened... that was between him and you. It wasn’t Charger business. It was personal. It doesn’t affect us. All you need to know is that you have the Charger’s loyalty.” Krem shrugged. “So. All good then.”

“Very well.” Meneris said as he handed Krem orders and sat back.

Krem snapped a salute with a grin and left.

Dorian glanced up from his chair where he was studying a letter, and gave Meneris a stare. “That was... too easy,” he said slowly. “Or am I being too paranoid?”

“No, not at all. I’m surprised myself.” Meneris said.

“Oh good, I’m glad it’s not just me,” said Dorian. “I assume Zevran is looking into things and likely already knows just where it is they all went off to the day after he disappeared?”

“Yeah.” Meneris answered distractedly.

Dorian set aside the letter and rose from his seat, crossing over to Meneris. He perched himself on the edge of the elven Inquisitor’s desk. “And? If there were anything untoward then he would have dealt with it himself or informed you if it were something he couldn’t tackle alone, I should think.”

“I believe so yes love, why do you ask?” Meneris asked still distractedly. 

“Because I am wondering why you look so distracted and worried, love,” said Dorian gently, reaching out to cup Meneris’ cheek with his hand. “What’s wrong, amatus?”

“I’m just worried about Hal, and if the Chargers are really ok with me exiling Bull.” Meneris answered.

Dorian sighed. “I think we’re all worried about Hal,” he said, gently stroking the side of Meneris’ face. “I must confess that until he shouted out how old he was, I had forgotten - he has seen so much, far more than many men twice his age, and been through experiences more seasoned warriors would dread. He is little more than a boy, truth be told. I doubt I could have handled any of it with a tenth of his grace at a similar age, and his strength and fortitude has been astounding. I’m afraid we’ve all rather tended to forget just how young he truly is.” 

He let his hand fall. “He will recover in time, love. We just have to make sure he has all the time and space he needs to come to terms with all of this.”

“Of course, Hawke… Vic mentioned he invited them to come with them to Nevarra.” Meneris said.

“This trip of Anders’... he seems to be determined to go alone with only Zevran for company,” said Dorian, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve no idea what it’s about, do you? Zevran was being very close-lipped about it earlier.”

“Not a clue, he seemed dead set on going with just Zevran, and they would meet up in Nevarra later.” Meneris replied. “Why? You seem bothered by it.”

“Because I saw Anders packing his Warden’s blues,” said Dorian. “Why would he need his Warden gear?”

“Perhaps he plans to stop by and see Nathaniel?” Meneris ventured.

"But he shouldn't need his Warden uniform for just a social visit!” argued Dorian. “I just -” He broke off and sighed. “I’m probably just worrying unnecessarily. I just can’t help but remember what he told us about mage Wardens. But he’d tell us if it were his Calling, wouldn’t he?” 

He stood up and waved his hands distractedly. “Oh, now I’m doing it - I’m making myself paranoid,” he fretted. “This is ridiculous. With Corypheus gone, it’s as though we’re _looking_ for trouble!”

“You’ll be fine love. Stop it.” Meneris said.

“I don’t think you quite appreciate the issue, amatus,” said Dorian, pacing restlessly. “With Anders gone, I’ll be the only warden here and I have only the barest idea of all that - that _warden stuff_. And with he, Hawke and Hal gone, technically that makes me the most senior mage. And then there’s this whole ambassador... _thing_.” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the letter abandoned on his chair.

“Do you want to be an Ambassador? We can send Fenris by himself if you don’t want the post or make Calpernia an ambassador love.” Meneris said.

“That’s just it - it’s been taken out of my hands!” exclaimed Dorian, gesticulating at the letter again. He snatched it up and thrust it at Meneris. “Read it - read it! It’s my bloody father. He’s trying to pull strings, I’d bet my life on it. ‘A forthcoming chance to be the asset to your family that I know you will not deny, Dorian’ - he’s having this whole thing made official from the Tevinter side, I’ll bet. Make it look like Tevinter’s idea, prove that the Imperium still has the upper hand - and that he’s still pulling my strings,” he added.

“Then decline it, say you changed your mind.” Meneris replied.

Dorian dropped into the chair with an air of despondency. “Oh, what’s the use?” he groaned. “Of course I won’t decline it. Let’s face it, it only makes _sense_ for me to be the ambassador. I already know how the Inquisition works, after all; everyone knows _me_ \- and unlike Calpernia, at least they have reason to trust me.” He covered his eyes with a hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m just having a bit of a moment.”

“Alright alright. Let’s put work aside for now, and have a nice break hmm love?” Meneris asked with a leering expression. “it’s been awhile since we snuck away in the middle of the day for fun.”

Dorian lifted his head and stared at Meneris. “I’m having a bit of a moment and you think that’s the perfect time for sex?” he said, incredulously. 

“I was trying to distract you love, not make it worse. Besides, I’d get us lunch first.” Meneris said sheepishly.

“There’d better be decent wine - and none of that Ferelden muck, mark you! - to go with that lunch, Meneris, or I shall not consent to a single kiss,” sniffed Dorian.

“As my betrothed wishes, it shall be done.” Meneris said as he left his Altus to get food sent to them. That at least brought a small smirk to Dorian’s lips.

***

Cullen laid the report aside and reached for the next. There was a knock at the door.

“Come,” he ordered, not glancing up. He heard the door open then close quietly; he dipped his quill in the inkpot and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the requisition order, blotting it carefully before he laid it aside and reached for the next report.

“Well, what is it-” he began testily as he glanced up, then broke off as Zevran merely smiled at him. “Ah, Spymaster, forgive me,” he said, laying his quill aside. “I hadn’t realised it was you.”

“I thought I would try knocking and using the door for a change,” smiled Zevran. “A novelty, no?”

Cullen chuckled. “Very funny.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “Shouldn’t you be busy packing? You and Anders are supposed to be heading off to Ferelden tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“And you and the lovely Lady Seeker should have departed the day before yesterday,” pointed out Zevran as he took the seat before Cullen’s desk. The Commander pulled a face.

“Don’t remind me,” he grimaced ruefully. “Cass certainly has, often and loudly. We’re departing tomorrow after lunch. This whole business with Bull suddenly disappearing has thrown a whole load of stuff in the air and landed another pile of paperwork on my desk.” He gestured at the piles of reports. “Maker only knows how many pies he had his finger in. We’re uncovering so much that dates back months, even _years_ , that he was involved in - his spies all over the place. It’ll likely take just as long to untangle it all.”

“Less time than you might think,” replied Zevran quietly.

“Oh?” said Cullen, frowning. “Do tell.”

Zevran smiled mirthlessly. “Let us just say that wherever the Iron Bull had one pair of eyes, Leliana had two - and now he has far fewer pairs of eyes and ears in Skyhold. The rats will answer to their master no longer, and the cat’s teeth have been whetted.”

“Have they now?” replied Cullen. “I’m glad to hear it. So... what do _you_ make of this story he spun, about seeing a black dragon and something no-one else did?”

“Of Hal carried in a dragon’s jaws instead of in Fenris’ hands?” said Zevran as Cullen nodded. “I would think it a lie. Except I do not think the Bull would tell such a blatant lie so openly; and thus we must be suspicious of such an open lie. The Ben-Hassrath deal in half-truths, the lie-within-truth and truth-within-lies. There is more here than there seems.”

“You think he told the truth then?” said Cullen, sitting forward and frowning.

“Not as such... but I think there is more here than we can yet see,” replied Zevran quietly.

Cullen frowned. “You had him followed, I presume?”

Zevran merely gave him a pointed look, tilting his head on one side as he arched an eyebrow, Cullen held his hands up apologetically.

“Forgive me; of course you did,” Cullen said sheepishly. Zevran suddenly grinned.

“He made directly towards the nearest port and has not stopped or turned aside. My people still follow him and I am sure a little bird will tell me if he so much as turns aside to take a shit,” Zevran assured him.

“Charming,” murmured Cullen. “And the Chargers?”

“Did not follow, nor did they meet with anyone,” replied Zevran. “Which was most curious.”

“What _did_ they do then?” frowned Cullen. “They were gone almost all day.”

Zevran’s face became serious. “They held a... funeral ceremony, is the only way I can describe it,” replied Zevran. “Then they debated the Bull’s departure as though he were dead. Two others challenged Krem for leadership; he beat both and was acclaimed the leader of the Chargers and the successor to the Bull.”

“And that was it?” said Cullen dubiously.

“And that was it,” nodded Zevran.

“Strange,” pondered Cullen, then shrugged. “Ah, well. It’s over now. How is Hal?”

“As well as can be expected,” shrugged Zevran. “He will accompany Invictus and Fenris to Nevarra whilst I accompany Anders to Ferelden.”

“Where exactly are you two going?” asked Cullen. Zevran merely grinned as he rose to his feet.

“That is up to Anders, no?” he smiled. “Me, I am merely coming along for the ride.” He winked.

“You expect me to believe that?” snorted Cullen; as Zevran continued to grin, he sighed. “Very well, have it your own way,” he acceded. “Enjoy your little mystery trip.”

“Oh, we shall. Enjoy Honnleath, Commander, and give my congratulations to the Seeker.”

“Your...! How the deuce did you know?” exclaimed Cullen as he got to his feet.

Zevran rose also and tapped the side of his nose. “Good evening, Commander,” he grinned, and was gone before Cullen could say another word. 

Cullen dropped back into his chair then slowly shook his head. “I only made up my mind to ask her this morning,” he murmured. “How did he know? _How_?”

 

***

Hawke, Anders, Fenris, Zevran and Hal departed early the next morning. There were few people around to see them off; the sun was barely up. For once, Dorian wasn’t complaining about being up so early, though he looked a little bleary-eyed.

Anders and Zevran stood with their mounts, as Hal fussed with the stirrup of his own mount next to Hawke and Fenris.

“I don’t know how long it will take us in Ferelden, but Zevran and I will meet you all in Nevarra City in three weeks at the most,” Anders told Hawke. 

“Alright, please be careful Anders. I know you can take care of yourself but I will worry until I see you again.” Vic said as he leaned in for a kiss before they parted.

“I’ll be fine, love,” smiled Anders before turning to Fenris. “Look after Vic and don’t let him get into any scrapes - or not too many,” he amended as he grinned at the elf. “No wars or anything like that, OK?”

“I’ll do my best.” Fenris said as he approached. “A kiss for the road?” he asked. 

Anders grinned and slipped into Fenris’ arms for a long-drawn-out kiss whilst Zevran bade Invictus goodbye in his own slightly-more sedate way. Hal was watching them all a little wistfully as he fiddled with his horse’s stirrup.

Fenris turned to Zevran and asked if he could have a kiss as well, he was still cautious of irritating the other elf. They’d talked but he still felt a bit uneasy, especially with them splitting up. 

Zevran stared up at Fenris and tilted his head to one side. “You are so tall - I think perhaps you need to bend down a little, _carissimi_ , hmm?” he said quietly. Anders had stepped over to talk quietly to Hal, taking the stirrup out of the young mage’s hands and setting about adjusting it with quick, practiced movements of his hands as Hal blushed.

Fenris did that, his eyes closed as he felt Zevran’s arms around his neck as he kissed the shorter elf. He had to wrap an arm around the other elf to keep him from falling. Zevran clung to Fenris as the taller elf straightened and shot him a startled look; Zevran merely rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder so his mouth was close to Fenris’ ear.

“Be safe, _carissimi_ ,” murmured Zevran. “I will sleep uneasy until I am in your arms again. I would grieve terribly were harm to come to you and I were not by your side.” He pressed another gentle kiss to Fenris’ cheek and waited to be set down.

“I will be good.” Fenris said as he kissed Zevran and let him down with a sniff he’d deny if asked. He backed up and felt Hawke’s arm around him as he turned and to his surprise saw Anders gently holding Hal in a hug, the younger mage’s head resting upon the blond mage’s shoulder as Anders murmured something to him.

Zevran glanced over, gave a small smile then nodded to Fenris and Invictus before he turned to mount his black stallion.

Anders stepped away from Hal and the young mage gave him a shy smile before Anders turned to mount his own grey mare.

“Three weeks!” Anders called down to the three men, before turning in his saddle to raise a hand towards Dorian and Meneris. “And I haven’t forgotten your stag night, Meneris!” he shouted with a grin. As Meneris groaned and wondered what he’d let himself in for, Anders and Zevran spurred their mounts and headed towards the gate at a fast trot, with a last wave of farewell.

“Guess we’d better get going too.” Fenris said as he checked that everything was strapped down and tied properly before he mounted the dark grey steed. 

“Yeah, I’d like to get to a proper inn before nightfall. Ready Hal?” Vic asked after he was in his saddle. Hal had a thoughtful look on his face; he came back to himself with a start as he glanced at Invictus, then swung himself up into the saddle.

“I’m ready,” he said, then turned to lift a hand in farewell towards the Inquisitor and Dorian.

“Travel safely!” called Dorian. “I’m counting on you to get me to my wedding safely, Fenris!”

“Count on it!” Fenris called before he took off after Invictus and Hal, a slight smile on his face for the adventure ahead of them.

Dorian and Meneris stood on the steps and watched until the dust of their horses’ hooves had settled and they could no longer hear the beat of their shod feet on the hard stone road, then slowly they both turned and walked back inside the keep. Dorian slung his arm around Meneris’ waist as they walked. 

The keep seemed somehow quieter and emptier with them gone.


	83. Chapter 83

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings and new beginnings. Anders and Zevran make it to Nevarra with unexpected company, Dorian and Invictus have a chat, as do Fenris and Hal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, we THOUGHT we were done with just the epilogue to go, and then something came up in chat between Cypher and I and we realised that there was a little more to the story than we thought. So here it is: the final chapter - for real, this time! - and there's just the epilogue to come. But don't worry; the boys will all be back for Trespasser. :-)

Hal was up early. Fenris had slept with Hawke last night; he’d asked (with coy shyness) if Hal wanted to join them - just to sleep with them and nothing more - but Hal, feeling equally shy, had quietly demurred.

The villa was quiet and peaceful, so early in the morning. The servants in the kitchen had barely stirred the oven fire into life to bake the morning bread, and the air still held a hint of coolness before the spring sun could begin to warm it. This spring was apparently unusually warm for Nevarra. Hal didn’t mind; he enjoyed the heat. Since they’d arrived, he’d spent a lot of time reading in the garden whilst the warmth baked into his bones. It was such a change from Skyhold - and less harsh than the heat of the Hissing Wastes. The lack of sand was a distinct plus point in his books.

The villa belonged to a cousin of the Seeker’s; Hal had been surprised and then impressed to learn that the Pentaghasts were Nevarran nobility, related by blood to King Markus. They boasted many illustrious dragon-slayers in their line, which had made Hal rather nervous for Fenris’ safety; they had been assured that Fenris was completely safe however, as long as he confined his hunting to the livestock on the estate and the deer of the forests. Fenris had felt little need to fully transform beyond a few pleasantly-leisurely flights with Hal (who had learned his lesson and now wore stout riding trews and a warm cloak when they went aloft - and found himself increasingly opting for pants and tunics instead of robes even when not flying).

It had been the quiet, peaceful retreat they’d all so desperately needed, but now they had all felt a slight restlessness. Anders and Zevran had been gone for a month - they should have joined them in Nevarra a week ago, but there had been no word save a brief missive sent from Kinloch, of all places, two weeks ago saying they were detouring to Ostwick. 

Hawke and Fenris had no idea why Anders would choose to go to Ostwick; they knew of no reason why he would go there. He had never spoken of having been near Ostwick. And yet there it was - as Hal had arisen that morning, a servant had pressed a note into his hand, sent from Ostwick a week ago and stating only that they were on their way to Nevarra.

If they had departed a week ago, they could arrive at any time. The note was folded neatly inside his sleeve and he pondered it as he made his way to the drawing room and found Fenris finally up and awake and drinking coffee.

“Morning.” was all he said as he sat there, eyes half open and a pleased expression on his face.

Hal smiled as he helped himself to coffee, then pulled the note out of his sleeve. “You look half-asleep still,” he teased as he seated himself on the arm of Fenris’ chair. “I think I know something that will wake you up though.” He dropped the note into Fenris’ lap. “Anders and Zevran should be here any day now. Maybe even today.”

As Fenris picked up the note then hastily unfolded it, Hal took a sip of coffee then peered down at the note. “You’ll note they still don’t say _why_ they were in Ostwick, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He smiled.

“This is odd, even for them. I worry because they took this detour...it would be like me suddenly needing to go to Vyrantium while at Minrathous. I don’t like it.” Fenris handed the note back before he got more coffee. “Whatever blend this is, we need it at Skyhold.”

“I think Cassandra has been holding out on us,” grinned Hal. He’d steadily come out of his shell of grief since arriving in Nevarra; his smiles were still fairly rare, but on mornings like this he seemed quite at peace with himself.

“Excuse me, sers,” said a servant as he entered the drawing room and bowed to them both. “Three riders have entered the gate and are riding towards the house. Should we prepare for visitors?”

“ _Three_?” exclaimed Hal, and glanced to Fenris.

“Yes, we can go to greet them, especially since there is an extra rider.” Fenris said as he glanced to Hal then rose. 

“Should I go wake Hawke?” suggested Hal.

“No let him sleep until we see who it is.” Fenris headed out, curious yet wary about who the third person could be. “Come, let us see who they’ve picked up.”

“Assuming it’s them,” said Hal, warily. “Wait a moment - let me fetch my staff, just in case.” He set his coffee down and rose to his feet, heading out at a swift pace. He returned a few moments later, a little out of breath and clutching his staff. “I’m ready,” he said.

The warrior was dressed casually but he wasn’t too concerned, it wasn’t like he needed a weapon to be deadly. He wondered who it could be as they saw riders making their way up the long sweeping carriage driveway towards the villa, and his worry didn’t lift until they were close enough to see. “There’s...another person with them?” 

Hal was staring at the third rider. “It’s a... _child?_ ” he said slowly as the three riders steadily approached. “A girl, I think. Why would -” He broke off as the riders came to a halt, and the tall blond man swung himself down from his horse before lifting his arms up to help down the child, who practically leapt into his arms. Anders’ carefree laughter carried easily to them as he swung the child around exuberantly, the child’s long dark gold hair flying out as they spun before Anders set her down and grinned at her. Zevran was chuckling as he dismounted, a servant coming forward to take the horses.

“Fenris. The girl - her hair. She - she can’t be....” He turned and looked at Fenris, his eyes wide.

The elf kept staring at Anders and the girl; he’d put two and two together but ...seeing this girl and Anders together. “You weren’t gone _that_ long.” was what came out of his mouth. Anders laughed as he walked towards them, his arm around the shoulders of the girl. She grinned shyly as she tucked a strand of dark gold hair the same hue as Anders’ back behind a delicate upswept ear. As she glanced at Fenris, he saw that whilst she undoubtedly had elven heritage, her eyes were Anders’.

Her father’s. Had to be.

“Long enough from Kinloch,” said Anders quietly. “Fenris, Hal... this is my daughter Ellowynne.” He blinked, his eyes glimmering suddenly with unshed tears. “She was born during my year in solitary, and I... I never knew.”

“It’s alright, Daddy,” said the girl as she turned and hugged his waist. “I’m here now. You came and found me!”

“Indeed he did,” smiled Zevran as he came to join them. “ _Carissimi_ , where is Invictus? He should be here too!”

“You have a daughter....” said Hal slowly, and then grinned as he crouched down a little. “Hello, Ellowynne,” he smiled. “I’m Hal. How old are you?”

“I’m ten!” she exclaimed proudly. “And Daddy says I can throw the biggest fireball he’s ever seen for a ten-year-old!”

Anders blushed a little. “Yes, there might have been a little incident involving a barn just outside Ostwick,” he murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Vic...is asleep.” Fenris said slowly. He kept looking at the girl then at Anders, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Daddy?” he repeated before he felt Zevran’s arm around him.

“It’s... a long story, and one best told whilst we’re sitting down in comfort - and after breakfast,” Anders added. “We’ve been riding since before dawn, and Ellowynne needs to eat.”

“As does Anders,” added Zevran, giving the blond mage a pointed look.

Fenris nodded and let Zevran lead him back inside, but not without a couple glances back at his husband...and, daughter? Hal was walking alongside Ellowynne, who was chattering to him nineteen to the dozen as she held her father’s hand. Anders had an exhausted yet peaceful look about him that Fenris didn’t think he’d ever seen before save whilst Anders was deeply asleep and his body relaxed.

They went into the drawing room where Anders dropped into a chair then smiled fondly at his daughter as she excitedly showed Hal how she could make a snowball. Hal sat crosslegged on the rug and Ellowynne mirrored him as he held a hand out and showed her how to create a small flickering flame on the palm of his hand.

“I wouldn’t try that in here just yet, Ellowynne,” said Anders. “Remember what we said about fire magic indoors?”

“Yes, Daddy,” replied the child as she glanced back over her shoulder at him and grinned.

“She’s got pretty good control with ice, but her control over fire is... lacking,” said Anders ruefully.

Vic walked in just to overhear Anders. “Whose control at fire is lacking love?” he asked as he leaned in for a kiss.

“Daddy, who is he and why is he kissing you?” asked the child, staring at the Champion.

“Daddy? Anders...care to explain who this little sprite is and where she came from?” Vic said as he knelt down to Ellowynne’s level and gave her a grin.

Anders held a hand out to the girl and she climbed on his lap and flung her arms around his neck as he cuddled her. “Invictus Hawke, meet my daughter Ellowynne. She was born during my year in solitary. Her mother Tadhriel was sent away to Ostwick the moment her pregnancy started showing. Ellowynne was born there; Tadriel sadly died in labour.” He looked mournful for a moment; Ellowynne hugged him a little tighter and he gave her a sad smile before turning back to Vic.

“I dropped by Kinloch when Nathaniel told me Irving was still in charge there after all this time. He’d already received word of my... promotion. He pulled out all my old records... including the notes on Tadhriel. So I had to go to Ostwick. To find the daughter I never knew I had.” He wrapped his arms around Ellowynne and they pressed their foreheads together, staring into each other’s eyes for a moment before he turned back to Vic.

“Ellowynne Hawke, meet Invictus Hawke. He’s another of your step-fathers.”

“Pleased to meet you little Hawke, welcome to the family. Guess we better write ahead before we go back so a room can be ready for our girl.” Vic said with a smile.

“Step-father?” Fenris said quietly as he sat at Zevran’s feet and observed the girl. She was part elf, her ears gave that away. 

“But of course,” said Zevran. “She is his daughter from a previous....ah... liaison... and we are his husbands. That makes us her step-fathers, no?” He shrugged. “She is a charming little thing. Very nimble-fingered and becoming quite proficient at throwing a dagger.”

“Yes, and who taught her that, Zevran Hawke?” exclaimed Anders, narrowing his eyes at the Antivan, who merely grinned, unrepentant.

“Ooh, Uncle Hal!” exclaimed Ellowynne as she wriggled down from Anders’ lap. “Look!” She darted over to him and pulled up her sleeve to show him a wrist sheath with three slim throwing knives that rather looked like Zevran’s smallest set.

“Why did you give a child knives Zevran?” Fenris asked as he glanced up at his husband. When all he got was a raised brow and an unashamed grin he gave up. He felt uneasy, he’d never really been around children before, even with the College bringing in young mages. He actually didn’t know what to say to their newest addition to the family. 

“She is a mage, but she should know other ways to protect herself until her magic is a little more... _predictable_ , hmm?” replied Zevran in a far-too-reasonable tone of voice. “Also when her mana runs out. It would not be appropriate for a child to drink lyrium after all.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Anders heavily. “Which is the only reason I allowed the lessons to continue. I’ll admit that if we’d never met Belann, I would never have realised how useful training in a weapon could be for a mage - and it’s true that Ellowynne does have a real aptitude as well. I’m thinking of asking Dagna about making her a set of daggers like the ones Belann had.”

“What happened to his daggers?” mused Zevran, tilting his head on one side.

Hal went still, then slowly glanced around. “He gave them to me, two days before he... went,” he said quietly. “They’re in my pack.”

“You have knives too?” exclaimed Ellowynne with big eyes. “Can I see them? Please, Uncle Hal?” She gave him a pleading look that was very reminiscent of Anders’ best puppy-dog act. Hal stared at her then smiled fondly. 

“Of course you can,” he said, enchanted by the young girl. Zevran groaned.

“I should have warned you,” he murmured as he shook his head. “She is even more effective than Anders with that look.”

“As long as you supervise Zevran, I think she’s still a little small for those daggers even if they didn’t belong to Hal now.” Vic said with an indulgent smile. “Maker, she’s worse than you and Fenris with those puppy eyes.” 

Anders gave him a tired grin then held out a hand to him. “I’ve missed you, love,” he said quietly.

“Believe me, I’ve missed you too. Just glad you’re back here and safe. We were getting worried about you.” Vic said as he sat on the arm of the chair. “You must be starved.”

Anders flung an arm around his waist then rested his head against Invictus. “Tired, mostly,” he said quietly. “We rode hard from Ostwick.” He sighed, and closed his eyes. “We looked for my mother in Ferelden. She’s... she died. Five years after they took me away. That’s part of why we went to Kinloch - I wanted to find her. Find out if I had any family left, my own blood. When I found out I had a daughter... Vic, I _had_ to go find her. She... she’s the only family I have apart from you three. She’s... there’s something of me that will live on after I’m gone.” He swallowed hard as he watched Ellowynne and Hal as they examined Belann’s knives under Zevran’s watchful but amused gaze.

“Vic... I know my Calling can’t be far away. Promise me you’ll look after her, love,” he whispered. “I might never live to see her grow up. But... you will. You, Fenris, Zevran. You’ll protect her for me, won’t you?” There was a quavery note to his voice.

“Of course… but please, let’s not discuss that right now. Not when you just got back, please?” Vic said quietly, his own voice a bit shaky.

Fenris glanced up at their conversation, a frown on his face as he thought on how long they would have. That was enough to make him rise and hug Anders.

“I’m sorry,” gasped Anders as he wiped at his eyes. “I’m just exhausted. I’ll be OK; I just need a rest.”

“Vic take him to bed, I ...think I need to stretch my wings for a bit.” Fenris kissed his warden before he turned to tell Hal what he was up to.

Ellowynne was regarding him with wide eyes. “Uncle Fenris, is it true you’re a dragon? Can I see your wings?” She suddenly jumped up. “Daddy, can I go flying with Uncle Fenris?”

“Oh no,” said Anders with a groan. “Ellowynne, I think maybe you and Uncle Fenris need to talk about this later, sweetie, OK? Yes, Uncle Fenris is really a dragon, and if you’re _very_ good maybe you can go watch him transform later on, OK? But Uncle Fenris just needs to go stretch his wings for a bit by himself. Remember what we talked about earlier?”

Ellowynne looked a little wistful, but nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” she replied dutifully. She looked at Fenris, her eyes large and soulful. “Uncle Fenris, can I come watch you fly later?” she asked.

“I...uh, suppose, little bird.” Fenris glanced at her then to Anders. “Mythal, if nothing else proves she’s yours, it’s that look right there.” He also gave his mage husband a look that said _we’ll talk later_. He knelt down and beckoned her over. 

She bounced over with a happy smile. “Yes, Uncle Fenris?” she asked winsomely. Hal was watching her with a fond smile, already smitten with the little girl.

Fenris grinned and let his wings show and curved one so she could see. “Be gentle, it will hurt if you pull too hard but you may touch them. If you are good, we can see about letting you watch me fly tomorrow. Assuming your father allows it.” 

Ellowynne stared at the wings, her eyes going round with wonder. She reached out slowly and then very lightly touched a wing. “Oh, it’s... soft, and warm!” she said softly. “It’s so pretty - like you, Uncle Fenris. All swirly and silvery and pretty!” She looked shyly down at his bare arm with the lines of lyrium that traced along in whorls and curves. She reached out, her fingers hovering above his arm before she snatched her hand away. “Daddy said I mustn’t touch because the lines hurt you, Uncle Fenris,” she said quietly. She looked at him with serious eyes. “He says a bad man put them there but then a goddess made them all better but I must be careful.”

“Your daddy and I are going to have a chat about what is appropriate to tell a child when I get back,” Fenris said as he held his hand out, palm up. “Yes, he was a very bad man, but I made sure he paid for what he did to me. Run back to your father, I’ll see you all in a while.” He rose and gave Anders a long, dark stare before he left and made for a few laps near the estate.

“Come, little one; why don’t you go with Uncle Hal and let him show you to your room, and then we will get something to eat, yes?” suggested Zevran as he rose to his feet. “Your father is very tired and needs to rest.”

Ellowynne ran over to Anders and gave him a hug then ran after Hal with a smile. Anders watched her go with a fond smile; once they were gone, he sank back into the chair with a tired groan and closed his eyes.

“If you’re going to shout at me, please let me sleep first,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

“I’m not going to shout, I’m leaving that for Fenris when he gets back. Come on, let me get you into bed then I’m having breakfast.” Vic said as he tried to get Anders to his feet. Zevran helped him haul Anders upright; the blond mage managed to make it as far as the bedroom then collapsed face-first onto the bed, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

As they left the room, Zevran pulled Invictus to one side. “A word of warning,” he murmured quietly. “It will be tempting to give Ellowynne a diminutive. For the love of all you hold holy, do not call her Ella. Anders reacts very... badly to it.” He frowned, a dark expression crossing his face.

“I was there when it happened, I wouldn’t do that to him.” Vic replied. “Care to sit and tell me how the rest of the trip was?” 

Zevran grinned as he slipped an arm around Invictus’ waist and they headed back towards the drawing room. “I have missed you also, Invictus,” he smiled.

“After breakfast, I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.” Vic gave him a brief kiss and a promise of wickedness once they’d eaten.

***

Half of Skyhold had turned out to welcome them back, it seemed. There were shouts and cheers of welcome, and then much curiosity and delight when Anders’ daughter was introduced. Josephine was very taken with the young girl and instantly started giving orders for the rooms adjoining Anders’ to be made ready for Ellowynne. Cassandra had helped the young girl off her horse then crouched down and very solemnly shaken her hand as she introduced herself. Upon hearing that Zevran had begun to teach the girl how to throw knives, she had rolled her eyes and stated she would teach Ellowynne how to wield a more appropriate weapon. The Antivan and the Seeker had strolled slowly into the keeping, Ellowynne between them as they argued the merits of throwing knives over swords.

Anders had followed with a bemused look, Hal at his side, the red-head smirking.

Dorian exchanged a grin with Meneris and then gave Fenris a sympathetic look as the elf headed into the keep, looking a little frazzled after a full day riding alongside a chatty, talkative ten-year-old, before Dorian’s glance fell on Invictus and his smile slipped as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He hadn’t had a chance to properly apologise to the Champion before they had departed, and he’d had a few weeks in which to feel remorse for how he’d behaved.

Fenris gave Dorian a wave and mimed having a drink when he caught his eye, hopeful he could have some time away from everyone to catch up. 

Vic had arched an eyebrow at the slip in Dorian’s expression but left it for the moment. He was filthy from the road, tired and just wanted a hot bath. 

Dorian glanced at Fenris and nodded with a small smile, but it was slightly wan. He glanced back at Invictus with almost an anxious expression, a small furrow appearing on his brow before he murmured an excuse to Meneris and headed inside the keep towards his rooms at almost a run.

The Inquisitor frowned and was going to follow his betrothed but he was set upon for his signature on orders, and others vying for his attention. After he’d taken care of the most pressing inquiries, he made his way to Hal and Cullen. “Welcome back, I hope your trip was good?” he asked the red-headed mage.

Hal nodded. “I needed the space,” he mused. “There was just too much here in Skyhold to remind me of Bull and everything that happened.” He lifted a hand without realising it to touch the trailing edge of the scar below his eye. “It gave me the chance to get my head back together. It... still hurts, but it’s not so bad now. More bearable.”

“Good, feel free to take your time to get back to things. It’s mercifully quiet so there’s no urgency. Why don’t we take a walk when you’re refreshed from travel? We didn’t get much chance to talk… after.” Meneris gave him a warm smile before he turned to Cullen. “How is Cass doing?” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker, does _everyone_ know?” he muttered. “She’s - _we’re_ fine,” he said firmly, then grinned. “More than fine, actually. She wants an Autumn wedding, so her family have time to meet me. Only seems fair - she’s met mine now, after all.”

“You blush so well Cullen, no wonder she likes you. You should have traveled to meet the others since they were in Nevarra anyway.” Meneris gave him a nudge and a mischievous grin. “Come on, I don’t get to badger you often so let me enjoy it.”

Cullen grudgingly allowed himself to be teased, though the light flush across his cheeks belied the quiet pleasure he took in the Inquisitor’s words. He’d always tried to keep himself aloof, as befitted the Commander of the Inquisition’s troops, but at heart he still longed for the camaraderie that he’d once enjoyed as a templar - the feeling of knowing there were others he could call _friend_. 

“Drink with us tonight, I think their return and Anders finding his daughter is reason enough to celebrate. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to find Dorian to see why he ran off like he left the kettle going.” Meneris left them, his focus on finding said Altus.

Dorian had fled to his room, even his customary nook in the library feeling too open and exposed. He’d shut his door then thrown himself down in a chair, fingers tapping a nervous staccato rhythm upon the edge of his desk unthinkingly as he stared at an unopened bottle of wine. He wanted a drink. No, he _needed_ a drink.

He had made up his mind and was just reaching for the bottle when there was a knock at the door and he froze.

Perhaps if he stayed silent, they might think him elsewhere and go away.

He was reaching for the bottle again when there came another knock. He gritted his teeth against the urge to yell at whoever it was, tell them to go the fuck away. He wanted to be left alone with his anxiety and the bottle.

“Dorian, open the door.” Meneris called, his hand already in a pocket to get his key.

Dorian bit back a sound that might have been somewhere halfway between a whimper and a whine, then swallowed as he pulled back his hand. “It’s - it’s not locked,” he called, and glanced away from the door as it opened, his head low, his hands distractedly washing against each other. He should have known it would be Meneris.

The elf came in, perched on Dorian's’ desk and picked up the wine bottle. “You’ve been sulking with them gone, and now you damned near ran away when they return? What gives amatus?”

Dorian’s eyes turned first to the wine bottle before lifting to Meneris. “I...I made a mistake. A foolish, stupid mistake. And now I... don’t quite know how to put it right,” he confessed. His gaze dropped to the bottle again and he gritted his teeth as he forced his glance away. He stared down at his hands, clutching at each other now, grasped tight to hide their shaking. 

“Talk to me, what mistake did you make and what is so bad about it you ran away to hide? It can’t be that bad, love.” Meneris uncorked the wine, poured Dorian a half-glass and put the bottle just out of reach.

Dorian’s eyes followed the bottle even as he reached for the glass. He took a hasty sip, as much to steady the trembling of his lower lip against the glass as to taste the tart richness of the wine. A moment’s space - a few seconds’ grace in which he was spared answering as he swallowed before he had to lower the glass and speak.

“I went too far. I- I teased Hawke. I shouldn’t have. I was a brat, I spoiled things. I - I’ve worked so hard to make things better - to _be_ better, but I couldn’t help it; I opened my damned fool mouth and drove him away.” He stared down at the glass cradled in his hands then groaned. “Why do I keep doing this, Meneris?”

“No idea.. what did you say to him?” Meneris asked as he filled his own glass. Dorian took another mouthful of wine; as good a way as any to put off the moment of admission. He swallowed.

“I’d... left a rope out. Tied to the bed - forgot it was there, after Fenris and I... played. He saw it of course; I hadn’t meant to, but there it was, and it distracted him. He admitted that, and that he wondered how things went between Fenris and I, and I... teased him.” He sighed, considered drinking the last mouthful of wine in his glass, decided against it. Better to get it out. “I teased him, and pushed when it was obvious he wasn’t comfortable, and I pushed the teasing too far. And he couldn’t wait to get away from me.” He stared into the wine. “And I don’t blame him.” He downed the wine hastily, then wished he hadn’t.

“I guess I’m a little lost, what could you have teased him with that he’d run off?” Meneris poured him another half glass and waited. 

“I told him that Fenris had had me twice,” said Dorian, staring at the wine in his glass. One mouthful for each admission, he told himself as he drank. _That was one._ “I told him that Fenris made me scream for him.” _That was two._ “And he told me to drop it but I didn’t.”  
 _Three._ The glass was empty.

“Hmm, those were bad yes but it still doesn’t seem like something to make you run away.” Meneris replied. “Go talk to him, I’ve not thought you a coward my heart.”

“I didn’t have a chance to properly apologise, and now....” He set the empty wine glass on the desk and then covered his face with his hand and groaned. “It’s been weeks. Why would he want to even talk to me? And if you’ve not thought me a coward then you’d be the only one - both out there and in this room right now,” Dorian answered as he waved his other hand vaguely in the direction of his door. “Coward is the least of my faults mind you. Sometimes I honestly wonder what it is you see in me, amatus.” He straightened and lowered his hand. “Forgive me. My wit has deserted me and we are both the poorer for it.”

“Alright, you are going to give them a chance to get cleaned up and eat then you will go find Invictus before dinner and talk to him. I saw Fenris signal you for a drink, talk with him as well. He’s probably glad for an adult to talk to besides his companions.”

Dorian glanced at the three-quarters-full bottle of wine, then nodded. “Alright,” he said colourlessly.

Meneris stared down at him, then sighed. He set the bottle down then rose, resting one hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Try at least to be sober through dinner,” he murmured. He patted Dorian’s shoulder twice.

Dorian waited until Meneris had left the room then stared at the bottle for a moment. “Fuck,” he said thickly as he reached for it.

***

Anders watched Ellowynne making friends with the other young mages. There were four her own age now, two a couple of years younger, and seven a little older. There were several mage families at Skyhold these days, with children ranging from a babe in arms, to a couple of teenaged twins - both sixteen, both with intense bright blue eyes and long black hair. They all took to Ellowynne immediately - Marian, the girl twin, in particular seemed to take on almost an older-sister role and couldn’t wait to show her around the College whilst her brother rolled his eyes then tagged along goodnaturedly. Anders recalled both twins had shown remarkable proficiency in Invictus’ battlemage classes; given Ellowynne’s natural proficiency with blades, he was glad she seemed to make friends so easily with those who would be her peers and classmates. Parcival had taken time out from his duties to shepherd them all.

One of the templars had brought a mabari puppy for the kids to play with, and they were taking it in turns to pull a piece of rope around for the pup to tug on.

Anders smiled. He’d worried about how well Ellowynne would fit in at Skyhold - much as he’d worried constantly since first he’d laid eyes upon her in Ostwick. What did he know of fatherhood, after all?

She reminded him of himself at that age - sharp, quick, her humour a knife-edge that deflected deftly. She knew all the little wiles - the quick easy laugh to set someone off guard, the coy look, the wide guileless eyes to get herself out of trouble even as she pushed, and _pushed_. She didn’t, thankfully, seemed to have been punished harshly by the Ostwick templars ( _how carefully he had checked for scars, the light healer’s touch as she slept to reassure a father’s racing, fearful heart_ ); had escaped the chastisement he’d experienced himself ( _slender wrists that had never known manacles_ ). Sleeping in a dark room didn’t seem to bother her.

And it never would - not as long as he could protect her; and after he was gone, there was Zevran, and Invictus, and Fenris. Hal, too; he had seen how the young mage was already quite entranced with her. He had no doubt that she would be in safe hands.

“Maker, grant me time,” he murmured to himself; a soft entreaty against the inevitable. “Just a few more years.”

Ellowynne turned and spotted him, then grinned, waving at him to come join them. Anders gave her an answering smile and walked to join his daughter.

_Just a few more years. Please, Maker._

***

Invictus felt better after a bath and a quick bite to eat so he went out in search of the others. He’d barely taken a few steps out of his room when he spotted Dorian walking along the hall towards him, his gaze on the floor.

Dorian glanced up at the sound of footsteps then halted, staring at him uncertainly before he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, leaving plenty of room for Invictus to walk past if he wanted.

“Can we... talk?” asked the Altus quietly. “I understand if this... isn’t a good time.”

“Sure, I feel better after cleaning up some of the road dirt and grime. Where?” Vic asked in mild confusion.

Dorian lifted a shoulder diffidently. “Oh, anywhere you like, really?” He smiled, almost like the old Dorian - if one overlooked the troubled expression in his eyes.

“Considering you look ready to run, let’s go to your room or perhaps one of the towers? It’s actually warm enough to be outside.” Vic offered.

Dorian considered it for a moment. “I don’t suppose you play chess?” he asked quietly.

“I’m alright at it, Fenris is better than I am if you wish a challenge.” Vic replied, still not sure what Dorian was on about.

Dorian straightened. “There’s a set in the garden. I... used to play Cullen, but he doesn’t really have much time for chess any more.” There it was again - that oddly wistful tone. “Shall we?” He turned and headed down the hallway, not quite looking back to see if Invictus was following - just his head tilted slightly for the sound of his following footsteps.

Invictus followed Dorian out to the garden, where the Altus gestured wordlessly to the two chairs and the board, already set up.

“Black or white? White always goes first, but there can be advantages to taking your move after your opponent has committed themselves,” said Dorian.

“Black.” Vic said as he slid into the chair and let Dorian take the first step. He pondered the table and his moves for a while but when the other mage didn’t speak he nudged Dorian with his foot. “The game isn’t that engrossing.”

“I’m sorry, I -” Dorian broke off and gave a rueful laugh. “Yes. Sorry. That’s the whole point of this.” He moved his Queen then sat back in his chair and stared at Invictus. “I owe you an apology. More than one, I suspect, but perhaps if I start here... well. Just before Hal made his decision as to Bull, you came to speak to me. You wanted to discuss the Bull and Meneris’ likely judgement and I... behaved appallingly badly. You asked me to stop and I... didn’t. I was a terrible brat and I never really had the chance to properly apologise for it, and I....” 

He bit his lip for a moment and glanced away, then turned his gaze back to Invictus again. “I wanted to say how frightfully sorry I am. For everything I’ve said, and done, from the moment we first met. My behaviour has been atrocious, and you didn’t deserve it. Any of it. And I’m sorry.”

He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were washing against each other mindlessly; with an effort, he held them still. “I’ve never really... had many people I could call friends,” he said slowly. “And I’ve come to realise that... that this is likely why. I misbehave, I act out and I... push people away. Stupid of me, really; to drive away those few people who could tolerate me in the first place. And I think we were, if not actually friends, then perhaps heading in that direction and I’m rather afraid that I’ve ruined that. And I’m sorry.” He stared at his hands, and Invictus suddenly realised that perhaps after having bared himself like that, Dorian was actually afraid. Afraid to look up; afraid of what he might see in Invictus’ eyes.

Vic sighed as he made his move. “This ...I had put it out of my head Dorian to be honest. I figured if it came up we could talk about it but I was a bit pre-occupied with the trip and discovering I’m a stepfather along the way.” Hawke looked up to him with a smile. “A hard lesson I’ve learned is that sometimes friends argue, they fight. It doesn’t mean the end of things. Being with Fenris has taught me a lot and reminded me that even as an apostate I was incredibly lucky in that I had my parents for most of my life. That said it took a long time to learn some basics, and well it was a long way to say I am still your friend. Just be mindful of anything you might say to me about Fenris. He had my heart well before Anders and Zevran came along.” Vic held his hand out and waited for Dorian to take it.

Dorian glanced up at his hand, and then lifted his eyes slowly to meet Invictus’ gaze with something like startlement, and Invictus suddenly realised the Altus hadn’t expected him to accept his apology. After a moment, Dorian reached forward and took his hand.

“Thank you, Invictus Hawke,” he said quietly. “You are a far better man than I. I shall endeavour to be better in future.”

That made Vic laugh. “Oh Dorian, you do have a good sense of humor. I am not better than you, trust me. Come on, let’s find Fenris and have that drink you two were signaling each other about.” 

Dorian smiled ruefully. “I could use a drink,” he confessed.

“As could I, and I bet Fenris could as well. I’ve never seen him look so beleaguered in my life.” Vic said with a smile. He wandered with Dorian until he found the elven warrior on one of the battlements, staring over the courtyard. 

“Ah, Fenris,” smiled Dorian. “I do hope I interpreted your miming correctly earlier and you were indeed suggesting a drink?”

“Mythal yes.” Fenris said as they greeted him.

“Oh good, I... find I’m rather in need of one,” the Altus confessed as he turned and rested his hip against the battlements, a wry smirk twisting his moustache slightly. “As it seems are you - how is, ah, step-fatherhood treating you, amicus?”

“Fine, if I can ignore the fact she talks a mile a half-minute but has lethal doe eyes like her pater.” Fenris said as he indicated the stairs and went ahead. 

“Your room then love?” Vic asked.

“She sounds like me at her age,” mused Dorian as he followed, one hand smoothing his moustache. “I was quite the precocious little brat at her age. Some might say not much has changed there,” he added, glancing back at Hawke with a wink. “Tell me, does she take after her father? Do we have another little blonde mage on our hands?”

“Does she ever.” Fenris said as they walked on and he let them in. He dropped his cloak, told Vic to leave a note on the door and headed right for the Starkhaven malt. 

Dorian watched him, his eyes lingering on the bottle for perhaps a heartbeat too long before he turned and found a chair for himself, sitting down then lifting a leg to rest his ankle upon his knee. “So is this celebration, commiseration or both?” he smirked.

“Pick whichever you like, I am just relieved to have adult company for the moment.” 

Dorian opened his mouth, a saucy rejoinder upon the tip of his tongue before he recalled his admission to Hawke. He snapped his mouth shut, dropped his gaze for a moment, and shifted in his seat to cover himself. He gave a small cough. “Yes, well, that’s... that’s certainly reason enough to drink, and Maker knows I’d likely feel driven to it myself,” he said smoothly. “I couldn’t bear the conversation of most children that age even when I was one myself - and being twenty years older doesn’t make it any more tolerable. I’m sure she’s a delightful little angel but I’d be the first to confess I haven’t the faintest idea how one talks to children. You’ll note that I teach no-one under the age of eighteen in the College myself,” he added with a glance to Hawke.

“You wouldn’t happen to have brought any decent Nevarran red back with you by any chance?” he went on. “It’s a little early for spirits for me just yet.” He smiled hopefully.

“Side board, help yourself.” Fenris said as he settled in on his bed with his glass and a sigh.

“You ok love? Need something else?” Vic asked as he took some of the wine instead of malt.

Dorian rose and helped himself to a large glass of wine, glancing at Fenris curiously before retaking his seat nearby. He held his tongue; it had caused him quite enough trouble already (even if it seemed it got him _out_ of trouble as often as it got him _into_ it), and besides they were both married to each other. It was hardly his place to speak. So he watched, and sipped his wine.

“No, this is nice. You can both join me on the bed; I won’t turn to a dragon and eat you - I’m too tired,” Fenris quipped.

“I am never going to be allowed to forget that, am I?” said Dorian a little petulantly. “Honestly, it had been a long day, I was very tired, and you were -” He broke off. “Very well, I admit with hindsight it probably _does_ seem amusing.” He glanced down into his glass of wine. “Have you told Invictus how I shrieked like a little girl then fainted when you breathed fire?”

“No...I put that day out of my mind as quickly as I could.” Fenris replied before he raised his glass to the Altus.

Dorian glanced at Hawke. “It’s true though; I did.” He shrugged. “I did tell you I was a coward.” He took another sip of wine.

“Let’s leave off that and speak of that no more eh?” Vic raised his glass to Dorian with a look to his husband.

Dorian groaned and buried his face with his hand. “Idiot, Pavus, you’ve done it again,” he muttered to himself. “Fenris - _Leto_. My humble apologies. I seem to be excelling at opening my mouth only to insert both feet. I am an ass. I’m sorry.” He glanced up at them both. “I really do not deserve _any_ friends, the way I’m going,” he sighed. “Forgive me - even though perhaps you really shouldn’t.” He glanced at Invictus briefly, then back to Fenris. “Amicus, how can I make amends? Say the word and I shall do it.”

“Let Vic fuck you?” Fenris said with a leer. 

Dorian blinked, startled. “I’m... sorry?” he said slowly. “Did- did you say, you want....” He glanced to Hawke, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

“You heard him, I assume your hearing is still working Pavus?” Vic said with a leer that matched his husband’s.

Dorian’s mouth worked noiselessly for a moment. “I...I... very well,” he finally managed, before he downed the rest of his glass of wine hastily. “Now?” He lifted a hand to the buckle fastening the collar of his tunic.

“Let the man finish his drink first Vic, goodness.” Fenris said softly.

“But he’s so eager love, look at him.” Vic replied. Dorian paused, his fingers already working on the second buckle, his eyes flicking from Invictus to Fenris. He seemed speechless.

“You enjoy your drink love, I’ll unwrap my present yeah?” Vic rumbled as he took over undressing Dorian. “Cat got your tongue?”

“In a manner of speaking,” murmured Dorian as he let his hands drop to his sides and rose to his feet as the other mage took over undressing him. “There _is_ something rather feline about him after all. And I feel rather like a mouse that just strayed into the pantry. Maybe he _will_ eat me.”

“If you’re lucky, he might deign to nibble on you.” Vic said as he tugged the last of Dorian’s buckles away then pondered him. “This is alright yeah? Meneris will be alright with it?”

“Oh yes,” said Dorian, still in that soft voice. “The only thing we argue about these days is my drinking.”

“Mmm, then we shall speak on that after. You alright?” Vic asked. 

Dorian blinked, then glanced at Invictus. “I’m just wondering what I did to deserve this,” he said very quietly. “Because believe me, this feels very unlike penance or punishment.” His lips curved in an irrepressible smile. “Though if you want to indulge yourself in a little punishment, you’ll find I can take it like a good boy.” He winked.

“You really want him to punish you? You might not like it.” Vic said tiredly.

“Fenris knows my hard limits - at least in terms of what I’ll agree to tolerate,” said Dorian. “But really, it’s up to him.” He glanced over at Fenris, wondering just how far this little penance of his would really go.

“Tell Vic so he knows too, I’ll lock the door.” Fenris replied. He slipped off the bed and locked the door, making sure to put the key where Dorian could see it.

“No bodily fluids,” said Dorian, ticking them off on his fingers. “No bloodplay. Nothing that will leave marks or bruising for longer than a day or so. I can tolerate pain in moderation but I am not a masochist. And... I don’t react well to verbal humiliation.” On the last, he gave Invictus a slightly uncertain look. “I somehow feel I don’t really have the right to make that a condition, given how often I seem to dish it out myself. Rather hypocritical of me, I know.” He glanced away for a moment.

“I will consent to being bound, even to being gagged - but if you do that, please make sure there’s something in my hand I can drop or something like that - a way to show you I’ve had enough and it needs to stop.” He glanced at Fenris to see if his conditions were acceptable.

“That is more than fair amicus.” Fenris said quietly as he approached them. “What would you have from me? I am much stronger than both of you, remember that.”

“I....” Dorian swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “I w-was aware, yes,” he nodded. “I place myself in your hands, amicus.” He dropped his gaze as he fiddled with a buckle on his sleeve before his head suddenly jerked up. “Breathplay,” he suddenly remembered. “I... I don’t - I don’t think I could handle anything around my neck - you remember, amicus? I wouldn’t want to - spoil this. For any of us.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you amicus. Drop to your knees and show Vic how well you can use that tongue of yours.” Fenris ordered.

Obediently, Dorian dropped to his knees and reached for Invictus’ pants. He took hold of the other mage’s hips then leaned in and deftly tugged the laces free with his teeth before biting a fold of the fabric carefully and tugging Invictus’ pants down far enough to free his cock. He nuzzled the velvety skin with his nose before slowly swirling his tongue around the head of Invictus’ member, flattening his tongue against the underside as he licked a long, broad stripe from Invictus’ balls to the tip before swirling his tongue around the glans once more. Then he swallowed the other mage down, not stopping until his nose was nestled in the thatch of thick black curls at the base of Invictus’ cock and the Champion could feel himself buried within Dorian’s throat.

Vic yelped, not expecting Dorian to take him all the way down so quickly. “Maker’s balls! Warn a man.” he moaned before running his fingers through the other mage’s curls. 

“Well let him put that glib tongue of his to some use Vic. He looks good like that after all.” Fenris said as he took a seat to watch them. “Go on, he’s really good at sucking cock.” 

Dorian drew back slightly; glancing up at Invictus and giving him a wicked wink before sinking down and drawing Invictus’ member back into his throat again, running his tongue along the underside again before drawing back. He worked his tongue around the head of Invictus’ cock again before sinking down a third time; and this time he deliberately swallowed so his throat closed deliciously tight with a ripple around Invictus’ cock.

“Damn...d...damn!” Vic moaned as he pulled his hips back slowly and let Dorian feel all of him pulling back from his mouth before he moved forward to fill the other mage’s mouth. 

Dorian was aware of Fenris’ eyes on him as he bobbed his head, working Invictus’ cock with his mouth and tongue. He was tempted to unlace his own pants and drop them to his knees just to see what the elf would do; he settled for dropping a hand from the other mage’s hip to palm himself and groan around the cock now pumping faster in and out of his mouth as Invictus’ hips involuntarily began to give little thrusts. He tugged Invictus’ hip with his free hand to encourage him more as he moved faster.

Fenris groaned as he watched them. his hand resting on his waistband and his thumb between his teeth.

Vic took the hint but didn’t go too fast, he wanted to enjoy this in case it didn’t happen again any time soon. “Slow...down, don’t wanna come yet.”

Dorian obeyed, glancing up at Invictus again. His face was beaded with sweat now, Invictus’ pre-come dripping down his chin as he continued to work his tongue over along and around the other mage’s heated flesh. The grey eyes briefly fluttered shut as Dorian palmed himself again with a low, muffled moan before he opened them to stare up at Invictus again.

“Stop...Maker you are a damned devil with your tongue. Bed...oil...now.” Vic panted as he stepped back to finish undressing.

Dorian drew back maddeningly slowly then grinned as a thread of saliva stretched from the tip of Invictus’ cock to his lip as he stared up at Invictus. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he glanced over his shoulder at Fenris with a measuring look.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his voice low and husky, before he rose to his feet and bent over to unlace his boots, aware the tight cut of his pants outlined the curve of his buttocks perfectly.

“Yeah...a lot, I like it a lot.” Fenris said as he spread his legs and let Dorian see how much he liked it. 

Vic came up behind the other mage and wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist. “He’ll join when he’s ready. Thought I told you to get the oil.”

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat as he felt Invictus squeeze him slightly, the other mage’s cock thick and heavy as it rubbed against his arse. “Yes, Domne,” he breathed without thinking.

Fenris’ eyes widened as he heard what Dorian had said. He came over and tilted Dorian’s chin up to look at him. “Are you a good boy then? Will you behave for your domne? both of us?” whispered the elf. 

Dorian found he couldn’t look away. Unaware his storm-grey eyes had become almost wholly black as his pupils darkened, he could only breathe, “Yes, Domne.” His pants were suddenly almost impossibly, painfully tight as his own erection strained at the fabric, demanding release.

Fenris grinned and leaned in to kiss the other man as Vic kept hold of him. He pulled back enough to stare into Dorian’s eyes, his own had gone dark with desire. “Vic wants you, he wants you on your knees, in bed. Go be a good boy for him; I’ll watch for a little longer, then maybe you can use your mouth on me.” 

“Yes, Domne,” Dorian repeated. He could see what repeated use of the title was doing to Fenris, and as both men released him to undress himself he couldn’t quite suppress a small grin once his back was safely towards the two men. His face was appropriately respectful as he turned to fold his pants and lay them aside neatly before he climbed onto the bed.

“How would you have me, Domne?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Hawke as he arched his back, his knees apart. 

“Face down, ass up while I open you up. Make sure I hear you.” Vic said as he dropped his clothes where they landed. He glanced to see Fenris had a thumb between his teeth and a hand down his pants.

Dorian obligingly assumed position, placing himself so Fenris would have a good view of his backside without being impeded by Invictus’ body in the way. He folded his arms upon the bed then pillowed his head on them, face turned to the side so he could see the effect all of this was having on Fenris. He deliberately let his eyes fall half-shut, knowing that with sweat plastering his hair to his face, his lips red and swollen from sucking Invictus’ cock and his cheeks flushed he must look thoroughly debauched and wanton - and he wasn’t above playing that up a little to get what he wanted.

Fenris swore as he watched them together, and shucked his pants entirely when he saw the way Dorian’s expression shifted as Vic slipped two oiled fingers into him. ‘Maker...Mythal...fuck.” he moaned as he stroked himself.

“Neither are here, nor can they help our naughty altus.” Vic said as he twisted his fingers just so. Dorian didn’t have to exaggerate the shudder that ran through him as he groaned loudly, his fingers slowly clawing into the down comforter. He drew a slow, shuddering breath that caught in his throat as Invictus repeated the motion; he let his eyes flutter shut, moaning breathily as the fingers twisted then thrust inside him. 

He opened his eyes slowly and knew they must seem a little glazed as he stared at Fenris, holding his gaze as he slowly licked his bottom lip. “Domne,” he whispered, and the twitch Fenris gave was unmistakable.

The elf’s hand sped up as he watched Vic pull his fingers free then slicked his cock as he whispered in Dorian’s ear. “Ask him how he wants me to fuck you, respectfully.” 

Dorian moaned again, eyes fluttering briefly as Invictus’ fingers slipped from his body. “Please, Domne,” he said huskily. “How would it please you for Invictus to take me?”

“Ride him so I can see every moment on that pretty face of yours.” Fenris said as he reluctantly stopped stroking himself so he could kick his pants off and let Dorian see him.

Dorian buried his face in his arms and groaned again, glad neither man could see the grin that spread across his face. The wanton look was back on his face as he glanced over his other shoulder back at Invictus.

“Please, ser, let me ride your cock,” he murmured, his dark grey eyes half-hooded and glazed, his face flushed.

Vic stretched out and gestured at his cock then glanced to his husband. Void; if Dorian didn’t make him come in about thirty seconds, the look on Fenris’ face would have done him in. 

Dorian swung a leg over Invictus’ hips then paused as he reached behind himself to take hold of Invictus’ cock, holding it steady as he slowly sank down upon it until it was seated all the way deep inside him. He let a long, slow moan slip from his lips that was not entirely an act as he lowered himself and felt himself filled, tight and hot. He let his head drop back and closed his eyes as his hands rested upon his thighs; he held still for a moment, letting his body adjust before he ground his hips down and shuddered as Invictus’ cock brushed his sensitive spot inside.

Then he lifted his head and opened his eyes to fix them on Fenris as he began to move, fucking himself on Invictus’ cock. He let his lips part, sweeping his tongue briefly across his lower lip before he ground down again, circling his hips. The groan that came from him was entirely spontaneous as his eyes fluttered half-closed. He lifted a hand to tweak and pinch his own nipple and bit his lip, beginning to lose himself in his own pleasure.

“Oh, Domne,” he groaned, as he began to move faster.

“Do...Dorian!” Vic moaned as he felt the other mage pick up the pace. “Fuck...fuck... too much… gonna come.” 

Fenris had resumed stroking himself slowly, but it was hard not to go over and make him suck him off as he rode Vic. It would be difficult to pull off but he was damned well going to come from fucking the Altus, not by his own hand.

“Am I allowed to make him come, Domne?” murmured Dorian as he slowed for a moment in favour of simply grinding against Invictus, circling his hips as he watched Fenris fisting his cock. The Altus could feel beads of sweat trickling down his spine and down the sides of his face; his hair was damp. Ordinarily he hated getting sweaty, but it was all in a good cause. He knew with his warden stamina he could well outlast Invictus. 

Fenris nodded quickly since he didn’t think he could speak. He was stroking faster as he watched Dorian and Vic, his mind only on the sensation of his orgasm.

Dorian felt a brief flash of disappointment that didn’t show on his face as he realised Fenris was about to come by his own efforts; instead, he began to fuck himself harder on Invictus’ cock, setting up a faster pace as he squeezed down on the other mage’s thick member deep inside. He let his own breath erupt from him in panting gasps and moans as he felt his own pleasure building. He was some way off climax himself yet - he knew he could keep this up for hours if needed - but he could tell from the way Invictus’ breath came stuttering and his balls had tightened that the other mage was very close now. He moved faster.

“Dorian...Dori… damn...ohhhh, yes, yes.” Vic moaned as he felt Dorian tighten against him. “Yes!” Vic called as he sat up and gave Dorian a hard, rough counter stroke to what the Altus was doing to him before he fell back and let his climax take him over.

Dorian’s eyes had suddenly widened and his breath escaped as a whimper at Invictus’ sudden unexpected hard thrust, and as he felt the Champion come inside him he had to lean forward a little, bracing himself on his hands either side of Invictus’ head as he let himself slow, panting.

“I wasn’t... wasn’t expecting that,” he gasped breathlessly. His high-pitched whimper wasn’t for show as he eased himself off Invictus. He glanced up at Fenris.

The elf’s eyes were dark as he approached the bed and ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “Looks better like this, not all ...coiffed.” Fenris said as he sat on the bed next to them. “Good show you put on. I think I need to see how well you can continue to act.” he leaned in to nip at Dorian’s ear. “You think I don’t know what you were up to, when I do it myself?” 

“Yes, Domne,” whimpered Dorian as he closed his eyes at the feel of Fenris’ teeth against his skin.

“Good boy, when you feel like it.” Fenris said after he pulled back. “Want me to take you, maybe while you get to have Vic?” 

Dorian opened his eyes slowly, and the look of lust in his eyes was not feigned at all as he stared at Fenris. “I want you to _fuck_ me,” he said softly, enunciating clearly. “ _Domne._ ”

“Good boy...might train you to behave after all.” Fenris said as he ran his nails down the other man’s back. “Back or front?”

Dorian arched his back beneath Fenris’ nails with a hiss of indrawn breath. “Back. Domne,” he added. 

Fenris waited until Dorian was in position and oiled himself while the Altus watched him, Dorian’s hand slowly sliding up and down his own cock, idly flicking a thumb across the head on each upsweep. His movements came faster, Dorian’s breath catching with a small hitch as he let his arousal build. Fenris grinned as he watched him, the way Dorian’s grey eyes were fixed on him even as the Altus gave a small moan, shivering. The elf watched him pleasure himself for a few minutes before he leaned forward and pushed Dorian onto his back, knocking his hand away from his cock as Dorian looked up at him, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. As Fenris pressed the head of his cock against Dorian’s entrance, a faint sound that was almost a whine escaped the Tevinter mage’s throat. Fenris watched for any sign he was hurting him as he slid in slowly, sure to take his time. “Ok?”

Dorian let his head drop back onto the bed as he clenched his hands in the sheets. He blinked, letting himself adjust to Fenris’ thicker girth and longer length, his eyes wide, then wordlessly nodded; after a moment, he managed to find his voice. “Yes... _please_ ,” he breathed. “Maker, _move_.”

Fenris did just that, each roll of his hips against Dorian hard but slow. “You didn’t say my name last time.” he murmured in the mage’s ear. “Let me hear you...let Vic hear you.”

Dorian gasped, then cried out as Fenris’ next thrust grazed his sweet spot. “Domne, Domne!” he whimpered, high and loud. “Maker, I - Domne, please, faster!”

“Say my...name.” Fenris snarled as he fucked Dorian hard and deep. “I can go long as you can… warden.”

Dorian cried out, the sound almost a sob. “Please, Leto,” he begged. He was writhing and shuddering now beneath the elf as Fenris pounded into him. “Please... _please_....”

“Please… what?” Fenris asked as he sped up.

“Please, Domne...Leto...I need... please, _please!_ ” Dorian begged, all pretense gone now. He could feel his climax coiling hot and insistent at his groin, demanding release even as he held it in abeyance, not wanting to come until Fenris finally told him he could.

“Please, _what_?” Fenris demanded again, his own climax close at hand as he chased it frantically now, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips that had Dorian almost howling.

“Domne, Leto, please let me come!” begged Dorian, the words almost sobbed out.

Fenris grinned and leaned forward over Dorian’s sweating, shivering body. “Come.... _now,_ ” he whispered in the Altus’ ear. Dorian’s eyes slid closed as he threw his head back and screamed his release, coming hard. He felt hot, sticky wetness hit his chest and throat.

Fenris followed him over the edge with a hoarse, guttural shout as he came, Dorian still twitching and shuddering beneath him as the elf continued to thrust into his body desultorily a little longer before he fell forward onto his hands over the panting, shuddering Altus.

“Fuck me, but that was so hot,” murmured Invictus as Fenris finally slid out of Dorian and rolled over onto his back.

“Thank you,” murmured Dorian, and it wasn’t entirely clear who he was responding to.

And perhaps it didn’t matter.

 

***

Despite the overwhelming urge to simply roll over and go to sleep, Dorian managed to get himself upright, dressed, and back to his own rooms with enough time to spare to change, freshen up, and tame his hair and moustache and appear in the dining hall as though nothing had happened, though he couldn’t quite hide his exhaustion. He was quiet through dinner, nursing only the one glass of wine, well aware of Meneris’ eyes on him.

Fenris sat with Zevran and Hal, a smirk that appeared whenever he glanced at Dorian. He even had the nerve to raise his glass in toast to the Altus. He felt better than he had in a while and it showed.

Invictus was occupied with Ellowynne who was full of questions for those sitting near Invictus and Anders. He had to admit that she brought out his protective habits that he’d thought gone with the passing of his family members. She was curious about everything - all the different people, the various trophies and banners that hung in the hall, the throne on the dais at one end, and a thousand questions that seemed to tumble out of her faster than Invictus could answer them.

Varric leaned forward and began telling her stories and the young girl was enraptured as he told her a highly exaggerated version of their adventures in Kirkwall which had Anders blushing and hiding his face with his hand.

Dorian smiled tiredly as he propped his cheek on one fist, letting Varric’s voice wash over him comfortingly. The hall was warm, he was full of food, and the wine was making him sleepy. If he finished this glass he thought he might very well fall asleep right there at the table. There was a delicious soreness inside from earlier, and his thoughts were idle things, musing mostly around the prospect of falling over in bed and sleeping late.

“Ok there love? You look ready to tip over at the table.” Meneris said as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek. “Fun with your amicus earlier?”

“Hmm? Oh... just tired,” Dorian shrugged. “We’re good though.” He smiled, then glanced at his glass of wine; he took another drink. 

“Were you already drinking with them? Do we need to make our excuses and retire early love?” Meneris said as he fought the urge to take Dorian’s drink away.

Dorian roused himself with an effort. “Only the one glass,” he said as he straightened. He glanced at what was left in his glass then downed it before setting the glass down. He rubbed his eyes carefully. “An early night might not be such a bad idea,” he conceded.

Ellowynne’s laughter rang out, light and almost infectious, and they glanced towards her, smiling. When Meneris glanced back at Dorian, the Altus had slumped slightly in his chair, head drooping and his eyes closed.

“Come on sleepyhead, let’s get you tucked in” Meneris said as he roused Dorian and got him to his feet. “I’ll even tell you a story.” 

Dorian stumbled slightly as he leaned on Meneris. “Can’t promise I’ll stay awake that long,” he confessed, his words slurring slightly.

“Well let’s make it up to our room at least.” Meneris struggled up the stairs with his betrothed, and even managed to get his boots off before he heard snoring coming from the Altus. “Creators man, how many times did Fenris take you?”

Dorian had sprawled face-down on the bed, one foot still trailing on the floor, asleep the moment he was horizontal. He didn’t stir as Meneris managed to tug his boots off, his snoring muffled by the pillow. The elf knew the Tevinter mage must be exhausted, very drunk or possibly both - he wasn’t ordinarily given to snoring, as a rule.

Meneris managed to get the covers over his amatus, got a book to read and settled in next to him until he too, fell asleep. He was woken briefly at some early hour of the morning when he felt Dorian stir from the bed. The Altus was stumbling around in the dark, undressing properly before finally crawling back into bed. Meneris privately marvelled how, even half-asleep and presumably still quite drunk, Dorian _still_ insisted on carefully folding his clothes neatly and setting them on a chair before returning to bed.

“Ok there love?” Meneris asked softly as Dorian curled up around him. 

“Mmm? Yes,” said Dorian sleepily. “You know how I hate sleeping in my clothes though.” He pressed a kiss to Meneris’ cheek.

“Ok, love you Dori.” Meneris kissed him briefly and closed his eyes as he felt the other man’s arms around him. “Night.” 

Dorian grimaced slightly at the diminutive but let it go as he brushed another kiss against Meneris’ cheek and let himself slip back down into slumber once more.

**  
Fenris had woken early considering how late he’d kept Invictus and Zevran up with talking and enjoying them both after their trip home. He found he couldn’t sleep in so he made his way to the stables, his old habit of seeking out the peace of the place brought him to the stalls not long after daylight. 

He found Hal in front of the Dracolisk’s stall, talking to the thing. “Morning.” he said as he approached, surprised to see the creature seemed to be intent on listening to the mage. As he watched, the scaled creature carefully nuzzled its head against Hal’s chest until the red-head chuckled and reached up to rub behind its leathery ears.

“Easy, easy!” Hal laughed as it butted him gently with its snout. “Look - I brought you a treat.” He produced a couple of eggs from his pocket which the beast accepted with a rumble of what Fenris guessed passed for pleasure.

“It seems to like you...wonder if it smells dragon on you.” Fenris said as he leaned against the stall and stared at the creature. “How is it even...never mind. I can turn to a dragon, I shouldn’t question these things anymore. How are you?” he asked as Hal continued to pet it.

“She,” said Hal, then glanced at Fenris with a grin. “‘It’ is a she.” He laughed as the dracolisk nudged him again with her muzzle, and he produced another egg from his pocket which she devoured with relish as Hal chuckled. He patted her one last time then stepped away and glanced back at Fenris.

“I’m... alright, I guess. Life is getting back to normal - well, a new normal, I suppose,” he shrugged.

“Yeah... I suppose. Guess I should be preparing for a trip to Minrathous, but...I am conflicted.” Fenris held his arm out for Hal and grinned at him. “Walk with me?”

Hal darted a startled glance at Fenris’ arm then glanced up at the elf before taking his arm and walking slowly with him. He tossed his long red braid back over his shoulder as they stepped out into the late spring sunshine.

“Conflicted how?” he asked as they made their way across the courtyard, the elf walking slowly. “I mean - you can teleport yourself pretty much anywhere you’re familiar with, and from how Dorian explained the theory to me, distance is actually irrelevant. So you’re always only a hop away from Anders, Invictus and Zevran. And it’s not like you’re a stranger to Minrathous society, though I can see how having a former slave return as a high-ranking ambassador would set a lot of people’s ideas on their heads.”

“It’s not the travel. It’s returning as a member of the Inquisition. I’m a former slave, some people still want my head for killing Danarius. Some fool magister even tried to make me return with him as if I was going to actually go back. I worry I will embarass the Inquisition, or Dorian. There’s many other things, but that’s foremost on my mind.” Fenris said as they walked down the road leading to a secluded valley they favored when Fenris took them flying.

Hal noted the way their footsteps were taking them, and he smiled. “You’re a dragon,” he pointed out. “I don’t think any magister would be so foolish as to try and enslave you again.”

“I am unsure I want what I can do known when I return to Minrathous. There are many who worship dragons as Andraste returned to them in the flesh. I do not wish to be hunted or ...revered in some attempt to hold to ancient ways.” Fenris frowned as they went.

“Ah. Yes, that... that wouldn’t be good,” conceded Hal. “But the Inquisitor wouldn’t have picked you if he didn’t think you could do the job - and it’s not as though you’d be doing it alone, either. I know Josephine is training up staff already, and they’ll be sent on ahead. And you know you’ll only be one step away from everyone here, and we’ll all help?” He stared up at Fenris. The bright sunlight made his gold eye seem bright, but the other eye was almost devoid of colour. Every time Fenris looked at it and saw the scars, he could not help but feel a little surge of anger at how close the Iron Bull had come to ending Hal’s life.

“I know… but, this will sound stupid probably. I am worried how being back in Minrathous will affect me. I’ve not returned since our ill-fated attempt at rescuing our companions. I had to pretend to be a slave and it...it nearly broke me. We also ran into the Fog Warriors, where they rightfully are owed my life for what I did to the clan that took me in. It might just be ...too much and Dorian, much as being here has changed him can’t understand how I’ll feel walking in there. I might just have some kind of breakdown depending on how things go. I’m scared, there I said it, I’m scared.” Fenris admitted out loud instead of in his head.

Hal came to a halt and turned to stare up at Fenris. He bit his lip, a worried expression on his face as he glanced to the side, evidently trying to build up the nerve to say something. He took a deep breath as though he’d made his mind up as he turned his gaze back up to meet Fenris’ eyes.

“Take me with you,” he finally said. “Please.”

“What? Why would you _want_ to go to Minrathous?” Fenris asked in surprise then tilted Hal to look at him. “I am glad to hear it, I’m just surprised any mage would willingly go to Tevinter, especially a Spirit Healer.” 

“You’ll need a healer on staff, won’t you?” said Hal, his eyes searching those of Fenris. “Dorian will be preoccupied with his own ambassador duties and won’t be there all the time, and Calpernia is hardly our friend. You - you’ll need someone there who knows you. Someone who - who can be there for you, when it gets too much.” He looked up at Fenris, anxiously. “ _I_ want to be there for you,” he added, quietly.

“I would like that… and maybe you can tell me more of what you want from me Hal. I care for you, love you...and want you to be happy, you know that right?” Fenris replied as he watched the way the other man’s expression brightened at the word love.

Hal stared at him, hope and disbelief warring upon his face. “Love?” he whispered. “You - you love me?”

“I do, you’re pretty damned loveable Hal. Guess I had to say that out loud too for it to be real? Talk to me, what is it you want from me. I can’t make you happy if you don’t tell me what you need.” Fenris replied.

“I’m dreaming, this can’t be happening,” murmured Hal as he stared up at Fenris. “I’m going to wake up any minute and none of this will have happened.” He reached his hands out hesitantly to touch Fenris’ arms then take the elf’s hands, his touch light in case Fenris wished to pull away.

“You’re not dreaming Hal, talk to me.” Fenris pulled the mage to his arms and gave him a soft smile. “Please, I need to know I’m not overstepping my boundaries with you.” 

Hal pressed himself close against Fenris, a disbelieving smile upon his lips, eyes slightly misty. “You’re not,” he managed finally. “You’re so not! This... I’ve dreamed of this. I never said a word because I was afraid you would think I was just some foolish boy with a crush. That I was still throwing myself at you simply because my Fenris was... was d-dead....” He choked on the words and pressed his face against Fenris’ tunic, his shoulders shaking for a moment until he drew a shuddering breath. “But it’s not. It’s not been that for a long time now,” he went on when he felt he could trust his voice again.

“That’s good to know...I was worried about that a bit. Look at me, please?” Fenris asked as he wrapped his arms around Hal. 

The young man lifted his head slowly to stare up at Fenris, the expression of wondering disbelief still upon his face, as though he still didn’t quite trust that this wasn’t a dream - albeit a very real, vivid one.

“Listen to me carefully...I do love you, it’s not a dream. I worried I would be crossing a line if I ever tried to have more with you. They know how much I care for you, especially Vic. He and I had a long talk in Nevarra when you didn’t share the bed. Zevran probably can tell you how I feel better than I can and Anders adores you, I think he sees you as a younger brother. I know, I know it’s hard and Mythal knows I’m a damned handful on a good day but I would be more than your friend if you will allow it.” Fenris said with a hitch in his voice. 

“They... they’d allow it?” said Hal quietly. “They - they wouldn’t mind?” He dropped his gaze and lifted a hand to his forehead. “I never let myself hope. I couldn’t... you’re married now, and then there was the Bull. But... all the time we were in Nevarra, I - I _wanted_ to tell you how I felt, but it didn’t seem right. It’s... I’m sorry, this is a lot to take in.”

Fenris scowled at the mention of Bull but caught himself before he could rant. He ran a thumb over Hal’s lip as he stared in his eyes. “Considering how I slept my way around the Keep after these changes, before and after getting married, that’s not an obstacle Hal. But I have a feeling what you want is more than physical?” 

“The physical... it’s good... for as long as it lasts. But it doesn’t take away the loneliness,” said Hal quietly. “It’s not the same as knowing there’s someone there who actually cares for you as more than - than a warm body to fuck.”

“So that’s a yes, you want to be with me?” Fenris asked as he leaned in and kissed Hal on the forehead. He felt Hal shiver beneath him, and as he glanced down he saw that Hal’s eyes had darkened.

“Do you even have to ask?” whispered the young mage as he lifted himself on tip-toes and tilted his head to kiss Fenris.

The elf kissed him slow, easy and let himself enjoy how well Hal fit into his arms. “I never thought I’d find love, let alone multiple people to be share my heart with. So glad I have the chance to make you happy.” Fenris said as he rested his forehead against Hal’s.

“Some might say you’re greedy,” Hal teased gently. “But not me.” He leaned up to brush small kisses along the line of Fenris’ jaw then down the front of the elf’s throat before making a small, contented sound as he nuzzled against Fenris’ chest, enjoying the feeling of Fenris’ strong arms around him. “I could almost stay like this forever,” he whispered.

“It would be nice, yeah. Do you want to go inside and talk more or stay here?” Fenris asked as he returned Hal’s affection.

Hal glanced down into the vale they had been slowly walking towards before they had stopped. He smiled. “I’d thought we were going flying, but... this is better than flying,” he admitted. “Where would you like us to go? I am happy wherever _you_ are.” He stared up into Fenris’ eyes intently, his expression now serious. “Which is why I want you to take me with you to Minrathous,” he said quietly. “Whatever you may face there, I want to face it with you.”

“We can fly if you want, but I daresay you should change into your riding clothes. You could take a different kind of ride if you like. Whatever you want Hal.”

Hal glanced down at his tunic and pants. “These are fine,” he said as he glanced up again. “But you’re avoiding answering. I’m serious, Fenris. I want to go with you to Tevinter. Take me with you.”

“Not avoiding, you can come with me. I’d be glad to have you at my side.” Fenris said quietly.

The smile returned to Hal’s face as he stepped close again and wrapped his arms around Fenris’ waist. “Take me flying,” he whispered. “I want to see the world from up high again.”


	84. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, what have we here?

The guards opened the cell door and stared down at the blond man who lay unconscious and bloodied upon the dirty straw strewn upon the cell floor. One guard toed the prisoner almost gently in the ribs, shoving him over onto his back; the blond man barely stirred.

“What’s tae be done wi’ him?”

“Get rid o’ him, the Prince says,” replied the second guard. He crouched down and nudged the blond man. “Oi. Blondie.”

“Leave him; he’s likely close tae death anyway after whit the templar bastards did tae him,” said the first guard with a scowl. The second guard ignored him as he tapped the blond man’s cheek.

“C’mon, Blondie. Show us there’s some life in ye.”

“What’s the point?” insisted the first guard. “He’s a dead ‘un. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

“Nah, wait ye a moment, will ye?” frowned the second guard as he patted the prisoner’s cheek; he was rewarded by a low moan before the amber eyes slowly drifted open. “Blondie? Ye wi’ us?”

“Look at ‘im, there’s nae sense left in the man,” insisted the first guard as the prisoner listlessly stared through them. “May as well slit ’is throat and be done wi’ it. Ah dinnae ken why the templars didnae just kill ’im or make the bugger Tranquil.”

“The Prince said get rid, he dinnae _say_ tae kill ’im,” said the second guard. “Look at the puir bugger; he doesnae even ken ’is ane name.”

“What are ye sayin’, man?” said the first guard. “Ye mean, we shuid just let him go?”

“Ah’m sayin’, jus’ _look_ at the man. He isnae gonnae be tellin’ _anyone_ who did this tae ’im; who’s gonnae lissen to some puir bastard who disnae ken where or who he is?”

“We cannae just let ’im go,” protested the first guard, even as he crouched down the other side of the blond man and helped the second guard get him sat up. The blond man moaned faintly as they lifted him upright.

“Ah’m sayin’, let’s take ’im for a boat ride an’ then let ’im take a swim. If’n he makes it tae shore somewhere down the Minanter - well, may the Maker look out fer his ane, aye?” suggested the second guard as between them they got the blond man upright. 

“Ach, ye’ve gaun soft, man,” said the first guard, shaking his head. 

“Mebbe,” shrugged the second as they began to move towards the cell door. “And mebbe ah’m just tired o’ this job an’ all. Ah’m tired o’ cleaning up after those templar bastards.”

“Hush, man!” urged the first guard in a low voice. 

“Ach, away wi’ ye,” said the second guard, shaking his head; but he held silent as they made their way down the corridor.

“Who was he anyway?” asked the first guard after a moment. 

“Just some puir bugger who looked like the Kirkwall Butcher,” shrugged the second guard. “Ah have nae bluidy idea who he really was, and _he’s_ nae gonnae tell us, is he?” As they paused by a door and the first guard fumbled with a ring of keys, the second guard nudged the blond man. “Hey, Blondie. What’s yer name?”

The blond man blinked dazedly at him.

“Yer _name_. What’s yer name, man?”

The blond man frowned slightly as he swayed, only kept upright by their hold on him. “Blondie,” he finally managed hoarsely. “That’s... that’s what you call me... isn’t it?”

“What’s yer _real_ name?” the guard insisted. The blond man’s frown deepened.

“I... I can’t remember,” he finally managed.

The guard grinned at his colleague. “Told ye, he disnae remember.” He patted the blond man on the shoulder. “C’mon Blondie. You’re gaun fer a swim. Ye ken how tae swim?”

“I... don’t know,” said the blond man.

“Best learn fast then,” remarked the first guard tersely. 

***

At some point, he drifted over the invisible, intangible line between “mostly unconscious” and “somewhat awake” to realise that the featherlight splashing on his face was rain, and that he was lying on sand. Cold, wet sand at that.

With that realisation, more awareness began to crowd in - the roar of surf not far away, crashing onto the shore, the feeling of wet clothing clinging to his body, the chill of his skin as the wind gusted across the shore.

The aching of his body, pain in his limbs, the throb of wounds not yet healed.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sea salt and sand encrusted on his eyelashes. He was lying on a beach as the rain fell, gradually lashing down harder.

Movement was difficult and painful. Even simply rolling onto his side brought an involuntary groan to his lips as his ribs protested painfully. Somehow, he managed to lift his head to stare around himself.

He had no idea where he was. As he slowly sat up and glanced around the beach, nothing met his eyes to explain how he’d gotten there. No boat or other vessel; just him in sodden wet clothes, sat alone on a rain-drenched beach somewhere on the coast. He had no idea even _which_ coast. 

He glanced down at his clothes, but they offered no more clue as to where he was or how he came to be there than the beach did. He was clad in faded, somewhat tatty and salt-stained grey pants and a torn shirt that might once have been white linen but now was stained with rust-brown patches. 

Sitting on a cold wet beach in tatty rags was not going to do him any good. He slowly managed to get to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs and joints. Without thinking about it, he pressed a hand against his side and let his thoughts drift inwards as he opened himself to his mana and channelled healing into himself, sighing with relief as the pain eased and something inside seemed to loosen.

He blinked. Magic. He’d used magic. For some reason that fact was important. Why? 

Mage. He was a mage. He was - 

Who?

He stared out at the rolling grey sea. _Who am I?_

“They called me Blondie.” But that wasn’t his name, was it? Not really. He’d forgotten his own name long ago, screamed out into oblivion.

He’d been tortured; he remembered that much, though not why. Something about a Prince, something he was supposed to have done? Someone he was supposed to have been? It was all hazy and uncertain, and he might have thought he’d dreamed it if not for the scars and aches of old wounds he felt. 

It was all a perplexing mystery; one which wouldn’t be solved by standing shivering in the rain on a strange beach. With one last glance at the grey sea, he turned and began to walk.

***

A day’s walk brought him to a fishing village; tired, hungry, footsore and in pain, he managed to stumble as far as the water pump in the village square before he collapsed. He was vaguely aware of people clustering around him - hands touching him then exclaiming with dismay before he was lifted up. He lost consciousness for a time; when he opened his eyes again, it was to find himself lying in a bed, and an old woman was leaning over him. She smiled and said something in what sounded Antivan.

“Where am I?” he asked, glancing around.

“Ah, you are from Ferelden?” exclaimed the woman, her speech heavily accented. “You are a long way from home, Fereldan. This is Antiva. We are about a day’s ride from the town of Bastion.”

“Antiva?” he said as he sat up slowly.

“There was a terrible storm three nights ago. Was your ship wrecked, Fereldan?” she asked him gently.

“I... I guess it was. I’m sorry, I think I must have hit my head - I honestly cannot remember,” he said slowly. 

“Perhaps when you were set upon by whoever it was who beat you,” she said sympathetically. “Ah, you have had a poor time of it, no? First shipwrecked, and then robbed! A poor welcome to Antiva I fear.”

“Beaten?” he echoed, lifting a hand to brush over his ribs. “Yes, I... I was beaten. That must be why I can’t remember anything.”

“Tell me, Fereldan - do you even remember your own name?” she asked him. At his expression, she shook her head sadly. “Ah, Fereldan! You have nothing then - not even a name!”

“They called me Blondie,” he said slowly, and the old woman laughed.

***

The woman, it transpired, had a nephew in nearby Bastion who was a merchant - which was how he found himself riding next to said nephew on his goods wagon a couple of days later in borrowed clothes, being offered a job as hired guard on his caravan up to Antiva City. There was a shipment of wine they needed to deliver to the docks.

The nephew - a burly, dark-skinned man with a hearty laugh and a keen eye, named Renaldo - was wary of taking on this pale-skinned stranger until his aunt told him quietly of how the stranger had lit her stubborn stove fire with a gesture of his hand; whereupon his demeanor changed and he became positively welcoming to the Fereldan mage. He’d lent him some of his own clothing which his aunt had taken in and fitted for the stranger’s more slender frame.

“You have no problem signing on as a caravan guard, Fereldan, eh?” said Renaldo. “Is good. Not many of you apostates around - most went south to the Inquisition, I think?”

“The Inquisition?” the blond apostate echoed. The name seemed to spark a distant familiarity. Had he, once, also gone to the Inquisition?

“Yes, they all went off to follow the Inquisitor. Of course, now the new Grand Enchanter has taken over, things are very different, yes? Now you are not apostates - you are just mages, no more Circle, no more templars. Is all very different. It is better for you, yes?” Renaldo grinned. “Better for me too - I can hire a mage and not have to worry about the nosy templars!”

The blond apostate smiled noncommittally, though his mind was racing. No more Circles? This was news to him. This memory loss was so frustrating; his mind and memory seemed intact save for anything relating to who he was and, it seemed, what had been happening for the past year or so.

Bastion was too small for there to be much choice of mage’s staves in the small market. Renaldo gave him an advance on his wages to outfit himself. The blond apostate was all too keenly aware that his coin was limited; he settled for a fairly plain staff he found tucked at the back of the only stall that sold staves. It was made of sturdy ironwood with plain black cord binding on the haft, a long sword-like blade at one end and a haematite ball at the other that helped counterbalance the blade. The blade had a few nicks and scratches, and the staff had seen obvious use; the mage spent that evening after supper grinding out and smoothing down the nicks with a whetstone and then sharpening it.

Renaldo had come out onto the back porch to watch the apostate as he worked on the blade for a while, nodding approval as he watched the other man. 

The wagons were loaded up the next day. They would pick up more wine at Rialto before continuing on to Antiva City. Renaldo introduced the blond apostate to his other guards merely as “Fereldan”; the name seemed to have stuck. By Antiva City he had become simply Fer. One name being as good as another to a man who had lost his identity, he accepted it in lieu of anything better.

Though nothing of his memories had yet returned, he was certain he had never been to Antiva City before in his life. He was sure _something_ would have remained of the memory; though it was raining when they arrived, the weather seemed to do nothing to dullen the riot of flowers that cascaded from every balcony in every colour and hue and overflowed from the tubs and planters that seemed to line every street. The air itself was vibrant with the scent of flowers, wine and exotic spices, with the smell of the sea overlaying all and ever-present. Renaldo paid them on the docks after the last of the wine had been stored in the agent’s warehouse and told them that he’d be heading back south again in a week if any of them wished to sign on for the return trip.

The blond apostate was only half-listening; his eyes were already on the ships riding at anchor in the harbour. The docks were a-throng with dockworkers and porters, merchants’ agents, sailors, would-be deckhands, passengers disembarking, cargo being loaded aboard and over all the thrumming hubbub of busy port life.

Someone stepped into him, nearly bowling him over. “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy idiot!” exclaimed a dark alto voice that somehow he _knew_. As he turned and stared at the woman with black hair and tawny skin who turned to glare at him, a name rose in his mind. _Isabela_. Somehow he _knew_ this woman - and from the way her eyes widened, she knew him too.

She grabbed hold of him and dragged him swiftly up the gangplank of the ship she’d just disembarked from. “Not a word - not one!” she warned him before he could even open his mouth. She tugged him towards the door that led into the ship’s cabins.

He stumbled a little as they went from the daylight of above deck to the shadows of below, but Isabela did not so much as slow her footsteps until they’d reached what he presumed was the captain’s cabin. She shoved him in ahead of her then shut the door firmly behind her and stared at him as he stumbled to a halt against the large desk that occupied most of the room then turned to stare back at her.

“Anders, what in the Void possessed you to show up here?” she hissed. “You’re supposed to be in Ferelden, all safely married to Hawke and Fenris and Zevran and Maker knows whoever else has decided to hop into bed with them this week - you can’t tell me you’ve tired of that already? Because I certainly wouldn’t be! If you tell me you’ve run away...!”

His eyes widened. “I’m not Anders!” he exclaimed.

“What?” said Isabela as she took a step towards him, and then another. She blinked slowly. “Well I’ll be... you _aren’t_ , are you? Though enough alike him that you two could practically be twins,” she mused as she moved closer, taking his chin in her hand then turning his face this way then that as she eyed him in bemusement. “No wonder you looked so shocked - and here’s me manhandling you all the way here into my cabin!” She let go of his chin and tapped her own thoughtfully. “Although... you seem to recognise me, if the look in your eye is anything to go by.”

“If your name is Isabela then yes, I do, although I honestly don’t know how or why or where I know you,” he stammered.

She eyed him sharply. “Sweet thing, if I’d run into you before then you would _definitely_ remember me. Though I’m sure if Anders had a twin then I would have remembered _him._ ” She suddenly grinned. “Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not about to eat you. Well, not unless you ask me very nicely.” She winked. “What’s your name?”

He swallowed hard. “You can call me Fer,” he answered. “And... I’m sorry, I really don’t remember you - but then I don’t remember much of anything that happened before about a week ago. I just know you seem... familiar somehow.”

She stepped back and raised an eyebrow. “This is beginning to sound like one of Varric’s stories,” she chuckled. “Listen, Fer - where are you staying at the moment?” As he blinked at her, she snapped her fingers. “Right, right - let me guess, you just arrived in Antiva City today with one of the caravans?”

“Wine,” replied Fer. “From Bastian and Rialto.”

“You know, you sound just like...” Isabela frowned for a moment, then shook her head. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I’m guessing you’re either looking for a berth as a passenger or to sign on as crew on one of the ships?”

“Hadn’t really thought that far ahead, though if you’ve use for a mage who’s never worked aboard a ship before....” He gave her a lopsided smile.

“Depends - do you get seasick?” she asked frankly.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I don’t really know though. Or, well, remember, which is the same thing really.”

“Tell you what, sweet thing - we’re running down to Amaranthine with a load of silks and exotic foodstuffs just as soon as my cargo hold is full. Why don’t you sign on as ship’s mage for this trip, and then we’ll see if we like the cut of each other’s jibs from there?”

“Sounds good to me,” shrugged the blond mage. They shook hands, and Isabela grinned.

The door behind her suddenly swung open and an elf with long hair, half red and half bone-white, stepped through, studying a shipping manifest in his hands. “Isabela, these orders from Varric, I’m not -” He suddenly glanced up, and the blond mage stared.

Green eyes. Green eyes and silvery tattoos - _lyrium_ , his mind supplied. The red hair was wrong but the stance, the features....

“Nakusa, this is Fer. _Not_ Anders, despite any appearances to the contrary,” said Isabela, seemingly oblivious to the way the apostate was staring at the elf. “He’ll be joining us as far as Amaranthine. Now, what’s this about Varric’s orders?” She took the manifest from Nakusa. “Good grief, this is quite the list.”

Nakusa was staring at the blond apostate, his head tilted a little to one side. “I am sorry if I seem to be staring; you look exactly like someone we know,” he said.

“That’s quite alright,” replied the apostate quietly. “You look like someone I almost remember.”

“You... _almost_ remember?” echoed the elf with a frown.

“Oh, Fer here has lost his memory,” said Isabela over her shoulder as she studied the note. “Oh this is ridiculous - Varric’s added half again to the length of his list. That bloody dwarf needs to learn not to leave things up in the air like this - when I said ‘is there anything else, send me a raven!’ I did _not_ mean ‘tack on all your bloody wedding shopping as an afterthought’, Varric Tethras!”

“So... is Fer your name, or not?” asked the elf.

“Not really,” shrugged the apostate. “It’s just what the other caravan guards called me. Short for ‘Fereldan’.”

“Bit like how Anders is named for where he’s from,” added Isabela. “Funny, how you’ve both ended up with names for where you’re from and not who you _are_.” She waved the note. “It’s no good; I’m going to have to go wrangle with the merchant again. Nakusa, show Fer where he’ll be staying. I’ll be back in a while.” She strode out of the cabin without a backwards glance as the elf and the mage stared at each other.

“You will have to excuse Isabela,” shrugged Nakusa.

“Most people do, I’d guess?” said the mage with a shrug. The elf frowned.

“You... remind me of someone. Your mannerisms... Tell me, have you ever heard of Kirkwall? A man named Hawke?”

It was the mage’s turn to frown. Something about the name seemed very familiar. If he closed his eyes, he could almost recall.... No. It was gone. For a moment, a tantalising fragment of memory seemed to dance just within his grasp but as swiftly was gone.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I can’t remember.”

Nakusa smiled sympathetically. “I understand. My brother and I have had a similar experience.”

“Your brother?” asked the mage politely.

“Fenris,” replied the elf.

There was again - that feeling of memory being just out of reach....

***

He stared up at the castle walls as the wagons rolled slowly across the bridge. It had been a long journey from Amaranthine, but they’d be there at their destination very shortly. It was freezing cold; they’d travelled through the night to get here as early as possible.

As he stared up at the arching gate, he couldn’t shake the unnerving feeling he’d been here before. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine, and he lowered his gaze back to the courtyard ahead, tugging his scarf up a little higher over his nose. Maker, but he was looking forward to a chance to warm himself in the kitchens and maybe get a bite of something hot to eat whilst the wagons were unloaded.

The wagons slowly rolled to a halt and then, despite the early hour and the sun barely high enough to paint the castle walls in gold and rose, the courtyard was full of busy people unloading everything, and he and the other guards were being waved away towards the kitchens. _Oh thank the Maker, something hot to drink at last._

It took him a while to thaw as he stood as close to the fire as he dared, his hands curled around a mug of tea for warmth; eventually he felt warm enough to tug down his hood and scarf and take a sip of tea. He unslung his staff and rested it in a corner out of the way before finding a warm spot to sit down. He slowly tugged off the scarf and shrugged off the heavy wool cloak then sipped slowly at his tea.

“What in the name of Andraste are you doing down here?” exclaimed a voice suddenly. He looked up and got a vague impression of someone looming over him with a surprised expression, and then suddenly his wrist was held in the very firm grip of a determined Chantry sister who yanked him up out of his chair and started dragging him hurriedly through the kitchen.

He let out a small yelp of alarm as the remains of his cup of tea went flying. 

“Wait - what do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed.

“No, what do _you_ think _you’re_ doing??” she retorted back as she dragged him hastily past the long tables where kitchen maids and cooks stopped to stare in amusement at the sight of the tall blond mage being dragged like a naughty apprentice by the determined Chantry sister. “You were supposed to be in the Inquisitor’s suite an hour ago, and here I find you drinking tea with the wagon guards! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“You - you have?” he said nervously. “But I’ve only just got here!”

“A likely story! You were looking to run away, weren’t you? I just _knew_ it!” she called almost triumphantly over her shoulder as she strode swiftly through the great hall, her footsteps ringing out across the marble floor as he was tugged along behind her. He was aware of people staring, fingers pointing; a dwarf who seemed rather familiar was getting to his feet and staring at him in disbelief.

“Blondie!” he called.

“Not now, Ser Tethras!” the Chantry sister called back as she hurried on, not breaking stride for an instant, as he stumbled on behind her.

“Now, wait a moment -” he protested as she began to tug him up a flight of stairs, only to have an irate finger brandished under his nose.

“We do _not_ have time to wait, Grand Enchanter!” she said firmly, and with that she pushed him through a set of double doors at the top of the stairs before he could do much more than widen his eyes at what she’d called him. The doors slammed closed firmly behind him.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned hurriedly to stare at...

Himself.

There were three other men in the room - two elves, and a man who had tawny Tevene skin and the most striking storm-grey eyes he’d ever seen (at least, that he remembered seeing). But he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the tall blond mage who was staring at him with his eyes.

He swallowed hard, and wondered if he’d gone as pale as the other blond man had. “You’d be this Anders chap that people keep telling me I’m the spitting image of, then,” he said, and hesitantly smiled.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Anders very softly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a muffled thud. Startled, they all looked around.

The white-haired elf had dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this mysterious stranger? Why did Fenris faint and will others do the same?


End file.
